The receptionist-doubling barman, with his fade hairstyle and a simple t-shirt, looked bizarrely out of place for the historic hotel. “We’ve got some rooms available,” he said. “Do you mind ghosts?”
Shanna scrunched up her nose. “Excuse me?”
“A couple of rooms are haunted, so if you don’t want those, let me know … unless you don’t believe in ghosts, in which case, never mind.”
“Oh, no, I love ghosts,” Shanna said. “I mean—yes, I believe in them! Do they have a schedule?”
Now it was the barman’s turn to look confused.
“The ghosts,” Shanna repeated. “Would you be able to tell me when they appear?”
Simon gently held her by the arm. “I think that’s above his pay grade,” he whispered.
“I’ll take a room with a ghost,” she said.
“Are the rooms close enough together? Less than a hundred feet between two available ones?” Simon asked.
The barman, who still hadn’t recovered from Shanna’s question, flustered and scratched his neck. “Probably?”
“Another room next to hers, please,” Simon said. “And the third one, wherever in the building.”
“A basement, if possible,” Chris said, appearing behind Simon. “Or the attic. No preference as long as it’s maximum creepy.”
“They’re all on the second floor,” the barman peeped.
They got their rooms and keys—real vintage ones, with a heavy brass plate etched with the room’s number—and headed up the narrow staircase. The rooms fit the rest of the hotel. A bed with a darkwood frame, with a blanket in an antique pattern of black, bronze, and red laid over it; a console table with a porcelain pitcher and coffee cups; a creaky wardrobe with a carved wooden door. Simon had half-expected to find a chamber pot in the bathroom instead of a real toilet, but the amenities were modern—though cleverly designed to meld in with the rest.
As he stepped into the hallway, Shanna also exited her room. “They’re charming, aren’t they? Do you want to come and talk to some ghosts with me?”
He opened his mouth, unsure of how to respond.
“See, I got this idea.” Her eyes shone with enthusiasm, and Simon knew he wasn’t going to say no, even if she suggested they go bungee jumping over some nearby gorge. “Nobody remembers Mom. No human, that is, because too much time has passed. But time doesn’t work the same for ghosts! They don’t age! They don’t exist in our world, but in one in between. And maybe they would remember her.”
“So you’re going to ask them.”
“Exactly.” She grinned. “Coming?”
Gorge or ghosts, it didn’t matter. “Sure.”
She led him into her room, mirroring his in amenities and decor, except that she’d cleared the blanket off the bed and laid down a napkin with a circle marking.
“You can sit wherever.” She sat, cross-legged, on the bed next to the napkin. She also positioned a few crystals around the napkin and lit an incense stick, the smell of sandalwood spreading through the small room.
Simon sat on the edge of the bed, extending out his leg with the injured ankle. It was getting better, and according to Chris, he was supposed to put weight on it as soon as possible so the injury could heal well, but it still twinged occasionally.
“Stay quiet,” Shanna instructed him. “I’ll try to contact them.”
She closed her eyes and began to softly murmur foreign words. For a few minutes, nothing happened, but then, as Shanna still murmured, sitting in the same unmoving position as if she’d been petrified, something cold touched Simon’s back.
He swiftly turned, but there was nothing there. He took a deep breath. A nervousness spread through his stomach, and he wondered why he’d be nervous all of a sudden until he realized it wasn’t nervousness.
It was dread.
For three years, he’d been something—perhaps a ghost, perhaps something else immaterial—and an entity in this room knew it. It was like a sliver of that Simon remained, and the entity was trying to connect to it; not with malice, he figured, but more with the excitement of an old friend.
It didn’t make him any less scared, though.
A light smile spread across Shanna’s lips. She kept her eyes closed as she said, in a soft, almost laughing tone, “No, not him. You talk to me, yes? He’s mine.”
