The Ghosts of Lakeforth Hotel Read online

  Adjusting my grip on the piece of wood, I take a step forward, but I immediately feel a burning sensation in my chest. Looking down, I'm finally able to see that there's a thick patch of blood on the front of my torn shirt, and it's clear that some of the fabric has become stuck to the wound. I try to pull the shirt free, but I feel a tearing pain that forces me to stop.

  I'll deal with the wound later. Right now, it's a miracle I can move at all, and I intend to make full use of that miracle.

  “Okay then, asshole,” I mutter, raising the piece of wood as if it's a baseball bat and starting to make my way toward the door. “Let's see what you're made of. You'll only get one chance, though, 'cause I've gotta warn you... I'm gonna fight back, and I'm not gonna stop until one of us is out cold on the floor. Or worse. Do you really think you've got the balls to take me?”

  I'm trying to goad him into making the first move, but so far he seems to be holding firm. As I get closer and closer to the door, I find myself wondering whether he's already left, although I know I can't afford to make any assumptions. Finally, once I'm so close that I have no other options, I decide to see if I can trick him into striking out. I turn the piece of wood in my hands, and then I briefly flash it forward through the doorway, hoping that Steve will be tricked into attacking.

  Nothing.

  Lunging forward, I let out a cry as I swing the wood, but I quickly slam into the opposite wall and then turn to find that Steve is nowhere to be seen.

  “Where the hell are you?” I mutter, figuring that he must have backed away after opening the door. I was trying to make him angry when I suggested he was a coward, but now I'm starting to think I might have been right.

  Turning, I start making my way along the corridor, heading toward the top of the stairs. If I just -

  Suddenly I feel someone bump against me from behind. I turn and swing the piece of wood, but there's no sign of anyone and I simply hit the wall as I take a step back. My heart is racing and I look both ways along the corridor, but I know nobody could have touched me and then run away so quickly. It's impossible.

  “Keep your head together!” I mutter as I once again start walking slowly toward the top of the stairs. I listen out for any hint of movement, for anything that suggests Steve might be nearby, but so far the hotel seems completely silent.

  I want to call out to Annie, but I don't dare.

  She's alive, though.

  She has to be.

  By the time I get to the far end of the dark corridor and look down the stairs toward the next level, I'm starting to wonder whether Steve might have left. After all, if he thinks I'm safely secured, he might have had enough confidence to go away from the hotel for a few hours. I can't even begin to imagine what he could be doing, but I don't think this is the right time to worry about second-guessing this maniac.

  I have to get out of here, reach the road and run. And then I have to not look back until I find help.

  For the next few minutes, I make my way cautiously down several sets of stairs, constantly stopping to make sure that Steve can't sneak up on me. The lights are all off in the hotel, so I can barely see where I'm going, and all these zig-zag-carpeted corridors are starting to look the same. At least the place is quiet, though, so I can listen out for even the slightest hint that Steve is getting closer. Whatever he's up to right now, it seems to have been keeping him busy, and hopefully he won't be done for a little while longer.

  Reaching the top of the stairs that lead down into the lobby, however, I have to stop for a moment and lean against a wall. I'm starting to feel dizzy, and sweat is running down my forehead. The wound on my chest seems to be getting very warm, and I'm more convinced than ever that I'm running out of time. Sooner or later, the blood-loss alone is going to knock me out.

  Stepping forward, I start making my way down the grand staircase, only for my right leg to suddenly buckle when I'm about halfway. Letting out a gasp, I try to steady myself against the banister, but I'm too late and I quickly tumble down the stairs, landing in a crumpled heap at the bottom. For a moment, I feel as if I might not be able to get up again, but somehow I manage to start forcing myself to my feet. My right ankle was hurt in the fall, but I push through the pain and turn toward the main doors.

  And that's when I see the set of bones in a glass case.

  Horrified, I limp forward, staring at what appears to be a bare human skeleton encased in some kind of resin slab. As I get closer, I realize that the bones are a little small, perhaps belonging to a child, and finally I stop at the front of the case and stare up at the skull. Two empty eye sockets stare back at me, while the jaw bone is hanging down a little in a silent scream. After a moment, I see that one of the girl's hands only has three fingers.

  “Mary Maywhistle.”

  Gasping, I turn and see Steve sitting on the floor at the far side of the room. He immediately gets to his feet, although he takes only a single step forward before stopping again.

  “Isn't she beautiful?” he continues, with a hint of awe in his voice. “I had to have her remains disinterred from a cemetery in London. It wasn't quite official, but one can get away with these things in the middle of the night. The poor girl had lain there for more than half a century, rotting in her coffin. Turns out, Mr. Jobard Nash had paid for a full funeral back in the day. Out of guilt, perhaps, or maybe he just wanted to make sure she was safely down in the ground. Whatever. She's here now, where she belongs.”

  Turning back to look up at the set of bones, I finally take a step back.

  “I've been planning ahead,” Steve continues. “I had Mary and a few others delivered not long ago. She's part of the hotel's story, after all. I might be wrong, but I think the ghost of Jobard Nash has been reaching out to me over the years, subtly guiding me to make sure that I reach this point.”

  Hearing footsteps behind me, I turn and watch as he makes his way to a large crate next to the dining room door. Reaching up, he loosens a panel and lets it swing down until it crashes against the marble floor, revealing another set of bones in a case. This time, the bones have a lot of meat left on them, along with a full head of hair, and the corpse seems to be dressed in some kind of dark suit.

  “The great Jobard Nash,” Steve explains proudly. “Again, raised from a grave. This one was a little more difficult to access, since he'd had himself placed in a kind of mausoleum, but I found some men who got the job done. He rested in peace for ten years, but I think that was quite enough peace. I'm sure that he, of all people, would appreciate the need for him to come back to Lakeforth and take his rightful place. He's another very important part of the hotel's history.”

  He stares at the preserved body for a moment, before turning to me.

  “Are you speechless?” he says with a faint smile. “I'll take that as a compliment.”

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” I stammer.

  “Wrong?”

  “Are these real?” I ask. “Are these bodies real?”

  “Of course. I'm not in the business of exhibiting fakes.”

  “Where's my sister?”

  “Beth, you -”

  “Where's Annie?” I scream. “What have you done to her?”

  “Try to calm down.”

  “Where the hell is my sister?” I sneer, limping toward him. “What have you done to her?”

  “There seems to be something nasty in the swimming pool,” he replies. “That was a surprise, I have to admit. I can only assume that long ago, Jobard Nash had someone buried down there, under the foundations. I need to think carefully about what I do there, because I don't want my live guests getting -”

  “Where's my sister?” I shout, with tears in my eyes. “Answer me, you asshole, or I swear to God I'll make you pay!”

  “She's dead, obviously,” he mutters. “It's okay, I can incorporate her into everything else. I'm very good at thinking on my feet.”

  Stopping just a few feet from him, I tell myself that he's lying. He has to be. Maybe he thinks A
nnie is dead, but she's way too smart to let some idiot kill her. She'll have found a way to get out of here. She's probably already going for help.

  “You look so lost and confused,” he says after a moment. “So scared. That's okay, Beth. It's a lot to take in.”

  I turn and take a step toward the main door, but he quickly moves to block me.

  “Wise move,” he continues, as I start backing away. “Look around, Beth. Look at this place. Any other man in the whole world would be hell-bent on renovating the Lakeforth, on returning it to its former glory. They'd be planning a whole new marble floor, and a new chandelier, and vast, sumptuous displays of excess. They'd want to cover the cracks of the past and pretend all those awful things never happened. But not me. The way I see it, this hotel is now perfect. The richest, the wealthiest people in the world are going to flock here. Not despite the history of the place, but because of it.”

  I watch as he heads over to yet another large crate. He loosens the front and lets it fall down, revealing yet another set of bones. This body has some meat left too, and I can tell from the tattered remains of a dress that it belonged to a woman. There's a rope around its rotten neck, too, like some kind of noose.

  “A theatrical touch that I'm still not too sure about,” Steve explains. “This is Ellen Nash, nee Carpenter. She was married to Jobard for a while, but eventually she hung herself at a psychiatric hospital in London. I tracked down her nephew and niece, whose mother Eve is said to have told them all about poor Ellen's troubles. It seems that being the wife of Jobard Nash, and living here at the hotel, drove her quite insane. I felt a little bad, bringing her body back, but the exhibition would be incomplete without her.”

  “Why are you doing this?” I ask, as he starts coming closer.

  “Beth -”

  Instinctively, I hold up the broken section of wood. I might not be able to hide the fact that my hands are trembling, but I'm pretty sure I can still swing this thing at him.

  He smiles. “Beth, really. What do you think that can do to me?”

  “It's worth a shot,” I mutter darkly.

  “This hotel is haunted,” he continues. “It's been haunted for years. The ghost of a sweet, kind young girl named Ruth Maywhistle has been seen on several occasions. Except, she's not sweet and kind. Not anymore. No, it seems the manner of her death changed her, as did years and years of wandering the hotel and its grounds. Apparently a good person can become a perfectly wretched, evil ghost, so long as the conditions are right. A sweet little girl, if murdered in a certain manner, can become a vengeful, murderous spirit. How much money do you think the wealthiest people will pay, in order to spend even one night in a house that is genuinely proven to be haunted? Provided certain safeguards are in place, of course.”

  “Stay back!” I yell, holding the piece of wood up higher as he takes another step toward me.

  “I'm not going to hurt you,” he continues, holding his hands up as if in surrender. “I'm showing you what I'm going to create here. And when we're married, our little zoo of ghosts will -”

  “Go to hell!” I shout.

  He laughs.

  “You're completely out of your mind,” I continue, backing away as he steps closer. “Do you really think you can get away with digging up bodies and putting them on display? I'm going to find out what you've really done to my sister and -”

  “Oh, I can show you that,” he replies, hurrying to the far side of the room, where another crate waits under a sheet. “I was just waiting for the right moment. A spot of showmanship.”

  “No,” I whisper, stepping forward. “Please -”

  Before I can finish, he pulls the sheet away, revealing not a crate but a large glass case. Horrified, I see Annie's body suspended in some kind of clear liquid. Dropping the piece of wood, I hurry over to help her, but by the time I reach her I can tell it's too late. Her dead eyes are wide open, staring out from the case, and there are thick scratches all down her neck and chest. Her hair is suspended above her head, caught in whatever viscous liquid was poured into the case, and there are just a few tiny air bubbles clinging to the side of her bloodied jaw. She looks as if she's been suspended in time, and there's a hint of shock in her dead eyes as they stare out at me.

  “Preserved in formaldehyde,” Steve explains calmly. “Well, formaldehyde and a petroleum reduction, anyway. I came well-prepared. With so many bones on display, I think it'll really liven the place up to have a body with all its meat still attached.”

  “Annie, please,” I stammer, placing a hand on the glass as I stare up into her lifeless eyes. “Please, no...”

  I wait, but deep down I know it's too late. This isn't some dummy or mock-up. This is really all that's left of my sister.

  “As I said earlier,” Steve continues, sounding a little proud of his work, “her ghost seems to have faded away now. Evidently that happens with some people. For all her noise and commotion when she was alive, it turns out that her spirit was rather weak. I guess her ghost won't be part of the hotel's collection, but that was never part of the original plan anyway. I truly didn't mean to hurt Annie, but you're the one who insisted on inviting her along on our little trip. Now that she's dead, I can't waste her body and just -”

  “Go to hell!” I scream, stumbling to my feet and lunging at him.

  “Beth, please...”

  Grabbing me by the throat, he holds me back as I try to scratch his face.

  “You're a murderer!” I shout.

  “Beth, calm down. I don't hit women, but -”

  “You won't get away with this!”

  Throwing my full weight at him, I slam him against the wall, but he manages to keep hold of my throat.

  “Beth! Please! I don't hit women! Try to -”

  “You're going to rot in jail!” I hiss. “You're -”

  Suddenly he punches me, slamming his fist against the side of my face with such force that I stumble back. I immediately try to lunge at him, but he punches me again and this time I fall back, slumping against the marble floor. The pain is so intense, I feel as if my entire jaw is shuddering.

  “Are you happy now?” he asks, sounding a little annoyed. “I don't hit women, Beth, but you really need to calm down. This is happening whether you like it or not!”

  As he steps past me and makes his way back across the lobby, I look up again at Annie's suspended body, and I feel tears running down my face as I see her dead features. Crawling over to the case, I stare at her eyes, and I see faint clouds of smoky blood frozen in the formaldehyde. She's been trapped like an insect in amber, and it's all my fault. I should never have let her come on this trip, I should have dragged her from the car when she insisted. I'm older than her. If I'd been firm, she'd still be safe at home.

  “I'm sorry,” I sob, reaching up and placing my hand on the front of the case, as close to hers as I can manage. “Annie, I'm so sorry. I should never have let you come.”

  “And this is my main exhibit!” Steve calls out from far behind me, accompanied by the sound of another crate being opened. “The piece de resistance, if you like. The crowning glory. All the others are perhaps mostly for show, but this final item is what will set my hotel apart from all the others. This is going to make sure that the place is truly haunted.”

  Wiping tears from my eyes, I turn and see that this time he's unveiled some kind of large cage, with thick silver bars. There's something inside the cage, something slumped on a plinth. It takes a moment before I realize that it's yet another dead body.

  “Well?” Steve asks, as I stumble to my feet. “Aren't you going to come and take a closer look? You're very lucky to be getting a sneak preview, Beth.”

  Limping toward him, I peer at the cage and see that there's another body on a kind of raised white pedestal. The body is dark and rotten, although after a moment I realize I can just about make out a patch of dark hair at one end, along with the pale, partially-decayed flesh of an arm. A faint, yellowish line of liquid has run down one end of the p
edestal, as if something is slowly oozing from the corpse.

  “Forgive the smell,” Steve continues, stepping back proudly. “The high clay content in the lake's water preserved the body to some degree, but not entirely. I'm going to have her properly fixed soon, so that she won't deteriorate. Then again, perhaps the smell will be part of the fascination. I'm sure people will flock to see her. After all, she's the centerpiece of the entire show, and it's her ghost that haunts the corridors and rooms of the hotel, not to mention the dark forest beyond.”

  Stunned, I reach the bars and look through, and finally I see the decomposing body of a little girl.

  “If one wants a haunted hotel,” Steve says after a moment, “one needs to keep one's ghosts hungry. Not dangerous, but hungry. And I think little Ruth Maywhistle is going to be very hungry indeed.”

  “You can't be serious,” I whisper. “This is monstrous.”

  In the distance, there's a faint bumping sound, coming from far off in the building.

  “Did you hear that?” Steve asks suddenly, turning and looking past me. “I think she's close.”

  Too horrified to even move, I continue to stare at the dead little girl. I can just about see the side of her face, with pale, rotten flesh still clinging in places to the bones. Her mouth is slightly open, revealing a row of stained teeth.

  “From what I can tell,” Steve explains, “little Ruth has spent several decades haunting the hotel, begging people to raise her body from the lake and reunite her with her sister Mary. Well, I've done both those things for her, although somehow I doubt she'll be happy. Be careful what you wish for, eh?”

  In the distance, there's another faint bump, as if someone slammed a door in a corridor somewhere above us.