Page 54 of The Haunted Hotel

“Ghosts?” he repeats slowly.

“Yes.”

“Uh, Ellis, I get the whole leaning into the haunted hotel angle to try and get guests in, but you do know ghosts aren’t real.”

“Actually, they are,” I say conversationally as I bang my shoulder against the door again and twist the handle. “There are”—bang—“quite a lot”—bang—“of them here”—bang—“actually.”Bang bang bang. My shoulder is now throbbing and my palm is starting to get a friction burn from twisting a handle that refuses to budge.

When I get my hands on Bertie and Roger, I’m going to have a few choice words for them. This is not what I agreed to when I said I’d be their liaison to the living.

“Here, hold this.” Morgan hands me his phone. “It’s not ghosts. It’s just an old door, with rusted hinges and a temperamental lock.”

I fumble with the phone, my hand still smarting from gripping the handle so tightly, and end up dropping it to the floor with a clang. I grimace apologetically, even though he probably can’t see me properly in the low light, especially as the flashlight on the phone now seems to be highlighting our shoes.

“Hang on, I’ll get it.” I try to lower myself to the floor of the tiny space and at the same time valiantly try to ignore the fact that his groin is centimetres from my face.

Frankly, I think I deserve a medal for my self-control. Picking up the phone shifts the beam of light, and something low on the wall catches my eye. Curious, I kneel even further down and hunch over.

“Oh,” I gasp out in surprise. “Morgan, you should see this.”

I tryto sink to my knees, but it’s a tight fit. Ellis shuffles to the side, still staring at whatever it is he’s found. I hunker down beside him and his body ends up flush with mine. The heat of his skin warms my side, distracting me. I lean in next to him, whichis even worse because we’re almost cheek to cheek. A fraction closer and I could taste those pouty lips of his.

“Look,” he whispers excitedly, and I drag my gaze away from his mouth and down to the patch of wall he’s pointing the flashlight at.

My eyes narrow when I see two words carved into the wooden panelling of the closet wall. No, not just words, I realise. Names. The first one hacked into the wood in a childish scrawl is the name Artie, and just beneath it…

I suck in a breath.

Morgan.

Promise me, Morgan, promise we’ll always be friends…

I close my eyes as the fragment of a memory teases at the edge of my mind, but when I try to reach for it, it disappears. I know this closet. I used to play in here when I was a kid. I carved those two names into the wall with the little penknife my granddad gave me. The penknife had my initials engraved into its red handle.M.A.D.I remember laughing at the word my initials made and my granddad whispering in my ear.

We’re all mad here, Morgan, just like Wonderland.

I trace my fingertips over the grooves in the wood.

Promise we’ll always be friends…

“I did this,” I whisper, although I don’t know if it’s to myself or Ellis. “I carved this.”

“Who’s Artie?” Ellis asks.

“I don’t know,” I reply, not able to shake loose any more memories. “But…” I murmur slowly as I trace my fingers along the edge of the wooden panel, feeling for a familiar groove, a slight change in texture.

When I find it, my stomach tightens with a mixture of shock and excitement. I push it in, and we hear a click. The whole back panel of the closet opens, swinging outward on slightly groaning hinges and revealing a secret passageway.

There’s a blast of cold, frigid air that makes our breath turn to mist.

“Oh!” Ellis says excitedly. “Another passageway. Where does it lead?”

“Come on.” I awkwardly push myself to my feet and hold out my hand for him. “I’ll show you.”

His small, warm hand slips into mine, and I feel a jolt of static electricity ripple up my arm, but I don’t let go. For a second, we stand there staring at each other in the dim light. Then he shivers as another gust of cold air whistles down the secret passage. He’s only wearing his white uniform shirt and black button-up vest, his name badge and a tiny rainbow pin attached just above his heart.

Slipping off my suit jacket, I wrap it around his shoulders and take the phone from him so he can slip his arms into the sleeves. I watch as he presses his face into the lapel and inhales, a small, sweet smile playing on his lips.

“Thank you.” He looks up at me and even in the low light, his blue eyes still enchant me. There’s something about his gaze that I can’t look away from. “We should go, or we’re both going to catch cold,” he teases.