The Haunted Halls (21 page)

Chapter Two

Rhiannon stood in the corner of the elevator clinging to the chrome rail within. Her heart hammered so hard and fast it hurt. She wanted to scream but couldn’t find the breath to do so. Instead, she wondered where the hell Jeff and his friend were.  How dare they leave her here in this fucking hotel hell to face these monsters alone? She would kill them both…if she got the chance.

Bing

She prayed for an empty hallway. The doors crawled open with all the ambition of a blue hair on the interstate. She bit her lip so hard she tasted copper. Watching the door slide open was akin to witnessing the live reveal of the winner on American Idol. She could hear Ryan Seacrest now:
“All the votes are tallied…for one of these two, a dream of a lifetime is about to come true. This is it, America. And your. 2014. American Idol. Is …we’ll find out, right after this break.”
Rhiannon stepped out of the elevator and slipped in something thick and wet. She fell backward, landing half inside the elevator squirming as though covered with roaches. The carpet was spongy with a dark fluid. She looked down at her hands–blood. It was everywhere. The whole damned floor must’ve been flooded with it. She propped up on her elbows and then turned to reach for the chrome rail she had been clutching on the way up. 

Bing

The elevator jerked, threatening to descend even with the door ajar.

“Nooo!” she cried moving forward.  The elevator floor dropped two inches. “Arrgghhh!”

The whole contraption convulsed, dropping half a foot, and then another. She lost her balance and slid back into the death trap.

“Noo!” she cried again as she got to her feet. The elevator bucked and clanged.
I’m going to die right here, right now
, she thought watching more important inches give way. She jumped up grasping at the second floor, her fingers slipping through the blood. The crimson swamp began to pour into the elevator. She jumped up, trying again, but was still unable to gain any traction from the slick rug above.

I’m going to die here, I, I…

Bing

“No, No, No!” she said, her voice reclaiming its resolve. She backed up, gaining a little space for momentum, targeted the edge of the door–the door began to close.

“No,” she grunted. She took two full strides and propelled her body upward, catching the unmoving edge and the closing chrome door. It was going to close on her. “Ahh!” She pulled her skinny frame up and through, her sneakered feet clearing the door just before it shut. Her exposed flesh and work shirt were covered in crimson. She looked like a survivor at the end of those gory B movies.

Nice thought, Rhiannon.

Getting up and creeping to the corridor, the spongy floor squished beneath her sneakered feet. She tried not to think of what she was stepping in. The lights up here were dim, like the pale-yellow of a full moon behind gray clouds.  Her eyes moved to the stairwell she’d stumbled down earlier. She couldn’t help but wonder if either the man or the woman chasing her were waiting for the elevator to drop or if they had taken the stairs and were on their way to capture her. Maybe they were already up here. Fear crawled up her spine like a thousand creepy crawlies in the dark.

Rhiannon’s heart seized its incessant pounding at the sight moving across the blood-drenched floor. A tarantula scuttled across the open space no more than five feet from where she stood. Another played in the corner of the room where she spied a web large enough to capture a grown human being–set, ready and waiting for its prey.
Waiting for her.
The carpeting was slick and made squelching noises as she crossed her arms over her chest and shuffled away from the spiders. Another appeared farther down the hall. Then another one. The arachnids were multiplying by the second. She moved her foot backward, stepped on a thick cord, and jumped.

Snake!

“Ew,” Her voice trembled. She felt the ghost of her skin molt from its gooseflesh covering. The floor at one end of the hall now lay blanketed with tons of slithering, and hissing serpents. She did an odd running-in-place/tap dance motion and lost her footing landing on her ass with a thump. Something fuzzy scuttled across her right hand; something small landed on her head–she could feel it creeping through her hair. Another thing fluttered down the side of her face, passed her neck and fell between her breasts, landing on her bare thigh.

Cockroach!

A number of the crawling bugs began pelting her head from above, like an insectophobic’s worst nightmare. When the hallway lights died, Rhiannon screamed.

…..

Timothy stood cloaked in the darkness (he’d invited) at the end of the corridor. The girl’s screams were delicious, spilling terror into the world. Along the hall, doors began to open, voices–confused and frightened–filled the spaces between the girl’s shrill cries. Under the cover of total blackness, Timothy stepped forward, salivating over the carnage he had in mind.

“Hello,
ma’am?”
One male voice said.

The inquiring guest was followed by more.

“Hey, what the hell? Anyone know what’s going on?”

“Hello? Who’s there?”

Timothy planned to deal with each of them accordingly.

“Eeek! I think there’s a snake in the hall,” a woman screamed.

His manifestations served their courage-crippling purpose. With an unmatched grace and swiftness he stepped to the first open door. The man inside stood there wielding an ironing board like a weapon; his eyes squinted above a large, prominent nose. Timothy grabbed the edge of the full-sized board and slammed it through the man’s neck. Before the man could yelp, his decapitated head rolled down the board and thudded against the door frame. His body fell back into the room. A woman with a smoker’s rasp, shouted about calling the cops. She barely had time to register his frozen presence–her throat was slit in one quick swipe from Timothy’s razor sharp fingernails. He continued toward Rhiannon–his scream queen. Timothy gripped his bone thin fingers in the mop of a man’s hair asking what was going on. He tore the scalp from the jostling guy and sent him back into his room screaming then slammed the door shut. The man’s pain and terror continued behind the closed door.  The woman who had scrambled out into the hallway squawking about the snake was lifted inches off the ground and smacked like a ragdoll from one wall to the other–her neck snapped on the second hit. One woman fell in the blackness, knocking herself unconscious on a luggage holder. A young gentleman ran for the stairwell and directly into Timothy–his neck twisted in milliseconds, his body, tossed aside. At the height of confusion, Timothy re-lit the corridor, landing a spotlight upon his sixty-second massacre. Bodies lay in various states of murder. The spiders, roaches, and snakes were no longer there. The front desk girl was on her feet and rushing away from him. He took a deep breath and used his powers to pull another portrait from the opposite end of the hall. He smiled as it flew at her head.

…..

Rhiannon caught a portrait out of her peripheral vision, and instinctively raised her left arm to cushion the blow. The frame stopped in mid-air, sat suspended, inches from her arm, and fell to the floor. Rhiannon reached the stairwell door, too frazzled to try to comprehend what the hell had just happened. She bolted down the stairs with visions of bugs and blood crawling through her mind.

Chapter Three

Lee rushed into the room, found the light switch where it should have been, and flicked it on. The room was spotless, untouched. He searched for the body, for signs of a struggle, for blood, but found none.

“Christ,” he said, placing his hands on his hips. Movement in the floor length mirror on the closet door to his right caught his eye. He spun around, shocked to find the images in the mirror moving with a noticeable fluidity, like the tide coming in. The demon was still here, but it was not as strong.
Maybe it’s farther away, maybe…it’s weakened
, he thought. The sliver of hope was grabbed by the throat–the mirror’s reflection brought him back to his twelfth birthday….

Lee’s
grandfather had come early in the morning to take him out for his present. Lee loved his grandfather, but had been annoyed with being taken away from his Saturday morning cartoons, especially to be dragged out into the cold. His grandfather brought him to the old abandoned family home two towns over. His grandfather still owned the three-story house, though after Lee’s grandmother’s passing, the old man left, claiming there were too many ghosts there to live with. On the drive over, he confessed to Lee that there were indeed spirits residing in and around the property and that he wanted to share a special part of his life with his grandson. In the basement of the abandoned family home, Lee’s grandfather introduced him to the ways of the shaman. It was there that Lee reconnected with the spirit of his deceased grandmother. That was the first time he felt the power stir to life within him. Delivering him the wooden pendent, his grandmother’s spirit spoke words he never forgot:
This is pure love, the liberation from one’s concepts of this world, and the introduction to another…

Standing before the perversion reflecting back at him from the hotel room mirror, Lee felt his stomach turn. He thought of his books, his gigs, and the Hollywood-version of shamanism he’d sold to pad his bank account. A shroud of guilt and shame weighed on him like stones at the bottom of a lake over what he’d done with his grandparent’s gift.

Lee stood, shoulders slumped, listening to the rotten flesh-covered version of his grandfather in the mirror. The old man’s eyes were black holes filled with despair and regret. His mouth spewed crawling worms, his words hitting Lee like body shots from a heavyweight fighter.

“You are a disgrace to the Buhl shaman who came before you. You are a disappointment to these old eyes, to this old spirit,” the image said.

“I, I…” Lee began.

“
You
are empty,” his grandfather said. Worms, tumbled from his disintegrating jaw and fell down to the ice-covered pond beneath his feet. One of the old man’s hands detached from his arm with a soft tearing, like an old piece of fabric being pulled apart. An ear came loose next, falling to his grandfather’s wrinkled, bare chest, before slapping the ice at his feet with a wet thud. Two red eyes, surrounded by a head of dark, curly hair, appeared over the shoulder of his grandfather’s crumbling spirit.  A skeletal hand reached out from the red-eyed demon, touched the glass, causing a rippling effect before passing through the barrier and into the hotel room.

Lee felt the penetrating cold return; his heart–bruised and quiet, like an abused child–wanted to give in. He couldn’t take his eyes from his grandfather–the perversion of the man he’d loved broke apart and fell like ashes in the night. Something singed his chest. Lee looked down expecting to see the death-touch of the thing left standing where his grandfather’s spirit had been, but found the figurine he kept on his necklace throbbing with life. He heard his grandmother repeat what she told him on his twelfth birthday in the basement of the old house:
“This is pure love, the liberation from one’s concepts of this world, and the introduction to another.
You
must be of the light, and through this light, through this love, defeat all evil before you.”

Lee wrapped his hands around the wooden pendent. “Come to light, demon spirit. Come to light, and be absolved of your burdens. Come to light, demon spirit, and be redeemed in love.” Lee spoke the words he declared to many an empty home, empty hotel, time and time again, but with a spiritual resonance exiled since his youth. His ancestral calling beat within.

The mirror with the red-eyed creature splintered. The demon in retreat departed with a final blast of arctic air, lifting Lee from the floor and casting him backward. The back of his head slammed against the wall, his hands fell from the pendent and everything went black.

…..

Sarah had underestimated the shaman’s power. Not her fault–even the fool had been oblivious to the strengths he possessed. No matter. She would arrange a meeting between him and her Timothy. She had another reunion of sorts in store for the blood-covered girl from the front desk racing down the stairs.

The Ice Queen slammed the door behind her, locking the shaman in to await his fate.

Chapter Four

Rhiannon slipped down the final steps on blood-covered sneakers, grasping the rail in time to counter her body’s lack of balance. She wasn’t about to become easy prey for the creep pursuing her. She crept forward, hunched over, her hair heavy with the coppery perfume of death and matted to her cheeks. Eyes darting left to right, lips trembling, hands shaking, she moved through the doorframe–an EXIT sign screamed of salvation, like the old neon Jesus Saves sign that hung over shelters in the dystopian films she used to watch with her cousin Jeanann. She reached out and shoved the chrome push bar on the door–it wouldn’t budge.

Broken by the moment, Rhiannon laid her crimson-painted forehead to the glass and cried. Some part of her knew she had to move to survive; another part of her acknowledged the emotional break and found something in her sorrow cathartic. All her years of playing the tough girl, staying in control, maintaining the shield of a once-wounded child, all wanted to follow and flow through this invisible opening. She knew she should try to find another way out, but she could not pull herself away from the locked door.

A voice down the corridor did it for her.

“Rhiannon…”

“
Kurt?”
she said, stepping into the hallway. She felt stupid saying his name out loud, but couldn’t deny the voice. Her bewildered mind demanded she be open to anything.

“Rhiannon,” he said again. His voice was muffled. Moving down the hallway glancing at the carpet for any signs of the blood from the upper floor, she heard movement behind the closest door.

“
Kurt?”
There was no answer. She reached for the door handle.

What if he really is here? Impossible. But what if…

Her hand was inches from the handle when the door opened. On the other side was the hospital room where she’d abandoned her friend. Kurt lay perfectly still on the hospital bed, his skin pale and bloodless. Rhiannon’s feet carried her inside. A grey tiled floor–cold and somehow threatening–led her to his bedside. The inner voice trying to shout about impossibilities was drowned by the hope in her heart. His eyes were closed. She reached out and placed her bloody hand on his face. His skin was cold.

“What happened to you?” she said.

Kurt’s baby blue eyes opened, swimming with a hollow mix of what was and all that would never be. Her lips quivered as tears leaked from the corners of his eyes. Her heart had only felt this bruised the day her deadbeat father gave up his parental rights. She leaned forward, placed her head on Kurt’s chest and sobbed on his hospital jonnie. Worried she might make him more uncomfortable she rose, ready to wipe the tears from her cheeks. A hand–cold as Death’s–clenched her wrist.

The door behind her slammed shut.

…..

Jeff opened his eyes to find himself right where he thought he would–in the pool room. The lights were brighter than they should be or he was suffering from a concussion. He found a large lump on the back of his head, pulled away his fingers and saw blood. He remembered entering the room, chasing after Meghan, and then, nothing.
Lee?
Where was Lee? He remembered Lee yelling not to follow her.

Jeff climbed to his feet, his balance unsteady. His head throbbed as he worked his way to the door. A bout of nausea gripped him, dropping him down on one knee. The vomit splashed the floor adding another not-so-pleasant odor to the room. After a moment, he got back up and continued forward.

Someone passed behind the glass in the door, heading down the hallway. He could have sworn it was Meghan. He got to the door and tried the handle. It wouldn’t move.

Just great. Lee, where the hell are you?

“Jeffrey,” the voice said.

He turned around faster than his aching head could appreciate and stumbled to the right using the wall for support. Meghan stood in the water, naked, beckoning to him.

“That’s not her,”
Lee’s voice screamed in his mind.

“I’ve been waiting for this moment,” she said. “And besides, I’m not sure how many more opportunities we’re going to get.”

He couldn’t find his tongue. His eyes, straining from the sharp lights around the pool, couldn’t resist her body. The tops of her breasts were peaking up from the water, calling to part of him in their own come-and-get-it kind of way.

No. It can’t be her. None of this is right.

“We’ve both made a lot of promises, spoken or otherwise, that we’ve not kept. I’m probably the worst of the two of us, but I’m hoping you’ll let me make things up to you,” she said, swimming toward him.

“I can’t, I, I have to work–”

“I don’t think so.” She reached the edge of the pool. “I think after tonight you’re probably going to need a new job…you and that little friend of yours.”

Rhiannon.

He moved back toward the door watching as the Meghan-thing placed her hands on the concrete lip of the pool and pulled her nude form into full view. His hand searching the door behind him found a frozen handle.

“I want you, Jeffrey.” Her hands rubbed her breasts, moved to her pale brown areolas and pinched her nipples before sliding down the rest of her tight body. “Take me, right here, right now.”

He watched her hands with the awe of a kid half his thirty-five years. He tried to pull his hand from the frozen knob, but couldn’t.

“You really don’t have much of a choice in the matter.” She stepped up to him, her breasts pressing into his chest. She grabbed his crotch and placed her lips to his neck. “You might as well make the most of this night,” she whispered moving up to his ear, “it’s your last.”

Ignoring her groping hand and soft lips against his skin, he tried to turn the handle again to no avail. He was trapped in here with this thing, this ghost.

“Oh, Jeffrey, sweet Jeffrey,” she said, stroking his hair. “I’m much more than that.”

Her grip on him tightened. “Ahhh,” he cried, his voice echoing in the great acoustic room.

“Now, I told you to join me in the pool, and I expect nothing less.”

The flesh of his palm tore from his hand as the Meghan-thing ripped him free and dragged him by the front of his pants to the water’s edge. Her mouth locked onto his, her tongue entering like a snake, dancing with his own in some hypnotic embrace. His mind and body were sluggish, his thoughts slow. Everything became perfectly clear as her teeth bit through his tongue and the awful taste of iron filled his mouth. He pulled a way, managing a couple steps back. His screams brought a smile across her bloody maw. She spit his tongue onto the floor then reached out and tossed him into the pool.