Island Angels

The Hotel Opal Mildred

"A haunted castle!" Blair yelled.

Brittany strained to see the house. Lights flickered in open windows, and bath towel curtains flapped outside. Haunted houses on TV had banging shutters and self-opening doors. Here, Brittany heard only pounding surf.

"Does the ghost live in the tower?" Blair asked.

"What tower?"

"Every haunted house has one. Right, Dee?"

"This house would scare anyone, with all the junk and stink." She shone her flashlight on the sagging porch, then pulled open the door. "Opal Mildred! Do you hear me?"

Radio static.

"Grandma! You have company!"

"Why did you call her grandma?" Brittany asked.

"All old ladies are grandma to me." Dee smiled crookedly. "She's deaf as a post, so I always walk in. Wait in the hall while I introduce her to Mom."

One half-dead bulb, hung by a string, lit the narrow entrance.

"Shaggy and Scooby got trapped in a haunted hotel," Blair said. "A werewolf caught them."

"No wonder she played 'Hotel California.' That's where she took us." Brittany muttered, "Such a lovely place."

For something was not right.

Opal Mildred will be a perfect angel, she had said. And Brittany certainly knew about angels. Rhonda on The Glory Hour said that they lived in jewel-covered mansions. Ruby, turquoise, pearl...

Opal Mildred's floor was coated with red, blue, and brown paint blotches. Fist-sized holes were gouged out of the wall, and wallpaper peeled in hanging sheets. Her one piece of furniture, a desk, tilted precariously. And, instead of antique daguerreotypes, Opal Mildred had decorated the wall with grocery ads.

Blair pulled a pink eraser from the desk and bit it.

"Don't take anything," Brittany warned. "The ghost might curse you."

Dee returned. "The ladies hit it off right away," she said. "Good thing they both like microwave burritos. Now, about your room..."

"What about the candy?" Blair asked.

She left, then returned with a king-sized Hershey bar. "Can you split this?"

"Who ate that?" Blair asked. The white, crusty chocolate had tiny tooth marks along its edge.

"Let's not be picky," Dee scolded. "Upstairs to your room. And leave the wet stuff down here."

Brittany grabbed their knapsacks. Through the kitchen they walked, then up the back staircase, which twisted like a corkscrew.

"There's only one bed," Dee explained. "Share it or fight over it. Extra blankets are in the cubbyhole."

"Where is Mom going to sleep?" Brittany asked.

"With Opal Mildred, of course." She hesitated. "The bathroom is by the kitchen. Be careful."

"I'm not scared of flushes," Blair announced.

"Maybe you'd better not flush at all." She turned away. "Stay safe!"

When the girls were alone, Brittany saw that the room's single window overlooked a pine tree which leaned wickedly to one side. The window sported a gun-shot crack dead center. Over the bed hung a portrait of a fisherman, leering at a dead fish which hung from his bony, scarred hands.