Page 60 of The Haunted Hotel

He wrinkles his nose and shakes his head. “No, as fun as that was, Aggie gets awfully shrill. And that accent of hers! When she works up a full head of steam, I can’t understand a word she says.” He pauses and thinks for a moment, tapping his finger against his jaw. “You know, we could?—”

He breaks off suddenly and we turn at the sound of raised voices at the end of the corridor. We watch as Skid strides past, waving his arms and speaking loudly and animatedly, while Stanley follows, listening intently and somehow still managing to write something on his clipboard while walking.

Roger hums. “I do like a man who can multitask.”

“Bloody hell.” I scurry down the hall and round the corner where the two of them disappeared.

“So I said fuck you!” Skid’s dulcet tones reach me and I grimace. “It’s all the government’s plan, you see. It’s about control. I do what I want, when I want, and fuck them all. Nothing’s changed now I’m dead. I refuse to bow to The Man. I ain’t no mindless slave to the establishment. Fuck the establishment!”

“I see,” Stanley says mildly as his pen scribbles across the page. “Fuck the est-ab-lish-ment,” he murmurs as he writes. “So, would you say you are anti authority of any kind? Or do you have your own set of morals that you adhere to?” He waves his pen. “Um, a personal code if you will.” He pauses, pen poised, as he stares at Skid.

“It’s simple karma, mate. If you’re a cunt, bad things’ll happen to ya.”

“I see.” Stanley hums a bit and mouths, C-U-N-T,and the pen starts off scribbling once more.

“Good lord.” I hustle forward to intervene, but before I can utter a word, Skid is off again.

“I like you, Stan.” Skid points at Stanley. “You’re a cheeky little fella, but you seem decent. You got a job to do, and Irespect that, I do. But make no mistake, your bureau don’t have no authority here. You’re forgetting the most basic right of the human soul.”

“Please do enlighten me.” Stanley looks up from his clipboard.

“Free will,” Skid says simply. “It was bad enough in life. We had governing bodies and institutions set up by petty, small-minded men who were looking for control. We ain’t gotta put up with it in death too. We were created with free will, to live out our lives to the fullest and in the best way we can according to our own consciences. You don’t have the right to come in here and tell us how to think or what we can and can’t do. You may not approve of us, but we’re a family. We care about each other and this place. We’ve never hurt a living being, and none of us ever would. Any fleshies who walk through those doors are safe.” He breaks off thoughtfully for a moment. “Well, safe from us, at least. Maybe not safe from their own stupidity, of which the Prof is proof. But Bertie”—he nods in my direction—“she looks out for everyone here. She’s decent, and it’s not for you to judge her or the way we choose to pass out eternity in our home.”

“Well.” Stanley tucks his clip board under his arm. “Thank you for your time, Mr Skid.” He holds out his hand, and I don’t think I’m mistaken when I identify the look in his eyes as grudging admiration.

“Stan.” Skid nods and shakes his hand. “Don’t forget to check outPenis Envyby Crass. It was their third studio album, and its influence on the punk scene is often underrated. It touches on Freud’s ideals concerning sexuality, but it also addresses feminist issues and attacks the sexual repression of the system.”

“I can’t wait,” Stanley says with a straight face. “Good evening,” he says to Skid by way of farewell. His gaze tracks over to me and lingers for a second longer on Roger, who is now standing beside me. Then Stanley disappears.

“Skid,” I say, ridiculously touched at his words, “thank you. That was jolly nice of you.”

He winks at me. “No worries. I got your back, old girl. Never doubt it.” He grins widely and shoots us a two-fingered mock salute. “I need a beer. Laters.”

19

I’ve been here for days now. The snow has let up some and I have no doubt the flights resumed less than twenty-four hours after the heavy snow descended, but I’ve not checked to see if the roads are clear yet.

For reasons I don’t want to examine too closely.

Last night was the first time I didn’t sit in the dining room for my evening meal. Pennington’s holed up in the study, declaring his book at a crucial stage of development. I’ve taken that to mean he hasn’t even started writing it yet, but he never joins us for dinner, opting to eat in his room or the study instead. Ellis, being ever accommodating, complies with a smile and a kind word. As for myself, rather than have me eat in the deserted dining room, Ellis invited me to eat with him, Rosie, Aggie, and John the Maid in the kitchen.

I’d enjoyed myself. It had come as a bit of a surprise—I’m not known for being that social unless I have to, which is usually at business meetings masquerading as social functions. But sitting in the warm, cosy kitchen that smelled divine, I’d devoured a pork roast with all the trimmings, followed by warm apple pie and custard. If I’m not careful, I’m going to go home twenty pounds heavier.

It had been comfortable and easy, even though they are all relative strangers.

Dilys is rarely anywhere to be seen unless you need a drink and then she suddenly pops up from nowhere, shuffling along in her pink carpet slippers with a pocket full of littlethank you for your customcards. It’s like she has a never-ending supply. She never speaks and honestly I’m now wondering if she’s closer to a hundred years old. I’m beginning to suspect she’s some kind of supernatural creature who only appears when summoned and spends the rest of her time napping in her coffin or crypt.

John the Maid has at least stopped glowering at me after the wet-carpet incident. My memories of Aggie are still a bit vague, and she hovers somewhere between fondly indulgent and scarily reprimanding when she looks at me. Rosie has thawed a bit, at least enough when we’re around the others that I can see she’s loyal and funny, with an edge of quick wit and sarcasm.

Then there’s sweet, kind Ellis. It’s not hard to see he’s the glue that holds this place together. They all dote on him. Sitting at a table with them, watching the way they interact, it’s easy to see that they are a family. The inside jokes, the way they tease each other and finish each other’s sentences—it’s a tight-knit group. I couldn’t remember the last time I had anything close to this. Maybe when I was younger, when it was my mom, Royce, me, and Warren.

Royce was all about family, but he’s gone now. Mom is always off travelling or shopping on different continents, although she does check in every few weeks. Warren and I call each other constantly and try and squeeze in lunches, but he spends most of his down time on a bear hunt and then getting dicked down by his latest conquest.

Me, I work. That’s it. That’s my entire existence summed up in one short sentence. Warren’s words keep ringing in my head. Had I spent years unconsciously trying to prove myself? Provethat I deserved a place in their family? And why did I always think of it as their family not mine? Mom, Warren, and I are all related by blood, and Royce legally adopted me not long after he married Mom. Hechoseme. So why then did I always feel like I didn’t quite belong? That a part of me was missing.

Now, I wander down the corridor on the fourth floor where my room is located, studying the paintings and photographs mounted haphazardly on the wall. Some look to be hundreds of years old and some only a few decades. It should have looked unsightly, a mismatched gallery of clashing styles and significance, but somehow it works. Just like the rest of the hotel. It shouldn’t, but it does. These pictures tell the story of this place. Ellis is right—it’s the stories and experiences of the people who pass through its doors that makes this hotel so compelling.

After the night with the bathroom incident, which I still can’t think about without dying of embarrassment, things changed between Ellis and me. It was inevitable, I suppose. If I’m honest with myself, we’d been heading in this direction since the moment he fell off a ladder and into my arms. We’ve been intimate—some insanely hot frotting and a couple of soapy hand jobs in the shower—but we haven’t gone any further.