Ghosts, Part II
Old haunts and new hunts. Going down.
There’s a dead girl waiting to check in. I see her across the lobby one morning. I’m eight nine ten, scraped knees and scuffed, mismatched shoes. Hair knotted and ratty. Always underfoot. You stay out of there, young Althea. I’ve got my eye on you. I’m hiding out behind the front desk, crouched down and taking notes on the people in the lobby. Like Harriet the Spy.
The dead girl is late. Late for check-in, I mean. They have rules about that, you know. The hotel has all sorts of rules. You have to follow the rules, Althea, they say. The multitude of vague, shapeless adults that make up the majority of my world. The hotel walls. Outside the walls I’m nothing. I’m a piece of shit I’m nobody I’m nameless faceless where’s your mommy where’s your daddy stop crying.
Within these walls I’m something close to a god. It whispers to me. The hotel. I hear her under my bare feet when I pad down the hallways and taste her on my tongue when I drink from the faucet. People come and go come and go come and go. Different people, different faces. This is your new mommy same as the old mommy. Listen to your uncle of course he’s your uncle you know him.
But she never leaves me. She stays. She loves me, so long as I give her everything. Small sacrifices of blood and bugs. Spend time talking to the skulls in the walls. See things that are really there.
There are so many things that people refuse to see.
The dead girl stares at me from across the lobby. She wears a small hat on her head and a long, old-fashioned dress. Like the ones in the pictures I found in room 301. You know. The room with the teeth.
Half her face is beautiful, thick red hair and full lashes and lush lips. The other half of her face is gone. A bullet or a bomb took the rest of it. Her face was there and now there’s space, nothing but empty face where she was. A bullet, I decide. From a gun.
I hate guns.
I can see inside the gaping skull, bloody bone and hunks of soft pink tissue and blood blood so much blood. The lobby always smells of blood. Even after they clean oh yes.
The dead girl smiles at me and waves.
I smile and wave back. People give me strange looks for waving at someone they can't see. I am used to strange looks. I keep waving.
Welcome to the Hotel, I think. Hello and goodbye.
Althea hummed tunelessly under breath as she locked the door to Bueler’s hotel room. Turning around, she froze. There was someone at the other end of the hallway. Althea couldn’t see who they were. The figure hurried away from Althea.
‘Moxie?’ she called out hesitantly. But the figure was gone. ‘The fuck,’ muttered Althea under her breath. Without thinking she touched the knife tucked in her belt. Then she walked in the same direction as the figure. A light flickered overhead, and she made a mental note to mention that to the Proprietor. If he seemed like he was in a good mood, that is.
There was no one by the elevator. Althea stabbed the button a few times, same as she had ever since she was a kid, and balanced on the heels of her feet while she waited. Someone was singing in the distance. Someone else was weeping silently. Althea smiled.
With a mighty groan and great creaking, the elevator arrived and the doors slid open. Mr. Valentine stood inside, same as he had for all of Althea’s life, waiting for her to enter. The lift operator was an elderly black man with a thick white beard. He wore an impeccable black suit, top hat, and a silk top hat. There was a handkerchief tied around his eyes. Althea knew underneath the bandage his eyes were useless, white and unseeing. In his hand, Mr. Valentine held his umbrella like a cane. Althea had never once seen him without it.
‘You know you only need to hit the button once, Miss Parker,’ he said with gentle reproach. Althea stepped in.
‘I know,’ she said with a genuine smile. ‘That’s how you know it’s me.’ Mr. Valentine grinned at her.
‘Where to, Miss?’ he asked.
‘I’d like to go see Godfrey,’ said Althea. She smoothed her hand over the elevator gate. ‘But that’s not really up to me, is it?’ Mr. Valentine nodded his head.
‘Basement, then,’ he said and hit the elevator crank. ‘He’s working, I believe.’
‘How are you today, Mr. Valentine?’ asked Althea. She took out the knife and tossed it back and forth while the elevator dropped at an alarming speed.
‘All the better for you asking, Miss Parker,’ said Mr. Valentine. ‘Now put that away before you hurt yourself.’ Althea rolled her eyes but hid the knife away.
‘Busy today," said Mr. Valentine suddenly. The lift stopped, but Mr. Valentine didn’t reach for the lever to open the doors. He faced Althea, his expression serious. ‘Haven’t seen it this busy in a long time.’
‘It’s moving again, isn’t it,’ said Althea. Mr. Valentine nodded once. ‘I can hear it.’
‘I know,’ said Mr. Valentine gently. ‘You always have.’
‘I see myself standing in this elevator soaked in blood,’ said Althea. ‘From head to toe. Drenched. Saturated.’
‘Is it your blood?’ asked Mr. Valentine. Althea shrugged.
‘It’s blood. Tastes like copper. It’s everywhere. Can you smell it?’
‘You know, Miss Parker, I think I can.’ Mr. Valentine opened the gates.
‘Thanks,’ Althea said, stepping out of the elevator.