Page 7 of The Haunted Hotel

“Jesus, where the hell did you find that?”

“We did have a more up-to-date one,” Ellis replies. “But it got broken last week when the…” he trails off and shakes his head. “Uh… you know what? Doesn’t matter. It was broken by accident along with quite a few other things. We found this one, so we figured we’d use it temporarily.”

“You found it?” I stare at him. “Where? 1986?”

“In the attic, although we haven’t been able to get it to work yet.”

“No kidding.” I shake my head and sigh. “Look, I’m here to see my grand–” I break off as the coffee cup which had been sitting on top of the desk suddenly moves. By itself. It skids across the polished wood and stops in front of Ellis. “What the…?”

“Oh, don’t worry about that.” Ellis waves his hand airily. “It’s just the ghosts.”

“Ghosts?” I reply, considering his words and then shake my head. “Cute gimmick, but I don’t think it’ll help you much from the looks of this place. Is it always this empty?” I ask and look over my shoulder once again at the silent lobby.

“Hmm, sometimes but not always.”

“Never mind,” I mutter, and my eyes once again fall on the cup, which now turns in a slow circle. “What are you using on that mug?” I lean over the desk to study it more closely. “Magnets?”

“Do you mind?” Ellis sighs.

“Excuse me?” My eyes narrow at his tone.

“Oh, not you,” he clarifies. “I was talking to Roger.”

I once again look over my shoulder in case someone has entered the room without my knowledge, but there’s no one. Just me and the quirky little blonde.

“Who’s Roger?”

“The tennis instructor,” Ellis replies.

“You have a tennis instructor?” I frown. “Do you even have a tennis court here?”

“Well, no,” Ellis admits. “If I’m being honest, not since 1963.”

“Jesus. I must be more jet-lagged than I thought because I’m not following at all.”

“Do you have a booking?” Ellis lifts his pen and clicks it.

“Uh no,” I murmur, mesmerised as I watch the mug slide back and forth in a lazy figure eight across the counter. “Sorry, could you switch that off or whatever?” I scowl. “It’s really distracting.”

Ellis glares at something, I’m not sure what, but the mug grinds to a halt.

Weird.

“Well, it’s not a problem if you don’t have a booking,” Ellis says brightly. “We have plenty of lovely rooms to choose from.”

“I’m sure you do,” I reply, “but actually, I’m here to see my–”

“Name?” Ellis asks.

“Morgan Ashton-Drake.”

“Oh!” Ellis gives a merry laugh. “What a coincidence. The owner of the hotel has the same name.”

“How ’bout that,” I say flatly.

“I mean, it’s a very unusual name,” Ellis continues. “What are the odds?”

“Pretty high I’d say.” My tone is dry. “I’m here to see my grandfather.”