The Hotel Macabre - an excerpt

Chapter 1: Welcome to the Hotel

“Beautiful.”

Chloe opened her eyes and choked back a scream. A man’s pale face loomed over her and cold hands were wrapped gently around her shoulders as if preparing to lift her. He drew back and raised his hands as she thrashed away and landed on something soft with a jarring thump. He was well dressed in a classic black suit with a white starched collar peeking out at his neck and was well groomed with his dark hair parted elegantly. A dazzling smile flashed from his lips and his dark eyes glinted humorously as he lowered his hands to his waist.

Realizing he meant her no harm, Chloe looked around and took in her surroundings. She was sitting on a bed with simple gray sheets and a royal purple comforter. The walls of the room were a pale tan color while the carpet was a darker brown. A wardrobe stood against the right wall with a set of suitcases lined up beside it. An armchair and simple table with a folding chair sat against the wall across from the wardrobe. The curtains were a white lace that drifted in the breeze coming from the open window.

“Where am I?” she asked, looking to the stranger who was now leaning against the wall by the door. “Who are you?”

He stepped forward into a theatrical bow, his arms spread wide, and answered, “Welcome to the Hotel Macabre. I am your humble host.”

Chloe frowned. “How did I get here? Where is this place?”

His smile faltered for a moment, but only just. “You just barely arrived. I greeted you at the arch and then guided you here where you were signed in. You fainted on the stairs.”

Chloe squinted at him and tried to remember an arch. “I don’t –” she began, then paused and felt her chest tighten. She sprang from the bed and ran to the window. The bedroom was four stories up and overlooked an immaculate garden, lawn, and a dusty road. Just beyond the fence and up the road an iron arch stood tall against a grayish purple sky. She could see nothing beyond the arch.

“Are you all right, Ms. Lydell?” Her host had followed her to the window, a look of concern on his face as he reached a hand out to her.

She spun around and shied away from his hand. Her head was spinning. She didn’t notice that her legs had given way until she met the floor with a soft thump. Her question died on her lips as memories came crashing back.

It was a warm autumn day so she had turned RaeAnne down when she offered to drive Chloe home. They had just spent hours poring over their acceptance letters and planning their courses for school in the spring. It was nearing dinner time when she finally left. The leaves were still changing color, clinging in glorious reds and yellows by their fragile stems. She took a detour through the park. She had smiled as she passed under the trees and listened to the children laughing on the swings. Across the street, some neighbor girls were playing hopscotch while their brothers raced bikes and scooters down the road. Someone was blasting their radio and birds chattered from the treetops. Sunlight glinted through the sparse clouds as she turned the park’s corner. Everything was perfect; she soaked it in and nodded at the man walking his dog as he passed her.

She heard the screams first. Turning to face the park, she saw people running with their arms over their heads and then she heard the next round of gunshots. A chill ran down her spine as she made eye contact with the shooter. He was a man like any other, dressed in jeans, work boots, and a gray t-shirt, but he held a revolver in his hand. She didn’t see him pull the trigger; the world began to spin. There was a burst of pain as she crumpled backwards, hitting the pavement roughly. She tried to bring a hand to her chest as she stared up at the sky, but her arms would not obey her. “No,” she thought, but each moment she lay on the pavement she grew weaker. People were still screaming, but the gunshots had stopped and sirens were now mixed with the crying and desperate calls of her neighbors. There was an immense pressure on her chest and a dark shadow loomed over her, haloed by the sinking sun. She blinked and tried to focus. Her breath came in painful, shuddering gasps.

“She’s fading,” an official sounding voice called.

Dark spots swam across her vision as she tried to choke out, “My mom . . . dad . . .”

“It will all be ok, sweetie,” a kind voice said, grabbing her hand.

“The man,” Chloe gasped, struggling to blink away the dots. An EMT was kneeling over her, applying pressure to her chest. Nobody answered her. The world began to spin, so she closed her eyes, fighting the dizziness.

“Hold on, Miss,” a firm voice said, patting her cheek as the person holding her hand gave her a gentle squeeze. “I need you to open your eyes. Stay with me.”

She struggled to obey, but she’d lost her voice and couldn’t seem to find her eyes. The EMT kept talking to her, but the sound of his voice grew distant. She struggled to stay conscious, but felt herself drifting. The air around her began to cool and eventually the voices faded away into silence. “Don’t leave me alone,” she wanted to cry, but no sound came from her throat. She struggled to find her way back, but the darkness consumed her. She was left alone to drift in the void.

“Welcome,” another unfamiliar voice said.

Chloe blinked and looked around her. She was standing underneath a large iron archway. Luggage stood beside her, handles up and ready. A gentleman stood a few feet away from her. She looked over her shoulder at a world that appeared fuzzy, like the static on a television. There was movement, but she could only make out vague colors. The image flickered, then vanished, replaced with purple-gray sky. She turned back to the gentleman and felt warm tears splashing down her cheeks. The pain and pressure in her chest was gone, but another pain took its place as she realized that she couldn’t go back. They hadn’t been able to rescue her.

“Follow me,” the gentleman said, beckoning. “You’re safe here. Let’s get you to the Hotel.” He gestured at a large Victorian looking building behind him.

“I’m . . . dead . . .” Chloe whispered, looking up at her host. She was trembling where she sat, overwhelmed with a swirl of emotions.

“Correct,” the man said with a sad smile. “You are in the Afterlife. The Hotel Macabre is . . .” He paused and cleared his throat. “The Hotel is a resting point.”

Chloe stared blankly at the wall behind him for a moment, a chill calm settling on her as the reality sank in. “Afterlife?” she finally managed to ask.

“Yes,” he said with a warmer smile.

“How long will I stay here? Forever?”

He surprised her with a laugh, deep and rumbling that shook his entire frame. “The Hotel is just a resting point,” he repeated humorously. “I designed it to help people move on so to speak. At the end of the week, you are free to leave and explore the rest of the Afterlife.”

“A week?”

“It gives people time to adjust. Not everyone is ready to die, and so the Hotel is an opportunity for the newly deceased to settle into their new lives – or should I say afterlife.”

Chloe stared at him, trying to absorb everything. It all seemed crazy and unreal to her, like a dream. After a moment of thought, she realized she had stopped trembling and that her eyes were now dry. I must be in shock, she thought. The very idea seemed funny. She was sitting in a room in a hotel with a window that looked out onto the Afterlife. She wanted to scream and giggle simultaneously; the two feelings left her in a stupefied silence.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a muffled alarm. She looked up at her host and watched as he scrambled to pull an old fashioned pager from an inside pocket in his suit jacket. “My apologies,” he said with a bow. He fumbled with the buttons and silenced the thing and ducked his head, embarrassed. “Business calls. Feel free to clean yourself up and explore a little bit. Dinner will be served soon, so I will meet you downstairs.” He offered her a hand and helped her to her feet before giving another quick bow and then rushing out the bedroom door.

Chloe turned back towards the window and gazed outside for another few minutes, deeply breathing in the fresh air. There were late roses blooming down below in the garden and the breeze wafted their scent up to her. She closed her eyes and breathed it in deeply. When she turned back to the room, she made an effort to push the whirlwind of thoughts to the back of her head and advanced towards the suitcases. All of her favorite clothes and a few prized possessions were contained within, neatly folded and organized as if she had packed for this trip in advance. Opening the wardrobe, she discovered that it was full of hangers and both doors had a full length mirror on either side. Something was wrong.

Leaning close, Chloe gazed into the mirror. Her clothes were a little rumpled and her hair was in disarray. It was the dark stain over her left breast that caught her attention. She plucked at her blouse and watched her own face grow pale. The bullet hole was small, but she was able to poke her little finger through the hole in the fabric. Anger surged over her and she tugged the blouse angrily over her head, discarding it carelessly on the floor along with her soiled camisole and bra. Despite the staining on her clothes, her skin was pale and smooth, unblemished as if the shooting had never happened. Digging furiously in her suitcases she pulled out a clean, white, button down blouse, a red tank top, and her favorite lace bra. She dressed quickly, exchanging her jean capris for a pleated black skirt and then dragging her brush through her tangled black curls before pulling her hair back with a white silk ribbon.

When she was done, she gazed at the mirror again. Her cheeks were flushed and her green eyes gleamed. The contents of her suitcases lay littered around her in a circle on the floor. She blinked, disoriented by the mess, and shuddered. Kneeling, she began to gather her things and fold them neatly into piles or set them aside for the hangers in the wardrobe. The motion of organizing soothed her. She finished by stacking her favorite pair of sneakers in the bottom of the wardrobe and turned to the last two items on the floor. Her childhood teddy bear and favorite blanket lay in a huddle. Chloe hugged them to her chest and breathed in their fresh, laundered scent. They smelled of lemons and lavender; they smelled like home. Rising, she folded the comforter and lay it with her bear on the foot of the bed.

“Ok,” she whispered to herself. “I’m ready.” She looked around the room once more, grabbed the key from the nightstand by the bed, and reached for the doorknob.

Chapter Two: Mr. Reaper

Exits were marked on either end of the hall, which was interspersed with doors identical to her own. Chloe glanced at the door she’d come from and noted the glistening 409 that matched the engraving on the key in her hand. No one else was in the hall, so she turned to her right and looked for a floor map. At the end of the hall was an elevator and a stairwell. The floorplan hung beside the stairwell door with a bright red “X” marked on the rectangular edge. Below the floorplan was a list of the facilities available to the guests, which Chloe scanned quickly without really seeing any of it. With one more glance down the hall to her door, Chloe jabbed the elevator button and then jumped when the doors chimed open.

The ride down to the foyer was quick and quiet, allowing her to steady her nerves. With a soft ding the doors opened and a rush of noise flooded in. Chloe stumbled forward and with a cry nearly toppled over entirely when her foot caught on the edge of a rug. A strong, withered hand caught her by the arm and pulled her back upright. Cheeks burning, Chloe looked up into the kind eyes of an elderly woman wearing cleaning garb. A yellow cart sat just behind her explaining why she was waiting just outside the elevator doors.

“Easy now, dearie,” the woman said with a smile.

“Thank you,” Chloe whispered, stepping to the side to let the woman pass with her cart.

A few steps away was an open door leading into the lobby of the Hotel. Chloe peered into the room from the doorway and tried to absorb it all. There was a fireplace immediately to her right with an assortment of comfy looking chairs, couches, and foot rests where a handful of guests were gathered. Across from the fireplace on the other side of the room was what looked like the receptionist desk that she vaguely remembered signing into earlier. Across from where she stood were glass double doors leading out onto the lawn and front walk of the Hotel. The interior of the lobby was lit up by dangling bronze chandeliers and the floor was covered with a lush golden brown carpet. Several people came and went through the double doors, gathered around tables and chairs along the outer edges of the room, or stood in groups laughing and chatting.

Chloe picked her way across the back of the room, eyes focused on the receptionist desk, and nearly tripped again when a pair of silver serving carts pushed through a set of doors she hadn’t seen. A stern, motherly looking black woman and a short, bearded young man pulled to a stop and reached to steady her. Before she knew what was going on, both had pulled samples from under lids and loudly offered their treats to her. Confused, Chloe tried to back away and found herself walled in by the other guests and visitors gathering excitedly around the food carts. Knees trembling, she found herself accepting the offered truffle and sesame seed roll before the crowd and carts shifted away from her.

She steadied herself against the wall and took a moment to catch her breath before making her way yet again towards the receptionist desk. No one sat behind the desk. A plaque sitting on the counter read D. REAPER in silver lettering. Chloe popped the truffle into her mouth, momentarily distracted by the silkiness of the chocolate, and wondered where her host had gotten off to. She scanned the room, but was unable to distinguish individual faces due to the crowd still surrounding the carts. Within another few moments, the crowd happily dispersed and the carts returned to the doors they’d come out of while their owners amiably argued over who’s cart was more popular. The double doors swung open again and let in a rush of new visitors that included her host.

Beside her host was a tall, leather skinned gentleman in priest’s robes. They were laughing and shaking hands when her host spotted her. Together the pair wove through the crowd towards her, stopping every few steps to address a guest. Her host’s eyes gleamed as he reached her side and an amused grin lifted the corners of the priest’s mouth.

“I see you found your way down alright,” her host said with an approving nod. “What do you think of the place?”

“It’s . . .” Chloe said, glancing around the room, “cheery.”

“Good! Good!”

“Please, who is this pretty lass?” the priest asked. His speech was a slow, southern drawl that set Chloe at ease.

“Chloe Lydell, meet the good Pastor Charles Matthews,” her host said by way of introduction.

The pastor took her hand with a warm smile. “A pleasure to meet you Miss Lydell. I hope my friend here has given you a proper welcome.”

“Yes,” Chloe said with a smile, “but he has yet to tell me his name.”

“Mr. Reaper!” the pastor chastised, turning to the young man beside him. “Don’t tease the poor guests!”

Mr. Reaper put his hands up defensively and cried out, “She’s new! I don’t like to startle them when they first arrive. It’s already a huge shock to arrive in the Afterlife and quite another to find out that Death is the one hosting them!”

“Death?” Chloe asked, confused.

Mr. Reaper let out a sigh and hung his head. “Perhaps I should introduce myself properly. My name is Death Reaper, or D. Reaper for short. Most here call me Mr. Reaper.”

Chloe stared at him, not quite comprehending what he was saying. Then it sunk in as she looked between the pastor and the young man. “You’re Death?”

“Yes.”

“You’re the Reaper?”

“No.”

That answer confused Chloe even more. “No? How can you be the reaper of souls and not be THE reaper? That doesn’t make any sense!”

“That’s because I’m not” – and here he raised his hands in air quotes – “THE reaper. You’re thinking of Grimm. Our name is Reaper, but Grimm is the one who is THE Reaper.”

“Grim?”

“It’s alright lass,” the pastor said, wrapping a comforting arm around her shoulders. “Mr. Reaper here is the best in the business. You’re lucky to be at his Hotel.”

“His Hotel?” a pixie-like being huffed, appearing from nowhere. The girl glaring at Pastor Matthews and Mr. Reaper stood no taller than five feet and had her strawberry blonde hair pulled into a messy ponytail. She folded her arms and clicked her tongue angrily. “He’s only visiting for the week. How is it his hotel?”

Mr. Reaper sighed and dragged a hand down his face. “Samantha . . .”

“I’m caretaker of this Hotel, thank you very much. You’re only here to check in and thought you’d play host while you were in town” Samantha growled.

“I thought you were taking the week off,” Mr. Reaper countered.

“I would be, except you don’t seem to remember how to run the place.” She pulled a cracked cell phone from her pocket and waved it in his face. “I need this fixed, sir, but your kitchen boy won’t do it for me even though I’ve been asking him for weeks now. If I didn’t have the schedule memorized, this place would be in shambles and now you come in –”

“That’s enough!” Mr. Reaper hissed, holding a hand up. “I’ve talked to Zeke and he says that he doesn’t do that kind of thing. He’s in the kitchens for a reason, Sam, and the tech guys tell me that you refuse to take it to them. Go talk to Jeffrey if you want your phone fixed. As for running the Hotel, you do a wonderful job. I just happen to run it differently than you do.”

Sam huffed and turned on her heel without a good-bye. Chloe stared after her, confounded. “Who was that?”

Pastor Matthews laughed. “I told you she had a temper, Mr. Reaper, and it’s going to get the best of her sooner or later. Maybe you shouldn’t hire them so young, eh?”

“Sam’s a good caretaker, Charles. Leave her be.” He turned to Chloe. “I’m so sorry you had to see that. I’m only visiting for the week. I operate several hotels and check in on them every now and then.”

“Oh,” Chloe said, trying to process what he was saying, then, “there are more hotels?”

The Pastor chuckled. “Many, my dear. Death here isn’t the only caretaker in the afterlife after all.”

“You needn’t worry about that though,” Death interjected. “You’re here and it’s my job to ensure your comfort and transition into the afterlife. If there is anything at all that I can help you with, please, don’t be afraid to ask.”

“Excuse me,” a soft voice said from behind. The group turned to face a small woman with a walker looking a little frazzled. “Mr. Reaper, I need . . .”

Chloe backed away, feeling like an intruder as Mr. Reaper was pulled back into his duties as caretaker. The pastor watched her with a bemused grin, but made no comment as she turned and wandered towards the double doors. A few of the other guests gave her a friendly nod as she passed, but otherwise left her alone. She stood aside as a middle-aged couple pushed through the doors, and then stepped out onto the Hotel’s patio, breathing in deeply. To her left sat a porch swing, which she gratefully sank onto and looked out over the garden. The purplish sky seemed to be growing darker, which she guessed meant that night was coming, but she didn’t feel tired. She just felt emotionally drained. There was so much to absorb, but none of it seemed quite real to her.