The Haunted Halls (2 page)

Chapter Two

“I don’t know what to tell you. I stepped into the room and the light wasn’t on. That weirded me out enough, but I could see my breath.  It was cold, like winter cold.”

“You heard what they said happened here, didn’t you?” Shannon said.

“Something about a guy having a heart attack in the pool?” Jenna said.

Rhiannon stood just inside the door to the laundry room after using the employee bathroom. Jenna and Shannon’s conversation about shadows and cold spots–a bunch of nonsense some of the housekeeping staff indulged their wild imaginations in–caught her attention. Being the new front desk girl, and admittedly not the most social butterfly amongst the female employees, most of whom talked about drinking and fucking and what happened last night on Teen Mom, Rhiannon had to eavesdrop for any gossip not pertaining to the aforementioned backwoods slut talk. She didn’t believe in ghosts, but this was at least halfway interesting.

“Well, yeah, but you know
why
he had a heart attack?”

“He was outta shape?”

“I don’t know about that, but I overheard Carla telling Pauline she thought it was the ghost.”

“Fuck you, Shan. You’re just trying to freak me out.”

“No shit. Carla said she’d felt it too. She said she’d been cleaning rooms and had to step out because it got cold all of a sudden, and that sometimes she thinks somebody’s watching her.”

“Oh yeah? And what did Pauline say to that?”

“She told her not to be so superstitious. That the hotel isn’t haunted.”

“Well, there you go.”

Rhiannon heard the door to the laundry room open with a loud clack. She quickly stepped back into the bathroom, flushed the toilet and walked back out pretending she’d been in there the entire time. Carla was giving the gossip girls the business.

“You two in here just jibber-jabberin’?”

“No we were just–”

“You get all the rooms down here finished already?”

“No, we still have a few–”

“I didn’t think so. Now get your butts back out here and hurry it up. We got a full house tonight.”

Rhiannon stepped around the corner and past the two girls with ugly faces.

“Hey there, Rhiannon, how are you doin’ today?” Carla said.

“Pretty good. We’ve already had some people checking in early though.”

Jenna walked between them, followed by Shannon. Shannon shot her a nasty “thanks for piling it on” look. Rhiannon smiled back. She wasn’t really friends with any of the females outside of Pauline the general manager and Carla. She mostly talked to Kurt, who worked second shift, and the overnight guy, Jeff. Keeping company with the boys rather than the catty girls didn’t do much for her reputation here either, but she didn’t really give a shit.

“Well, we’ll get the rest of those rooms ready for ya then. Back to the grind.”

Rhiannon followed the wider woman out the door and into the hallway. Normally Carla could be heard swishing down the hall singing some oldies tune or another. Today, she was all business and that’s what the girls were getting an earful of on their way back to their duties.

Back at the front desk, Rhiannon sipped her coffee (no cream, one sugar) clicked through some Facebook messages from her friend Angela who had left for college in New York this week, and waited for Kurt to arrive. He was due in half an hour. They had started at the hotel together two months before right after the body was found in the brand new swimming pool. She thought for sure that Kurt was going to ask her out, but so far that hadn’t happened. She was independent and forward with most things, but something she’d never shaken was the idea that a guy should make the first move. It sounded stupid even in her head, but it’s one of those, maybe the only, old-fashion things that she chose to cling to.

Kurt was sweet and cute. He played in a band and was constantly talking music. He was really into the sugary, bubble-gummy power pop stuff, bands like the Pick-up Sticks and The Connection. She preferred her music with more teeth, edgier punk/ alterative stuff like L7, The Explosion, or the Sex Pistols. But Kurt’s love for all things rock ‘n’ roll was infectious. She could listen to him wax poetic on everyone from Elvis Costello to the Beatles to Green Day. He had an amazing smile and a cool fro-like hairdo that seemed to fit his personality perfectly.  and with Angela gone, Kurt was the closest thing she had to a best friend here.

Her parents lived in Farmington, where they tried to convince her to go to school. Instead, she and Angela migrated toward Hollis Oakes, a slightly bigger city than Farmington, yet still smaller than Portland or Bangor. Their two bedroom apartment already seemed filled with shadows where Angela’s stuff had been. Mr. Mittens, Rhiannon’s black tabby, was the only comfort she had left. She planned on going to school at some point, but she wasn’t feeling it just yet. She really dug her job at the Bruton Inn and would have been lying if she said Kurt had nothing to do with her decision to hang around a while longer.

Right on cue, he came through the front lobby doors snapping his fingers.

“Heeey Rhiannon, what’s up?”

“Not much. Just a shit ton of arrivals tonight.”

“Oh hey, I have something for you.” She watched him reach inside his jean jacket pocket and pull out a cassette tape. “I thought I remembered you saying you still had a Walkman?”

“Yep.” She’d shared that nugget of nostalgic info in their very first conversation during a lunch break. He was going on about classic albums on vinyl; she confessed her own precious caveman device, a waterproof, yellow Sony Walkman. She’d started collecting cassette tapes, two for a dollar, at a local music store called, Bullmoose Music.

“Here.” Kurt’s cheeks reddened as he handed her a mixtape. Her heart fluttered. The tape was labeled on the spine, “Rhiannon’s Cool Kicks.”  She ran down the track list and found tons of stuff she loved: Joan Jett and the Blackhearts, The Ramones, Fugazi, and even some Dylan and Beatles.

“Aw, thanks, Kurt.” She felt her face flush with warmth and tucked a long strand of dark hair behind her ear. “This is so cool. I can’t wait to check it out. First thing I’m gonna do when I get home.”

“Cool, I’ve been taking mental notes in our conversations. I hope I got most of your favorites on there.”

“Yeah, definitely. What’s that?” He held some magazines under one of his arms.

“Oh, I brought in the new Rolling Stone, new Q, and a cool KISS comic I found at Vintage Hannah’s for Jeff.”

“You boys and your comics.”

“Well, I picked it up more because it’s KISS, but they had two copies, so I snatched one for me, one for him.” He set them down beside the front desk computer. “I’m gonna go get changed.”

Rhiannon watched him bebop down the hallway. She looked at the cassette again. It’d been a while, maybe since sophomore year, since a boy had made her a mixtape. She was surprised to feel the same love-buzz course through her at the mere thought of it. The phone rang. She put the TDK-labeled plastic relic down next to her computer and answered it.

The rest of the night was full of check-ins and phone calls. She and Kurt were right out straight until 9 PM, then with all but two guests in, things died down. She confessed being tired and Kurt told her she could head out an hour early. As much as she wanted to hang with him, she really was worn out from the hectic night—plus, she wanted to listen to his tape.

She cranked a new CD as she drove the back roads into town. She wished her car had a tape deck, but she had no idea how to install one. It took her twenty minutes to get to her place. The apartment sat in darkness. She usually left the light over the kitchen sink on, but must have flicked it off when she did the dishes that afternoon before heading to work.

“The light wasn’t on, which weirded me out enough… it was cold, like winter cold.”

“Carla thought it was the ghost…”

  Goose bumps broke over Rhiannon’s arms as Shannon and Jenna’s dumb ghost conversation replayed in her head.

She pushed past her irrational fear, pulled out her keys, and opened the door.  A quick flip of the switch by the wall and light flooded the room. Mr. Mittens mewled at her and ran over to rub against her legs.

“Hello, Mr. Mittens.” She picked up the cat and closed the door. The apartment was far from cold. The heat from the day clung to each of the apartment’s small rooms. She walked down to her bedroom, turned the light on, and cranked the box fan by her bed. She set Mr. Mittens on her comforter and crossed the room to the yellow Walkman atop her burrow.

Slipping out of her work pants, she folded them and placed them back in the bottom drawer, grabbed some cotton pajama bottoms from the next drawer up and slipped into a large worn-in Patriots t-shirt she’d stolen from her dad. After dropping the mixtape and the Walkman on the bed next to Mr. Mittens, who was already curled up and sleeping, Rhiannon went out to the kitchen, grabbed a glass of water and shut the house down for the night.

Tucked in bed, headphones on, Mr. Mittens by her side and the fan blowing full steam at her, she hit play and let Kurt’s Rhiannon-ready playlist sing her to sleep.

She dreamt of the cold pool room and a girl with curly hair.

Chapter Three

“Thank you so very much for all that you’ve done for us.” Ms. Caroline Philips looked from Lee’s eyes to her three cohorts, Ester, Lizzy, and Linda who sat nodding from their regular perches on the porch to The East Wind House.

“Ah, Ms. Philips, it’s my pleasure. I’m just happy to help you ladies get some peace and quiet at this gorgeous property.” Lee gleamed his charm toward her and her flock and graciously accepted her check for three thousand dollars. Her “evil spirits” were cast back to the dark side. The inn was clear and ready for business again.  The “spirits” that brought such stress and fright to the little old lady brigade had been nothing more than creaks and moans of an old place combined with a healthy dose of too much TV and Lee suspected a confusion of medications on the part of at least two of the four women.  He’d seen it before and couldn’t wait to see it again. Easy money.

“Where are you off to next?” Ester asked from the little wicker couch next to the screen door.

“Heading inland to do a couple of book signings. I think a city called Hollis Oaks is next on the list.”

“Oh, that’s a nice little town. You have a safe journey, Mr. Buhl. And thank you from each and every one of us.”

“Thanks, Ester.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay with us for another evening? It’s a good little haul from here to Hollis Oaks?” Caroline said.

“Quite certain, Ms. Philips. It has been a pleasure, as I said, but I have a pretty tight schedule to keep and I always like to get settled into my next hotel the day before an event. Good to get in and do a nice spiritual cleansing before starting a new adventure.”

“Oh, of course, dear.”

Lee nodded to each of the ladies, kissed the back of Ms. Philips’s hand, and made his way down the porch steps and to his car. They bid him farewell from the breathtaking white, wrap-around porch. The check in his pocket was all the appreciation he needed.

He climbed into his Mazda Shinari and waved as he drove away. He’d been taking on clients as an Urban Shaman for the last four-and-a-half years. The “cleansings” brought in a good chunk of change, but it was the series of books,
Paranormal Experiences through the Eyes of the Urban Shaman
, written about those jobs that really filled the bank. The East Wind House would fit lovely in his current book:
Paranormal Experiences through the Eyes of the Urban Shaman: Ghosts by the Sea.
He had already begun Ms. Philips’s entry last night, being sure to add a plethora of sinister voices and ghastly shadows trying to shoo him away. The piece could be finished tonight if he got into town early enough. Hollis Oakes was about an hour and twenty minutes inland. He could make it in half that. Lee turned up the classic rock station on the radio and pressed the pedal toward the floor.

Less than a minute down the road, blue lights shined in his rearview mirror.

He pulled the car over to the shoulder and waited for the State Trooper to come say hello. Lee grabbed a couple copies of the latest in his Urban Shaman series,
Deep Woods
, and set them on his lap.

“Evening, sir,” the officer said. “License and registration.”

“Hello, Officer. Let me grab the registration for you.” He picked up the books and placed them on the dash and watched the trooper eyeing them. “Here you go.” Lee handed him the requested credentials.

Officer Betts checked out the license and then motioned to the dash. “You write those books?”

“Yes, sir. I’m actually on my way inland to do a signing tonight. Running a bit behind. I got caught up at the East Wind House doing some research for the next one.”

The trooper handed him his information. “Be much obliged if you’d sign a copy of one of those for me. The wife loves a good ghost story. Stephen King’s her favorite.”

“I’m sure he is. I’d be more than happy to extend a free copy to you and…”

“Bethany.” The trooper said.

“Absolutely.” Lee pulled his pen from his shirt pocket and flipped inside the front cover: To Bethany, Happy Hauntings!–Lee

“Here you go.”

“Thank you, Mr. Buhl. Now you just try and keep it under seventy, okay? I’m sure you’ve got fans who’d like to see you arrive in one piece tonight.”

“I’m sure. Thank you, Officer.”

“You have a good day.” Officer Betts tipped his hat to Lee and patted the book in his hands.  Worked every time. Lee nodded in return and pulled back onto the road. He’d make up the lost time once Officer Betts was long gone.

Forty minutes later, he passed the
Welcome to Hollis Oakes
sign. The big green billboard featured two wolves on a mountain top howling at a full, yellow moon. Wolves always made Lee think about his grandparents; wolves were their spirit animals. His grandparents had introduced him to Shamanism and were responsible for the path he’d chosen in life. Well, sort of. They probably wouldn’t be overly thrilled about the way he used his spiritual inheritance, but he figured they’d at least appreciate the success it granted him. The spoiled-milk feeling in his guts disagreed with that assessment, but he did his best to push past that and focus on the little city he was driving into.

The Motel 6 came up on his right. He pulled next to a dirty maroon minivan and killed the engine. A far cry from the East Wind, but they had indeed left the light on for him and he knew he’d be able to grab a smoking room. He got out, stretched his arms like a bird in flight and pulled out a cigarette. The zippo refused to spark. He’d filled it not more than two weeks ago. He gave it a shake. It lit up. He sparked the smoke to life. His last drag was accompanied by a shiver. He recognized it for what it was: a sign. There was something here for him. Too early to tell what exactly, but a real spirit had said hello.