Ghosts of Averoigne

“How are we doing this?” Logan asked. It was a fair question. Up until now they hadn’t even discussed it.

“Room by room, I guess,” said Jeremy. He pointed right. “We’ll do this hallway first. Kara and I will take one side, you take the other.”

Logan scoffed. “Bullshit.”

“Why?”

“Because Kara’s with me. You take that side by yourself.”

Oh great, she thought. More of this…

“The both you of you can piss off,” she jumped in. “There are a lot of rooms here, a lot to do. All three of us should split up.”

They looked back at her, then at each other. “Fine,” said Logan. “But we’re all taking the same wing. And we should all never go more than a room apart.”

Neither of them protested. The guys even nodded.

Finally! Something we can all agree on.

Kara rapped the nearest door — room 301 — with the butt of her flashlight. “I’ll do this side, Logan will do the other. Jeremy, you start a room ahead, and jump back and forth.” She unlocked the first door with a heavy click, then handed the skeleton key off to Logan. “Call out if you see anything. And don’t be shy about being loud.”

She entered the room without waiting, swinging the door wide. Unfortunately it closed behind her. It was a hotel room after all, and privacy was a priority. She had no clue why she would’ve thought any different.

‘Ka-chunk.’

Kara shivered as the door latched behind her. That part she didn’t like, but there wasn’t much to be done about it now. Her flashlight played its way around the room; over the bed, the dresser, the thick set of dark curtains draped over the window. Somehow it was even darker than in the hallway. Her heart was already beating out of her chest.

“Well, here I am,” she said plainly. She’d decided that talking out loud, even to herself, made everything a little less scary. “Third floor. Ghosts, ghouls, housewares, lingerie…”

If there were spirits here, it was obvious they weren’t amused. The room was nondescript and empty. Pretty plain Jane. The linens were old, the bed neatly made. But the walls…

All four of the walls were painted jet black. Even the door to the tiny washroom.

And the ceiling. Don’t forget the ceiling…

Kara looked up. The ceiling was black too. It was like looking up into a nighttime sky, minus the stars.

“Who the hell paints a ceiling black?” she asked no one in particular. Nobody answered. And that was good.

She searched the tiny wash room, the rickety night table, the drawers of an ancient dresser. Kara even pulled back the curtains half-heartedly and checked behin

d them. In the end she found nothing. Part of her was disappointed. Most of her was grateful.

“Black room,” Kara noted, “nothing but gloom.” She laughed at her own joke and made an exaggerated check-mark motion with one hand. “Check.”

She turned around and headed for the door. Before she could close her hand over the knob however, her peripheral vision stopped her.

There was something on the floor next to the bed. Or rather, a lack of something.

“Shit.”

Down on the faded oak floor, something had carved a jagged path through the thick layer of dust. The trail was fresh, just like her footprints. It was long and curved, like something had been dragged…

“Ah, fuck me,” said Kara. “Really?”

The trail lead straight under the bed.

Do I really have to?