The intruders, p.10
The Intruders, page 10
The boy obediently departed to follow his father’s instructions.
“Please listen—” said Greg.
“No, you listen. Get your hand off my door or I am within my rights to—”
Greg removed his hand from the door.
“Now don’t let me see you around here again. Drive on out of here and go bother someone else, you understand?”
“Yes,” said Greg quietly.
The door slammed shut.
Greg slowly walked back to his car, head down, feeling queasy, staring at the ground, wondering….
How long before the yellow eggs?
Chapter Fourteen
Jesse Walton pulled up his Toyota Corolla to the front curb of the Imperial Inn Engles with the vice president of hotel operations in the passenger seat. The VP wore a black suit, blue tie and big scowl. Jesse felt embarrassed about the age and condition of his car, even after a quick car wash and interior cleaning before picking up the boss of his fired boss at the Indianapolis Executive Airport.
Jesse had never met Mr. Peters in person before and the forced, close proximity in his small car, coupled with his sky-high anxiety, made Jesse so distracted he feared he would run a red light or worse. Peters was in a foul mood, and Jesse let him lead the conversation during the drive, answering his questions the best he could.
“You didn’t contact the police, right?” Peters had asked the moment he climbed into the Toyota.
“No, you said not to.”
“Not until I know what we’re dealing with. I’ve got the head of PR on standby. You canceled all the reservations for today?”
“Yes. Just like you said. We’re closed until further notice. There’s no staff, so—”
“And you still haven’t heard from any of them?”
“I’ve been going through the phone tree, calling nonstop. Nobody’s picking up.”
“Did anything happen to upset them? Cause a walkout or a strike?”
“No, sir. I have no reason to believe they were upset about anything.”
“And no utility trucks in the area? No fire trucks, no gas leak, no electrical outage? No police cars?”
“It’s been quiet.”
“How many guests?”
“Well, we weren’t very crowded. Definitely less than half capacity. Being a weeknight and all….”
“Is it possible they were all here for the same event, a wedding or a conference, and left on a bus, and they got hung up and just didn’t get back to their rooms?”
“I’m not aware of that. It’s possible. I mean, there wasn’t a group discount, so if it was organized….”
“Do you know how stupid this looks?” Peters said. “An entire hotel evacuated and we don’t know why?”
“Yes. It’s crazy.”
“It’s under your watch, Walton. Just remember that.”
Peters’ demeanor didn’t get any warmer for the rest of the drive.
As they walked up to the hotel entrance together, Jesse prayed he would see someone – anyone – inside.
But they stepped into an empty lobby.
“Hello?!” called out Peters in an angry, unwelcoming tone.
No one responded.
The phone at the front desk buzzed in a persistent rhythm. It was the only sound in the big space. Jesse looked at Peters, who waved his arms in an exasperated gesture.
“Well, answer it!”
Jesse hurried behind the counter. He picked up.
It was a woman trying to reach her husband.
“Can you check his room? He’s not answering his cell phone. I’m worried sick. I’ve been calling for hours. Doesn’t anybody work there?”
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” said Jesse, noticing Peters glare at him, with an expression that read, Don’t say anything stupid.
“We’ll check his room and call you back,” Jesse said. “That’s no trouble at all.”
He hung up and then the phone rang again with a hard buzz.
Another family member trying to locate a guest. A male voice this time.
“Did she check out?”
“What’s the name?”
“Danforth.”
“Ah…no. According to our records….”
“Great. She won’t answer my calls. That bitch is having an affair. I knew it!”
“Ah…I don’t know anything about that.”
After Jesse hung up, Peters told him, “Stop answering the phone. Let’s take a look around. We’re going to go room by room.”
As they entered the long corridor of units on the first floor, Peters sighed and turned to Jesse.
“Let’s do this. You start on the ground floor. I’ll go up to the top floor. I’ll work my way down, you work your way up, we’ll meet somewhere in the middle. It’ll be faster. If you see anybody, or anything that looks unusual or suspicious, you call me. Got that?”
“Yes,” Jesse said. “Absolutely.”
Then Peters looked down at the multi-colored, multi-patterned carpet at his feet.
“Jesus, this carpet is filthy. Get it cleaned, would you?”
* * *
Carl Peters almost always simmered with a layer of anger under his skin, just from dealing with the irritations of his day-to-day life and job. He took medicine for his blood pressure and paced the treadmill on occasion, but it didn’t seem to calm him down. As each day wore on, his bubbling tension typically boiled over rather than subsided, and today was a whopper.
He was royally pissed off. He was a corporate vice president forced to leave his big city high-rise to stroll the common grounds of one of the low-performing hotel shacks out in the sticks, a job that others beneath him were hired to do, but incompetence rendered them useless in the critical moments they were supposed to manage.
He felt satisfaction in the firing of Greg Garrett, and before the day was over, he was pretty certain that Jesse Walton would be shitcanned, too.
The hotel had been evacuated, and the clown overseeing the hotel had no idea why or where anyone went. Peters had worked at Imperial Inn Incorporated for twenty-plus years and this was a first.
Even the CEO was dumbfounded. His biggest request to Peters: Keep this out of the papers!
Peters knew it was best that he and Walton had split up to search the hotel separately, because Peters couldn’t guarantee that his interaction with Walton wouldn’t spiral into a profanity-laden rant. And that would be the gentlest of his desired outbursts because corporate protocol prohibited him from kicking an employee squarely in the ass.
Peters reached the end of the corridor and faced the silver, fingerprint-smudged elevator doors. Isn’t it someone’s job to clean this? He pressed the orange-rimmed Up button with a jab of his thumb.
He listened to the abrupt lurch and hum of machinations to lower the elevator to the ground floor. It only took about fifteen seconds, but his impatience kicked in after five.
The elevator doors pulled apart, revealing an empty car.
Peters stepped in.
He pressed for the top floor and turned to face the doors as they slid shut.
With a small jolt, the elevator began its journey upward. The lighting inside felt muted, as if bulbs needed changing. Another checkmark against the hotel manager.
Peters folded his arms across his chest and waited to be delivered to his destination. As he ascended, he heard the elevator emitting strange, abrasive buzzing sounds.
What the hell is that?
It was not a noise that elevators were permitted to make.
Great, mechanical problems on top of everything else?
The more he listened, the more curious the sound became. It didn’t seem to be coming from the pulleys and gears.
Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
The fluorescent light above?
Peters rolled his head back to stare into the elevator ceiling.
The ceiling was writhing and twitching with a thick layer of black insects.
“What the—!” shouted Peters, jumping at the sight.
He was familiar with the common pests of the hotel industry: bedbugs, flies, gnats, roaches, spiders.
But what the fuck was this?
It was an ugly swarm, throbbing at the top of the elevator like a single living entity.
Peters quickly jabbed for the next floor. As if activated by his panic, the flies began dancing in front of his face. He frantically punched at all the elevator buttons and they lit up in succession.
When Peters opened his mouth to scream for help, the bugs poured inside, forming a long, black, tube-like shape that pounded into his throat and lungs with a single-minded intensity.
Peters spun madly in the elevator, banging on the four walls, boxed in with nowhere to go. He kicked and swatted at the attacking insects, throwing his fists in random directions. He continued the crazed dance until the elevator floor rushed up to greet him. His physical being had collapsed, useless and unresponsive, as his brain went into overdrive with the most electrifying fear he had ever known.
The bugs covered him with a feeling like being swallowed in sand. They not only coated his entire being, they owned him….
* * *
Jesse Walton entered the guest rooms on the first floor one by one, experiencing the same drag of discomfort and confusion each time he encountered idle luggage, unmade beds, scattered personal items and no people.
“Helloooo…” he called out as he walked across the rooms, ending his searches with a glance into empty bathrooms.
The longer this mystery lingered, the more awful he felt, guilty and responsible, even though he had no idea what he had done wrong.
His only crime was not being present when whatever happened happened.
In fact, some blame could be directed to corporate for not investing in a security camera network. The company was a notorious penny pincher, allegedly so they could keep room rates low for the thrifty consumer, but profits seemed to channel primarily to stockholders and executive compensation.
Nobody was well paid, so maybe something caused the staff to quit en masse, but it felt very odd they would do so without saying anything. The staff seemed to like Jesse; he treated them with dignity and respect.
Yet his calls to staff members remained unanswered, as if they were giving him a colossal silent treatment.
As he investigated the final guest room on the first floor, finding abandoned guest belongings but no guests, Jesse checked his cell phone for any messages he may have missed.
Nothing. No calls, no texts. That included a lack of communication from Carl Peters from the floors above. That was fine. Most of the words directed his way by Peters were angry and humiliating.
Peters had already fired Greg Garrett, and Jesse felt it was only a matter of time before he lost his own job.
And that was fine. He didn’t like working here anymore. He really wanted to run away from this entire ugly, bizarre mess.
Jesse walked over to the elevator and pressed the button. He waited for the doors to open, facing his own clouded reflection in the time-worn metallic sheen. He feared his search of the second floor would produce similar results. But maybe he would uncover a clue, any clue, to submit for Mr. Peters’ approval.
The elevator landed on the ground floor with a thud. The doors slid open.
Jesse took a half step forward to enter and immediately skipped backward, nearly tumbling over his own feet.
“Oh, shit!”
Carl Peters’ body was crumpled on the floor of the elevator, covered in a mass of small winged insects. They clung to his skin and clothes, discharging a harsh, grating buzzing sound. Their tiny, constant movements created the illusion that Peters was vibrating.
Jesse turned and fled.
As his steps pounded down the hall, he heard the collective hum of millions of insects. It did not grow dimmer with distance.
The swarm was coming after him.
Jesse saw the housekeeping supply room up ahead, its door slightly open. He slammed his way inside, striking the door with his body, then spun around to slam the door shut.
His eyes immediately traced the outline of the door for any unsealed spaces. He spotted a thin crack along the bottom, leaking in light from the corridor.
He grabbed towels from the linen shelf and jammed them against the narrow opening where the door didn’t touch the floor.
Jesse could hear the frantic sound of the insects, buzzing like a furious, collective anger. What were they? Where did they come from? Had they really stung Mr. Peters to death? Is this what chased everybody else out?
Jesse kept his eyes on the doorframe. In one hand he clutched a wrapped roll of toilet paper, not much of a weapon, but something he could squash bugs with if any wiggled into the room.
He froze still, except for the shudder of his chest from heavy breathing, rising and falling.
The buzzing from the other side of the door diminished a little bit.
Maybe they were moving on?
Jesse slid his free hand into his pocket. He took out his cell phone to call for help. To hell with protecting the corporate brand. This was an all-out emergency.
His thumb pressed the 9 in 911.
Then a small, black winged insect landed on the screen.
Then another insect landed on his phone. And another. And another.
Jesse let out a long, withering gasp.
The bugs appeared before his eyes in growing numbers, a sprinkling of black spots against the illumination of the screen, quickly obscuring the touchpad numerals. They landed on his hand and wrist.
Jesse heard a rising hum…coming from behind him.
He turned to see a steady flow of black insects spilling into the room from an air vent.
He moved to close the vent but it was too late.
A succession of insects struck his eyes.
His sight began to chip away toward darkness.
Jesse screamed and dropped his phone. He dropped the toilet paper roll. He clawed at his face.
He felt the squirming, crawling bugs scratch across his skin, slipping beneath his clothes. It felt like fire.
Jesse blindly fumbled for the door handle to flee the supply room. After smashing his hand into the wall and shelving units, he found the door, then the handle.
He threw open the door and spilled into the hotel corridor.
A huge black cloud awaited him.
Chapter Fifteen
Jeff brought Marcie to his father’s house the following night to witness and validate the old man’s eerie, intangible presence. He couldn’t bring himself to use the word ‘ghost’, even though that’s exactly what it felt like, something ridiculous out of a children’s storybook that didn’t fit with his world of hands-on labor and earthly possessions, where everything existed to be seen and grasped in obvious physicality. His wife tagged along without question, a wise choice and one learned over the years.
They arrived at dusk, and Jeff explained, “It has to be total darkness or you can’t see him.” Marcie nodded and allowed a small “yes”, while wondering about her husband’s state of sobriety when he saw his father floating around the house.
Did he stop at Bucky’s Bar on the way over?
Jeff quickly moved through the house to shutter and shade every window and deny the entry of the outside light, which was already dimming. The large picture window in the living room was not cooperating, covered loosely by a weak pull-down shade that permitted big cracks of bluish gray when he required all black. He immediately took to correcting the matter.
Jeff searched out a large blanket, hammer and nails. He dragged a chair over, standing on it precariously, and hung the blanket over the window, pounding it aggressively in place, wall plaster be damned.
The thick blanket completely shut out the light.
Then he set up the Ouija board on the low coffee table in the center of the room.
Marcie looked down at it with a queasy look on her face.
“He can’t talk, this is the only way,” Jeff said. He had spent the previous night asking questions and receiving short, usually cryptic answers.
He wanted to learn more, and he needed Marcie to watch and confirm his sanity. This couldn’t be a one-time fluke. It had to happen again.
Today he had skipped his usual post-shift beer in his favorite chair to keep a clear head. The prior night’s visit already felt like a sketchy dream. This morning, in the ordinary daylight, he had settled back into the routine of his job, repairing car engines at Murph’s. Without missing a beat, drab reality rushed back in, pooling like cement to secure him firmly in the familiar drudgery.
But he knew his experience the previous night was not a figment of his imagination. He simply wasn’t that creative.
“It has to get totally dark to see him,” Jeff told his wife, who fidgeted nervously with her bracelets. “But we can try to communicate with him first, with this.” He knelt down in front of the Ouija board.
She watched with apprehension as he started his line of questioning.
“Dad, I’m back. Marcie is here. Do you see us?”
His fingertips touched the indicator, which did not move. The entire room became still, like a painting. Marcie remained frozen in place.
Nothing happened.
“Sometimes it takes a while,” Jeff said.
She nodded absently.
“Dad. Do you see us?” he repeated.
After a minute, the indicator began to move.
Jeff’s eyes widened. Marcie watched from the other side of the table.
The indicator landed on YES.
“I’m not doing this, I swear,” Jeff said.
When Marcie didn’t respond right away, he insisted, “I mean it, Marcie. I’m not pushing it. He is!”
