Phantoms of the Past

Chapter Two: The Job

Finally, it was my turn. My heart raced a little as I entered the office, but I forced myself to stay calm. The atmosphere in the room felt heavy, Mr. Hawthorne was sizing me up from the moment I walked in. A single lamp on the massive oak desk barely lit the space, casting long shadows over the shelves lined with old books and knick-knacks I didn't recognize. Mr. Hawthorne sat behind the desk, hands steepled in front of him. His sharp, cold eyes tracked my every move as I approached the chair. I tried to ignore the unsettling feeling crawling up my spine as I sat down.

"Please," he said, his voice smooth but heavy, "make yourself comfortable."

Comfortable? In this creepy office? Sure.

I sank into the old leather chair, its creak as unsettling as the rest of this place. My palms rested on my knees, and I tried not to fidget, but I could feel his gaze digging into me like he was peeling back layers, trying to see what was underneath.

"Whats your name, dear?" He asked warmly. I smiled, trying to act casual.

"Lola Murphy, sir," I answered, cracking my knuckles anxiously. He nodded and slid a fresh sheet of paper in front of him.

"So, Lola," Mr. Hawthorne finally said, his voice low, "why are you interested in working here?"

It was a simple enough question, but the way he asked it, the way his voice carried this weird weight, made it feel like more. Like there was some hidden meaning behind it. I straightened my back a bit, trying to sound casual.

"I'm saving up for university," I replied. "And honestly, this seemed like a good opportunity. I've done a few summer jobs before, and I figured this one would be good for experience."

He didn't react, just watched me for a moment, then slowly nodded. The silence stretched uncomfortably between us as if he was waiting for me to crack or say something else. I forced myself to stay calm, but something about the way his eyes never left mine made my skin crawl.

"And how do you handle pressure?" he asked, leaning forward slightly. His fingers tapped lightly on the desk, almost like he was testing me. I blinked. That felt random. This was a job at a hotel, how much pressure could it be? It's not like there was a rush hour.

"Uh, I'd say I handle it pretty well. I've worked in stressful situations before, and I'm good at staying focused when things get tough." I answered, shrugging slightly and smiling awkwardly. Mr. Hawthorne tilted his head, his lips twitching into a small, unreadable smile.

"Good," he said quietly. "That's important here. You see, the Blackwood Hotel is not like other places. It has... a history. And with that history comes certain challenges."

Challenges? The word hung in the air like a warning. I felt my stomach twist, but I kept my face steady. I couldn't help but wonder what he meant, even if I already knew. This place was well known for its ghost stories. It used to be a tourist attraction, but the tragic past always lingered.

"What kind of challenges?" I asked, trying to keep my voice even. His smile widened eerily, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"The kind that will test your resilience, your ability to stay calm under unexpected circumstances. Are you prepared for that?" He asked, folding his hands together. There was something about the way he said "unexpected" that made my pulse quicken. But I wasn't about to let him see that. I nodded, maybe a little too quickly.

"Yes," I said firmly. "I can handle it."

Mr. Hawthorne leaned back, his gaze still locked on mine, as if he were weighing my answer. Then, finally, he stood up in one smooth, almost unnaturally graceful motion.