The old man didn’t look me in the eyes, but whispered looking toward
the elevator down the hall. “That one has twenty-five floors. The missing one
is the thirteenth floor. You don’t want to get off on that one. It will take
you to the top."
His face had no expression. The second meaning screamed at me. Shaking my head
and denying the man’s allegation, “We are on the top floor. You are trying
to scare me. You must know I am a ghost writer.” My heart stopped racing, knowing
this guy was just pulling my leg.
Quickly looking into my face and his eyes were wide open, “Yes, I was trying
to give you some ideas. I know who you are. We have been waiting for you.
Please, have a nice stay at our hotel, and don’t open the door unless you know
who it is. Let’s call it a friendly warning.”
He didn't give me time to respond. I watched the old guy move down the corridor
until I could no longer see him. Closing the door to the outside world, I heard
my name being whispered from the hall. Damn Vinny for pulling such a childish
prank. Opening the door, thinking it was my friend who is a kid at heart, I
stuck my head out ready to blast him. There was no one in sight, yet, I heard
the whispering, someone calling my name, repeatedly. Chanting it over and over
again.
Slamming the door behind me, and pulling over the additional security lock, I
slowly slid down the cold metal, in tears. I knew what was happening. Didn't
take a rocket scientist to figure it out. The dead were calling out to me,
again.
Energy was drifting into the room, raising the hair on my neck. A man's face
came into view and then disappeared. The illusion smiled, yet the undertone was
uncertainty and death.
It left in a blink of my eye, but then there were more voices calling from the
room across the hall. Not sure how many. What room number do you ask? Room 2403.
A party was going on there and my name was coming up in conversation.
This is not good. Maybe it was the beer and plane that has put me on edge. Getting
up, I ran to the phone. Calling the front desk to extinguish my fear, I
asked if they could tell my neighbors across the hall to keep down the noise.
Much to my surprise, the front desk clerk told me the occupants had not arrived
but they would send security up to investigate.
"By
the way," she added, "we will have your luggage delivered shortly.
Thank you for your patience. We have been overwhelmed with guests for the
writer's awards banquet. The concierge was detained." The phone
disconnected.
Hanging up, I looked over at my luggage that was brought in by the old man with
the strange eyes. Was he living or dead? But, more importantly, what the hell am
I doing here? All I wanted was to win the writer's award. Please, not another
supernatural crime to investigate. Vinny calls this a gift? It's a freaken
curse. What do they want from me, now? Has to be the beer. I drank too much with
Vinny waiting for take-off.