Ghosts of Averoigne

“Sure.”

He nodded appreciatively. “That theory actually makes sense.”

“Wouldn’t you be pissed if someone painted your once beautiful room black or white or red?”

“Or crazy spirals,” chucked Jeremy. “Yeah.”

He passed her the key and his fingers lingered on hers. Kara let them. His big hand was warm and smooth, his touch every bit as gentle as she remembered.

“Be careful,” he said as he disappeared into the next room.

“You too.”

Some rooms were different than others. Different layouts. Different furniture. Some were even consistent with the era.

All of them were bizarre.

In room 311 Kara encountered a hanging egg chair — a retro artifact she hadn’t seen except in photographs. In person, it was every bit as cool as she thought it might be. She had to resist the urge to jump into it, to try it out. If only the chain fastening the thing to the ceiling didn’t look so damn unstable.

Her search turned up little, if anything, of interest. Room 308 gave up a dog-eared paperback with a missing cover. Room 317 had a cracked headboard and a whole bathtub full of mothballs. Throughout her search, Kara stayed hyper-aware of any flashes or visions. Any sort of peek backwards through time — a glimpse into what this place might once have been like — would’ve been welcome, and possibly helpful. But nothing happened.

A hour passed, then two. When they reached the end of the long, zig-zagging corridor, they came together and switched hallways. Logan suggested taking a break. Jeremy and Kara outvoted him; they just wanted to get it done.

Jeremy handed out bottles of water. He’d come better prepared than they had, and it shamed Kara a little. Logan was lamenting not having a flashlight. His phone battery had already died a while back, and Kara had slipped him hers.

Halfway down the second hallway, Kara was dirty, sweaty and tired. Her lungs were full of dust. Her hands were disgusting.

“Anything?” she asked Logan as they passed off the key for the umpteenth time.

“Nada.”

“Me neither. I was just thinking that—”

A sudden scream tore through the hallway, loud and horrific. It stopped them both cold, forcing Kara to clutch Logan’s arm in confusion then alarm. It was even more horrifying as they realized the source of the screaming:

Jeremy!

Twenty-Seven

Their companion was only one room ahead of them. Logan led the way as they sprinted forward through the next open door…

They found Jeremy standing on the bed, eyes screwed shit, his hands over his ears. His flashlight was discarded on the floor. He was screaming, but he was also clutching his head like he was trying to block something out. Not sound though. Whatever he was trying to block out was coming from inside his head, and that part was terrifying.

“What is it?” Kara called out. “Jeremy, tell us! What’s…”

Her voice died in her throat as he turned toward them, slowly opening his eyes wider than any eyes had a right to be. Thinking back on it later, that was the part that haunted her the most: his gaze. Jeremy’s lids were so far apart it seemed impossible — his entire eyeballs showed. And then they moved. Shifted…

What the fuck!

Jeremy’s pupils darted left and right, scanning the room wildly. Controlled, but not controlled. Looking… but actually seeing the room as if he were experiencing it for the very first time.

The first time in ages.

It was a strange thought, but it was also the first one that had popped into Kara’s mind. And she’d learned long ago to trust her instincts.

“What is he doing?” Logan was asking her. He was practically shaking Kara by the shoulders. “Have you seen him do this before? What’s wrong with him?”

But Kara could only shake her head.