Ghost Hotel (Free Short Story)

I spun around to face my attacker, slicing my torch through the air at neck height.

It passed through thin air.

The lack of resistance made me stumble as the weight of the torch pulled me around. Recovering, I shone the narrow beam down the corridor I’d just walked down.

It was empty.

The device in my hand crackled again. It was the latest model from the tech department at the Centre for Paranormal Research, capable of picking up the smallest trace of paranormal activity. From the way the needles jumped and span, there was a lot of activity going on around me.

A high-pitched giggle made me whirl around. It sounded as if the person was right behind me, but again, there was no one there. Dust danced in the beam of light and I wondered just how long the hotel had been abandoned.

I shoved the detection box into the deep pocket of my trench coat. It wasn’t as if I could use it properly. I don’t even know why I stole it from my dad’s office. Perhaps it was just to prove to my friends that the rumors about the old hotel being haunted were just that—rumors.

A chill crackled down my spine as another scream sounded from further down the hallway. “It’s just your imagination,” I told myself firmly. “Ghosts can’t hurt you. Just get the puppet and get out of here.”

Deciding that the quicker I got to Room 307, the quicker I could get out, I hurried forward and sprinted up the final flight of stairs to the seventh floor. The beam of light bobbed in front of me, illuminating the numbers on the doors as I passed.

A few of the rooms had no door, just an inky blackness beyond the doorframe that seemed to absorb the light from my torch. As I passed each one, a deep sense of loss washed over me, the weight of grief too strong to be contained. Then I stepped past the doorway and the feeling was gone.

I couldn’t help but let out a small sigh of relief when I found the door to Room 307 intact. My hand shook as I twisted the handle and pushed the door open.

An icy wind rushed out, making me gasp. The chill settled in my lungs, making my every breath rasp and ache.

I shone my torch around the room. Ragged curtains billowed around a smashed-in window.

“That’s why it’s windy,” I said, choosing to forget the fact that it was a mild spring night outside.

The room was not what I had expected. The hotel bed was there and under the jumble of objects on the far side of the room, there must be a desk. There was even an old-fashioned television—the type that my grandmother had—though its screen was dark.

But it wasn’t the furnishings that made the icy chill in my lungs travel south to claw at my belly.

It was the hundreds of pairs of eyes staring back at me.

The old homeless man who lived on the street corner had talked about the puppet in Room 307, but everyone knew he was half mad. Still, it had been a fun enough dare—at the time. And I was curious about what the boarded-up building looked like inside. It had been abandoned for the five years I’d lived in this town and no one seemed to know why it hadn’t been redeveloped, despite being in a prime location.

I had been sure the room would be empty. Or if there was a puppet, it would be a lonely relic, left behind by the room’s final occupant.

But there wasn’t just one puppet in here.

Every wall was covered with them. Puppets of every size and shape, made from scraps of denim, lace, corduroy. All of them with those freaky glass eyes that seemed to follow your every move.

One puppet. That’s all you need. Just grab one and get out of here.

I stepped further into the room, reaching out for the nearest puppet. The door slammed shut behind me.

I grasped the puppet—a small doll with curly blonde hair and a dress made from what felt like old curtain fabric—and yanked. With a ripping sound, it came away from the wall. Crossing the space to the door in three strides, I grasped the handle and twisted it.

Nothing happened.

I tried again. The handle drew back the latch, but something was stopping the door from opening. Was it stuck in the frame? It had opened easily enough from the other side. My palm was slick with sweat and I wiped it on my jeans before trying again.

Another blast of ice assailed me, and a screech made me spin around. The beam of light shook as my hand trembled and my breath froze in my mouth. There was nothing there. At least, nothing that I could see.

I felt my bladder loosen and I pressed my legs together, my lips tight, willing strength and courage into my body. I couldn’t piss myself.

“Ghosts can’t hurt you. Ghosts can’t hurt you.” I repeated the mantra as my other hand strayed to the device in the pocket. There had been a button on it. A red button.

As the icy wind hit me again, blasting my hair back from my face, I yanked the box from my pocket and pointed it into the room, depressing the red button.

There was a blinding flash of light and a screech, which slowly faded to a moan. Blinking, I saw only darkness as I shoved the box back in my pocket and fumbled for the door handle. This time, the door opened easily.

I stumbled out into the corridor and headed toward the stairs. The ice in my lungs made breathing hard and my legs were heavy, as if I wore lead weights around my ankles. The heaviness grew as I passed each of the darkened doorways and I felt the last of my energy drain away.

Clutching the puppet to my chest, I staggered down the stairs and onto the floor below. Invisible fingers clawed at my hair. Hands grabbed my arms, pulling me back. More than once I tripped and fell, though there were no obstructions in the corridor. Sobbing, I forced my feet to keep moving, knowing that if I stopped, if I turned to face whatever was behind me, I might never escape.

Finally, I made it to the hotel lobby. The double doors, once so grand and imposing, stood boarded-up in front of me. Down here, the hotel seemed quiet and still. I brushed the tears from my eyes and headed over to the broken board half-covering the empty window I’d climbed in through. As I emerged into the warm night air, the chill in my stomach and lungs began to ease and my breathing returning to normal.

I made my way slowly across to the gap in the fence, hearing my friends laughing on the other side. They helped me through, but as the light from the streetlight caught my face, I saw their expressions slacken in shock.

“What?” I brushed my hair back. “I must have got covered in dust in there, but I can’t look that bad.”

Frankie frowned. “What happened to your hair? It’s… It’s white.”

I grasped a handful of my long hair and pulled it in front of my face. Frankie was right. A thick white streak ran through the strands of dark brown hair. For a second, the warm breeze turned icy and I shivered.

“Whatever. I got the puppet for you.” I thrust out my hand. An odd expression crossed my friends’ faces.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Jenna?” Holden asked.

I looked down at my hand and the scrap of curtain fabric I was clutching as if my life depended on it.