Foggmount Hotel

Untitled part

 "Wendell," Mrs. Jeneece tapped on the door lightly, "are you going to join us for breakfast, dear?" The short, stout lady knocked once more before entering the room. "Wendell?" She peered at the bed, seeing a small red puddle on the white blanket but he wasn't there; she knocked on the bathroom door. "Wendell, dear, are you alright?" the door creaked open. One look was all it took before she ran screaming from the blood-filled bathroom.

 My great, great, great grandfather built this hotel. Back then, it was slow. About a year ago, there was never a vacant room. Now our Bed and Breakfast only attracts tourists. Another poor, unfortunate guest at Foggmount Hotel dead. Six bodies, complete with multiple stab wounds in the arms and legs. Each body was decapitated; heads of each victim found in the top drawer of their room but the heads never had eyes. In the bathroom, the bodies were tied upside down, blood drained from the bodies and covering the walls and floor. Well that's what my dad has told me.

 My dad loves this hotel but ever since the murders, he has been weird. I assume I had too, that was to be expected. But he was different weird, like, quiet; secretive almost.

When Mrs. Jeneece floundered down panting heavily this morning, he acted as if he had known exactly what had happened. Sure, he had a good idea of what happened to pitiful Wendell Jackson, so did mom and I. Dad just didn't respond nearly the same way mom and I did. He used to join mom while she went door to door wishing everyone good dreams. Now he wouldn't look anyone in the eyes, as if it was his fault people kept dying.

 My father picked up the phone and called Mr. Lucas Zheng's personal phone number. Lucas had been investigating all the murders, dad only seemed to talk to him anymore.

 "Missing eyes, blood drained on the floor," dad whisper hoarsely. All I could make out from the other end was my mothers name, Miranda. I looked over at her. She sat at a table, face down, pulling and ripping at a piece of cloth. "Yes, yes," dad moved nervously into the hotel kitchen.

 Miranda was my step mother. She and my dad got together 5 years ago, about a month before my tenth birthday, and I love her. She is always close by and unlike my biological mother, she is one of the most pleasant people I have ever met. Dad was so much happier after they were married. She greets- well, used too- everyone in the morning. When the murderers began dad wouldn't let her but she sneaks up to say goodnight anyways.

 We hired Mrs. Jeneece to greet people in the morning and let my mom know how many people to expect at breakfast. That fat old lady should never have entered Wendell's room. She had to make a trip to the hospital; running down the stairs screaming wasn't her best idea.I remember my dad called out to me, "Stella, Mr. Zheng will be here in a minute." He took my mom upstairs.

"Where is Charles?" Lucas stomped through the door a few minutes of silence later.

"Upstairs, he'll be down in a moment," I stated as if his arrival were a normal visit from a man who wasn't here to investigate the sixth death at this very unlucky hotel." Mr. Zheng vigorously tapped his foot and glared into nothing.

 My dad interrupted the silence "Mr. Jackson was staying in room 303." He motioned for us to follow but I knew better. What he really meant was "if you follow me, not only will your memories be scarred but I will have to punish you. This is for your own good, Stella." I did not heed his warning.

  They began up the stairs, murmuring. I live here, I have the right to know what's going on, I thought to myself. Making the biggest mistake of my life, I took the elevator. The elevator jolted to a start screeched to a halt at the third floor. It opened and I contemplated whether or not to go back down to the lobby, or proceed. Hesitantly, I stepped out and slowly walked down the hall.  

 The dark blue wallpaper looming overhead has been peeling from the ceiling for some time now and all the doors had their fair share of scratches and were faded. The lights flickered and the window at the end of the hall was slightly cracked. I began to hear Mr. Zheng's voice. I hurried into the room and stood outside the bathroom, ironing my will and preparing for what I might witness.

I pushed the door open, my eyes clenched shut. Sudden bursts of Mrs. Jeneece screaming flooded my intellect and the ghost of fear I had when I realized why. Hearing the footsteps and faint crackle of my father's voice jerked me from my memories and encouraged me to open my eyes and then make a run for it. With my hand on the door, I took a deep breath and stepped forward. When the wet slosh of my slippers echoed in the room I couldn't help but take a peek. I opened my eyes and the shock took control of my body, but before I stood completely frozen I threw up in the blood and internal organs surrounding my feet. I was paralyzed with fear, standing in my own vomit and the insides of a man I had only just met.

  My father and Lucas entered the room and at the sight of me, my father's face went white with fear. "Charles!" Lucas exclaimed in discontent when my father threw him up against the wall. He ran, demolishing everything in front of him, leaving a trail of broken glass, knocking over a small table with pale, drooping daisies. The stinging red invaded his eyes as tears dribbled down his cheeks and his blotchy skin was panicked. He grabbed me and pulled me out into the hallway. He rested his hands on my shoulders. He wouldn't look me in the eyes and pointed me towards the elevator, "Go," was all he could manage. I nodded but didn't move- couldn't move.

  Lucas brushed his shoulders off and glared at me before shutting the door in my face. I gulped and shuffled down the hall.

 How could anyone do that to someone? It was everywhere and I- I stood in Mr. Jackson. I felt the cold blood leak into my shoes.

 I timidly looked down at my silver slippers. Just a glance was enough to punch a sob out of me and I could taste the hot steam of my stomach contents threatening to overcome me and spill all over the floor once more. I took a few more shuddering steps toward the elevator and pressed the button and waited for the jolting tremble of the floor that indicated the elevator's arrival.

"Stella? Dear, are you alright?" The sweet, southern voice echoed through the empty halls.

I don't know how I had kept it together prior but with the sound of my compassionate, worried mother, I became wracked with a tsunami of emotion, "Mom? Mom, it was awful! You can't be-," I wiped my face on the back of my sleeve and listened, trying to find the source of the familiar sound, "Mom?" I sobbed and swatted at the tears to see the picture in front of me better. It wasn't at all weird for Miranda to come up the stairs even with the elevator next to it.