Haunted

Up and Down Just Became More Complicated.

PROLOGUE

 He was everything she did not want in a husband. It had nothing to do with her age, just now sixteen. And her maturity was never in question. This was the law of attraction—the desire for love from and for the right person. The monster in front of her was not of her choosing, nor was he even capable of the love she wanted, the independence she needed, the rights that were hers for all the lifetimes to come.

Tears were near now, ready to spill as they filled her frightened eyes. The thing before her was ugly and sinister, full of false affection; and further, his family would see that evil forever ravaged the world. It was what they did. It was why they lived. They fed on the hate and fear of the world.

She could possibly overlook the physical repulsion she felt—maybe. A frown touched her brow because such ugliness was beyond any she’d ever known. But she could never forgive the evil that stretched out to touch anyone who had a moment’s thought of warmth or caring. It’s tight and impatient tentacles were around her now. Would she never be free? How could she survive? The first tear escaped her eyes and fell with what felt like a boom echoing in her mind.

Still she stood silent, though, knowing that she would be forced to endure this marriage or to run for the rest of her life—which would be an eternity. Eternity was a very long time for one so young. Yet, if there were a way to run, she would. She knew it with all her heart.

The white veil hid the quiet tears, now coming without ceremony, streaming down her face and onto the white lace of her gown. She fought hard to stop the betraying water of her soul, not wanting to give neither her valued family or the horrendous relatives of her husband-to-be the knowledge of her fear.

A sudden commotion at the castle gates disturbed her thoughts and drew her attention from her immediate problems. It was then that she saw him. She knew in an instant that this man was her salvation and her lover for all time. He’d come. Finally! Goose flesh jumped to her skin. She could feel sparkle flash in her eyes, pushing the tears away—if, indeed, sparkle was a thing of feeling or flashing that could control tears! This man would save her from the monster that would be her consort. She knew it. She felt it. She tasted his strength deep in her soul.

Did she, however, dare risk the wrath of God’s Messenger, Cyril? Was her own happiness and the banishment of evil for all time enough to change the fates? She softly prayed as she stood frozen still.

She thought so. There was a possibility, wasn’t there? She was nodding her head know, but no one noticed as they watched the gate.

It had to be so. She could change the fates; with him she could change the outcome. A soft smile took the place of the tears behind the veil. She would win. Somehow.

CHAPTER ONE

How many times had Dan had the dream in the past week? It seemed that he couldn't even fall asleep in front of the television without a strange dream these days. Not that he was complaining. The dreams were great—so real and full of adventure; always in a new place, in some other time. This was certainly better than Mrs. Ranner’s History class.

But the girl was the same in each dream. Sometimes her hair was a different color or length, but she was still the same one. He was sure of it.

"Daaan-nnny!" cried his mother from what sounded like a long way off. "Hurry up! You'll be late!"

"I'm here!" he replied, running down the stairs, two at a time, and slipping onto the breakfast barstool. "And I have plenty of time. Not due in till nine."

"Well, it's eight‑thirty now, kiddo!" She blew a strand of brown hair from her eyes and straight up into the air as she placed a plate on the bar in front of him. "And I hope you just don't forget how hard your father has worked at the Bellington and what an opportunity he's given you. There were many other boys older than you applying for that job. And you got it."

With her hands on her hips and dark reminding eyes, she looked just like a volcano ready to erupt into a speech. The thought made him smile. "Just don't you forget how that job offer came about,” she said, pointing at his plate. “Now eat your eggs!"

Dan smiled and rolled his eyes. He never worried about his mother's quick temper. She was a great lady and he did his best not to upset her. He could do worse.

Very calmly, he put down his fork and winked at her. "Ma, the hotel's only across the street and down the road a bit.  I'll be early. And don't worry. You've reminded me a hundred times that Dad was the one who got me this summer job. And yes, I also remember that I'm only sixteen and that lots of other college guys applied and lost out. Because of me and my inroads."

            "Don't get smart with me," said his mother, but she was playful now. She grabbed a kitchen towel from the counter and snapped the air near his stool. "I just want you to do a good job."

He nodded, blew her an exaggerated kiss, and ate his eggs.      

"Ma?" he said when he was finished eating, “do we have any nuts in our family?"

            "Nuts?" she questioned, her eyebrows wrinkling.

"Yeah, you know, crazies. Looney Tunes."

            "Just you," she said and added with a grumble, "and I wish you had time to help me wash the breakfast dishes. Talk about you being late; I’m gonna be late, too. Why do you ask about crazies?"

"I'm serious," he said. "Do we have any nuts in our family?"

            His mother wiped her hands on the dishtowel over her shoulder and looked thoughtfully at him. "No, honey. We do not have any nuts in our family. Now, what's this all about?"

Dan sighed and looked down at his empty plate. The yellow egg remnants blended into the spring pattern of ducks on the plate.

"Well, it's just that there's been some strange stuff going on in my life lately and it's kinda weird. I thought maybe I might've inherited some kind of mental illness or something. That stuff’s hereditary, ya know."

"What kind of strange stuff, Dan?" She looked worried now, and she slid down onto a stool across the counter from him.

"Nothing really."

He glanced over at his mother's face. She was giving him a questioning mothers-know-everything-so-don’t-even-try-to-hide-something stare.

He swallowed hard and slowly continued, "Actually...I've been having these dreams lately."

"Oh," said his mother, relieved. She sighed and moved back to the sink where she resumed the dishes. "Everyone has odd dreams at times, dear. That's nothing to worry about. It’s probably puberty or something you ate." Then she mumbled, “and that wouldn’t surprise me one bit.” Then louder, “Nothing to worry about. Dreams are normal. It has something to do with rehashing the day or some such thing. Nothing to worry about.”

"No, I guess not," he agreed, "but there's also something else." He paused, wondering whether it was a good idea to tell her.

"At the hotel, in the elevator . . . well, you know I've been hanging around there lately with Todd and all . . . and in the elevator there . . . .” He paused and gritted his teeth. "Well, it gets kind of foggy in there sometimes. In the elevator, that is. I think it’s haunted."

"I'm sure that's from people smoking, dear. Nasty habit. And they’re not supposed to do it in the elevators. Smoking can destroy your lungs." She continued to scrub dishes, nodding. “I’m glad you never started that. You’ll thank us one day for pushing that down your throat. Trust me.”

"Yeah, yeah, I know. But it's not smoke. It's fog swirling around and it only happens when I'm alone. Or, at least so far I've been alone."

            His mother turned and looked hard at him with a frown that aged her ten years around the eyes. "That's nonsense, Dan. It's smoke. There’s no such things as ghosts and haunting. It’s all imaginative drivel. It’s smoke. You should report it." She turned back to the dirty dishes in the sink. The answer was final.

He frowned, too—knowing she had dismissed him—and carried his plate to her. He grabbed the lightweight Bellington Hotel jacket from the closet, deciding that parents weren’t really the best people to confide weird stuff to, anyway. What had he been thinking?

“I guess I'm off," he said, kissing her lightly on the cheek. "And I'll be a whole ten minutes early, Ma!"

"Don't be smart!" she snapped. Then her voice softened. "Danny, don't worry about that smoke thing. Or the dreams. Dreams are nothing but your mind getting rid of the day’s rubbish and the smoke could be coming from the machinery or something. Maybe you should have maintenance take a look at the elevator. Maybe there's a weight factor involved. A certain amount of weight might make the thing off balance or something. That could cause the thing to smoke, right? And that could be dangerous, ya know?"

            "Maybe," he said. He smiled at her. "Anyway, don't worry. I'm fine. I’ll look into it."

With that, Dan walked from the small two‑story row home, across the street and down the road to the old Bellington Hotel.

*****

In front of the hotel, Dan took a moment to look at the building in the bright morning sunlight. It really was quite beautiful—for a building. His father, who was head of Hotel Management, had said the old hotel had been built in 1910. A horn blew from a passing car snapping Dan back to the present, a finger gesture almost lashing out at the passerby. Instead, he shrugged and walked across the street and into the hotel.

Entering through the heavy doors, it felt like another time. Looking around with wonder, Dan took in a deep appreciative breath. He was amazed—as he was every time he found himself inside the hotel—at the enormous lobby. Only a church could do better. A really big church! Decorated in the richest reds of the 1900s, the old building was a page from a history book with high regal ceilings and old antique furnishings. And clean. A bit too clean perhaps.

The elevator was straight ahead on the far side of the lobby, but Dan hesitated to report to his position in that strange boxlike contraption. That was the elevator. A chill making its way up his spine forced him to gaze about the room and away from the device. Instead, he let his mind wander to his first encounter with the elevator.

When he’d first interviewed, Dan had been surprised to learn that the original elevator was still being used for transporting guests to and from the four floors of the hotel. His now good friend, Todd Coral, had taught him how to work the old-time machine —and old-time seemed a polite description for the clanking, creaking thing. It was a strange kind of thing for such an upscale hotel to use such an out-of-date mode of transportation. But yet it held an ambiance that could not be denied. He’d even felt an unusual draw to it.

Learning about the hotel and it blast-from-the-past elevator had been late the previous week—without pay, of course. Todd, with his shocking stand-up-straight-even-without-hair-stuff hair, was an underpaid busboy, who seemed to have had his hand in the running of every department for the hotel at one time or another. His father, head of maintenance, saw to it that his son had a job of sorts each summer from the time Todd had turned twelve. Todd knew everything about everything at the hotel and was not afraid to talk about it to Dan. Dan was sure that there were certain enhancements or “liberties” as Todd would describe his filled with adventure hotel stories.

Most of the time, he just let Todd talk. People with the “A” personalities had to do that. They just had to let you know that they knew whatever it was they knew. Not that this was a bad thing. Todd was his best friend and was a funny guy. But Dan had gotten pretty good at hiding yawns.

The first time Todd had shown Dan the elevator had been kinda exciting. It was a marvel. There was a long handle, waist level, controlling the starting and stopping; the operator had to have a real good feel for when to use that handle! It moved in a half circle, left to right and back. For the few rides, Dan was forced to have his passengers step a foot up or a foot down to exit. Tips were slow coming because of his poor timing. But he’d thought that tips anyway were a plus no matter how few. He’d never heard of people tipping in elevators, but they sure did in this hotel!

He had gotten better at working the handle, though, with practice. When the bell sounded in his tiny cubicle by the elevator, lighting up the floor needing him, he would hop into the mirrored box and shoot up to the appropriate floor. Then he would slowly take the elevator up or down for the guest, hoping that his now good timing, big smile and pleasant manner might earn him a dollar tip—or more, if a big spender was aboard. Todd had bragged once of receiving a twenty, but that could have been Todd being Todd.

Dan sighed, his attention pulled from the past. He could see the elevator doors close at the opposite end of the lobby. No one was working the controls. And fog was swirling slowly over the floor and slipping out into the lobby as the metal doors slid shut. He had to be seeing things. His mom was wrong. He was nuts for sure.

Something made him think of the dreams. A shiver carried him forward.

Artwork by Teresa Tunaley