Been a while:)
Title: Come One, Come All (5/?)
Rating: Pg-13
Pairing: Keith/Mick
Disclaimer: Not real, never happened.
Word Count: 3,914
Note: So sorry, school’s been crazy busy. I’ll try to do better about updating more often.
The sky was dark and the wind was fierce as Brian walked the short distance from Jack’s house to the hotel. The blonde’s pace slowed and he noted with interest how ominous the little town looked right now, but he was soon spurred on by a few raindrops beginning to fall from the sky. He entered the hotel and went into his room, locating his cards quickly. The boy whistled casually as he stepped back into the hall and called out for Mick.
“Come on, Mick, time to eat. Chop, chop.” The boy sighed, annoyed when he heard nothing. He grumbled and went down to the singer’s room. “Mick, quit fuckin’ around, let’s go!”
“Or don’t, it’s not my loss if you don’t eat,” the blonde added under his breath. He was about to give up and go on back to Jack’s when he thought he heard a familiar voice upstairs.
“What the hell you doin’ up there?” Brian yelled. The boy mumbled another curse and started to climb the stairs. As he got further up, he noted a severe change in temperature and dabbed his sweaty face with his sleeve. The air also suddenly seemed thicker, and Brian patted his pocket out of habit to reassure himself that his inhaler was there. It was darker on this floor, muggier, and for the life of him the guitarist couldn’t figure out why the singer was hanging out up here.
“Mick?” He said hesitantly. “Mick, you up here?”
It was raining hard outside now; the thunder rolled and lightning electrified the sky.
Then, a noise rushed past the boy and down the stairs very quickly then; it sounded like a mumbled, distorted voice and Brian went rigid at the top of the stairs. His immediate explanation was the wind, but it had felt very cold when it whooshed past his ear and made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Brian’s heart rate sped up and he licked his dry lips. He put his hand on the banister to steady himself and looked around. He’d never been up here before, and now he wanted to leave. But Mick.
“Mick, if you’re up here and tryin’ to get to me, it’s stupid and it’s not working. C’mon, mate; it’s time to go.”
But even as he said it, Brian knew his voice was weak and unconvincing. Why was he scared? Sure, it was damn creepy up here, but there was nothing to be afraid of. However, Mick didn’t seem to be here, and Brian was debating on what to do next when another sound from all the way down the hall made him snort. He’s there. Idiot probably didn’t even hear me. Or if he did he’s ignoring me. The blue eyed guitarist started towards one of the doors at the end when a strange flash of completely silent lightning not accompanied by thunder filtered through the dusty window at the very end of the hall. It lit up the whole floor, and then the boy went ghostly pale. He stood stock still, breath shallow and unsure.
The lighting had casted a silhouette on the wall; it was quick the first time, but it was clearly the shadow of human. But that wasn’t what made Brian’s stomach drop. What caused that was the startling realization that the shadow’s eerie, defined shape was most definitely the silhouette of a hanging person. Brian scolded himself; the shape had seemed so clear, but the boy’s nerves were frayed and he convinced himself that that’s what was wrong. The second harsh flash, however, removed all doubt and seared the image in Brian’s mind.
Because this time, it wasn’t just the shadow. This time, Brian saw clear as day the hanging form that had casted the shadow.
And now the guitarist stared at himself.
The lightning revealed Brian’s own body, suspended a few feet above the floor by a rope, so very slightly swinging in the empty air.
His disbelieving eyes were first drawn to the neck, and even in complete shock the boy felt nauseous. The rope had dug into the flesh all around the throat and neck, making a sickening wound there, red and angry. Ugly bruises of deep purple and blue also splotched the flesh.
His skin was the ashen grey color that often accompanied death and his arms and legs dangled helplessly limp at his sides, useless deadweights.
His normally well-kempt blonde hair was matted and disheveled, and there was a nasty gash on the side of his head that let a small, steady stream of blood run down his face, over his jawline, and down to his collarbone. But the most horrifying thing was the face.
Brian eyes now settled on his own face.
He stared at the way his tinted pale blue lips relaxed into a mournful, awful frown, and the way his eyes, with the dark circles around them, stood out in stark contrast to his lifeless, grey, lonely face.
Brian looked away but couldn’t erase the image of what appeared to be his own death. He bent his legs and placed a hand on each knee and leaned forward in an attempt to gather himself. He felt dizzy. He felt numb and disconnected, like this had to be happening to someone else. Short of breath, he looked up again. All it took was for the image in the hall to disappear and reappear with another flash of lightning and a sharp, especially loud burst of thunder to send the guitarist sprinting down the stairs, taking them three at a time and nearly crashing down.
Just for a split second, as Brian was nearly out the door, he heard it again. Except this time there was no mistaking it; it wasn’t distorted or unclear now, and after what he’d just seen, Brian didn’t even try to disillusion himself.
The sound rushed passed him again-an amused, unsettling giggle that was carried away on the wind, into the storm with the blonde.
…
Mick just stared at the young man across from him. His story…it was sad, and unbelievable, and crazy-though the singer supposed that if this could be happening to him, he should be more willing to keep an open mind. He cleared his throat.
“So, forty years, huh?”
Louis nodded, and Mick felt his heart sink
“Fuck, what have you been doing for all this time?”
Louis shrugged. “I lost my sense of time when I died, Mick. I pay no attention to the hours and minutes that pass,” the curly headed boy smiled wryly now.
“It’s funny; I’ve watched the people, the clothes, and the buildings change around me with time. Yet I remain the same; my clothes, the way I speak…even this building is forever frozen for me as it was the day I died in 1924. His eyes softened. “My family moved away shortly after. They’re passed now. Neighbors, friends…gone. Dead or moved away too. This place does that to people.”
Mick swallowed hard. “How many people have there been like you and me?”
Louis thought. “Before me? Several. I knew of the rumors and odd happenings in this place when my family bought the hotel. My parents brushed it off like everyone else, but I now know many of the stories of people disappearing or…dying under the strangest circumstances were indeed true. The years my family owned this place were disrupted every once in a while by unexplainable, weird, but basically harmless incidents. I was young when this was going on, but I remember business boomed for us. People flocked from all around to stay with us on their way to bigger and better places.” Mick groaned in regret and rolled his eyes here.
“Like us,” he mumbled.
Louis nodded sympathetically. “Yes. Like you. At any rate, it had been years since anything as major as a death or disappearance had happened-until things picked up in 1924, ending with my death; word spread of an eighteen year old kid that had inexplicably dropped dead and suddenly the thrill and fun of a “haunted” hotel wasn’t quite so fun anymore. My bizarre end, combined with the already existing rumors and stories was enough to drive folks away.”
“But why you? Why at that time?” Mick asked.
Louis shrugged again. “I don’t know, and frankly, I don’t think there is any particular rhyme or reason to it. Mick…the forces and beings that run this place have been around for a long, long time. They’re powerful and frighteningly unpredictable. The only reason I can come up for why they do anything is that they’re just plain evil.”
Mick suddenly felt very scared as a though hit him. “Louis…that person, that thing I saw with Keith-is he one of them? One of those beings? Mick’s voice was shaky, hesitant, and Louis nodded soberly.
“Yes. They can do things like that. Don’t ask how. I quit asking myself years ago; since I knew I wasn’t going anywhere, letting go of all the questions and endless wondering was the only way to bring myself some sense of peace.”
“I don’t want a sense of peace!” Mick exclaimed. “I want to go home; I want my friends, I want my family and my music! I mean…are you telling me there’s nothing I can do?”
Louis was about to respond when a banging and rustling sound led them both to the window.
Mick’s heart jumped in surprise at the sight of Brian all but flying away from the hotel.
“Brian? Brian!” Mick called, attempting to open the window.
“He can’t hear you, Mick. He with you?”
Mick nodded eagerly. “Yeah-but what the bloody hell’s wrong with ‘im? He’s running like he’s seen a ghost.” Mick’s own words dawned on him and his expressive blue eyes widened.
“I wouldn’t doubt it. I don’t know why they took me when they did or why they’ve taken you-boredom, just because they can, who knows?-but if they’ve scared your friend off it means they are not after him. But that could change. They’ve revealed themselves now, sooner than they’d planned, and it’s only a matter of time before everyone else finds out something’s not right.” Louis glanced at Mick, as if studying him, and spoke carefully.
“Will they come for you, Mick?”
The singer blinked. “Will they…? Oh. Yes; yes, they will,” the boy answered softly but with confidence. He turned to Louis and looked at him thoughtfully.
“What’s going to happen to them, Louis? Will they be okay?”
The other boy’s normally calm, neutral brown eyes filled with compassion and when he sighed he looked very tired and every bit his actual age.
“That, my friend, is one thing I’m afraid I don’t have the answer to.”
…
Brian was soaked; he was also freezing cold and gasping for breath, but he was almost there. Everyone stopped what they were doing and stared with wide eyed confusion when he bursted through the door.
“Bri? Brian, what is it?” Charlie asked, striding over to him. The blonde vigorously shook his head and struggled to speak, and that’s when Charlie noticed the inhaler clutched tightly in his fingers. He grabbed Brian’s hand and guided the inhaler up to his mouth. When he was able to breathe deeply and the coughing eased up, he plopped down into a chair and buried his head in his hands. No one said anything for a few minutes, and then Jack spoke up in a grave voice.
“What is it, son? You saw something, didn’t you?”
Brian sat up and nodded weakly. Jack paled and rubbed his face.
“Someone wanna tell me what’s going on?” Andrew broke in.
“I-I saw something; or I think I did. Maybe I didn’t really see it,” Brian babbled.
“Brian, where’s Mick?” Keith asked sharply. He didn’t like this; didn’t like that Brian had obviously been rattled by something in the house and hadn’t come back with the singer. Panic sprung up in the blonde guitarist’s eyes.
“Oh, Keith; I don’t know. I didn’t see him, I don’t-
“The fuck you mean ya didn’t see him? You say you saw something that made you run from the house and you just left him!?” Keith was getting anxious; Brian very rarely lost his composure like this.
The boy clasped his hands together and his hostile gaze shot up to Keith.
“Keith! I just couldn’t find him! I didn’t leave him-I’m not even sure he’s there! And if you had seen what I’d seen-
“Ok, ok,” Bill broke his silence and held up his hands. “Brian, why don’t you just tell us what you saw?”
Brian hesitated but took a deep breath and slowly dove into the story.
As he tried to describe the gruesomeness of what he’d seen, he knew he wasn’t doing it justice. He knew there was no way he could get his friends to picture it properly or completely convey the pure terror he’d felt at the sight of himself in that state. The shock, the horror, the desperate desire for it all to be a trick but deep down knowing it felt far too real for that. When he was finished he looked up, fully expecting someone to call bullshit on the whole thing or tell Brian he’d finally lost it. But no; Jack stared at him very seriously.
“God; I didn’t think it would happen with ya’ll here; it’d been so long, I thought they’d calmed down. Lord, what have I done now?” The older man covered his mouth with his hand and shook his head.
“Whoa-what’s that mean? What’re you talking about?” Ian inquired, forehead wrinkled.
Jack sighed deeply. “Try to keep an open mind, folks. You’re gonna have a hard time believing me, but try. Ya’ll remember how I told you about the strange things that have gone on in the hotel before? That family that was murdered and the other stuff?”
Andrew rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes, the ghost stories. What about it?”
Jack looked like he was about to speak but paused, as if contemplating how to continue. “Andrew, you saw the picture of my brother Louis earlier. He’s…no longer here. He passed away when he was eighteen in 1924. I was ten.”
The rest of the group averted their eyes to the floor, not knowing what to say, or respectfully stayed silent. Keith cleared his throat impatiently.
“Sorry to hear it, mate. But, ah…?”
“What does it have to do with all this?” Jack finished for him, raising his eyebrows. “This is the part where I really need to stay with me. Sorry, I haven’t talked about this in years,” the man sighed. “The hotel-used to be a house, remember-had a reputation long before we moved here, as you know. But it was nothing my parents thought they needed to be concerned about. And they were right, for the most part. We had odd little happenings here and there. I experience some of it myself, but it was dismissed as a child’s overactive imagination. Louis was the only one who ever believed me when I said I’d seen something. But then the happenings started to steadily increase the year he died; they become a little more frequent, and violent-dishes being thrown, stories of guests suddenly becoming confused or disoriented, things like that. There’s a room on the second floor that people seemed to have the most trouble with; when a maid came screaming out of there, claiming she’d seen something in a mirror while cleaning it, Louis became determined. So he went up there one night after our parents had gone to bed and at a time when we had only a few guests, telling me he was just going to see-wouldn’t let me go with him. He made it sound like an adventure,” Jack smiled fondly at the memory, and then became sober again.
“That’s the last time I saw him. I fell asleep waiting for him. And I’ll never forget the next morning. It was total chaos; I went outside, and there was a crowd gathered outside the building. A neighbor saw me and brought me back in; told me to stay inside. He sat with me till my parents came home, and then…they told me the news. I didn’t find out all the details for years, when I was older. Apparently, someone had gone into the room and found him crumpled up in front of the mirror. Wasn’t anything anyone could do; the ambulance came, but he’d been gone for a while by the time they got there. The thing is they couldn’t find anything wrong with him. It was like his heart had just suddenly stopped without an explanation. We stuck around for a little while after that, but we had to move. It hurt too much to stay.”
When the man was finished, he looked around. Everyone had a strange, contemplative look on their face. Bill broke the silence.
“So…what are you saying? You think something supernatural happened to your brother?”
Jack nodded. “I don’t think-I know. And that’s not all; I came back here when I was thirty years old. My parents were gone, and for years after Louis died, I’d never felt satisfied. A healthy eighteen year old doesn’t just die like that. I had to find out for sure if it was connected to the house. So I went back; the place had been abandoned, but I got in and went to that room. I wasn’t welcome-could sense that. I felt like I couldn’t breathe, so I went into the bathroom, to the sink. And when I looked into the mirror…I saw him.”
“Saw who?” Loog asked, though he didn’t really like where all this was going.
“Louis,” Jack whispered. “My heart stopped. I hadn’t seen his face in twenty years, but there he was; brown hair, brown eyes…exactly as I remembered. I put my hand up to the glass, but he disappeared, and some horrible, decayed thing took his place. When it smiled at me, so evil and arrogant, I punched the mirror out and ran. I ended up buying the hotel; I was really the only one that knew what it was, and I wasn’t going to let anyone else go through something so terrible. I went back later and covered up the big mirror and locked up all the doors. Haven’t let anyone stay there since-uh, until now,” Jack added, looking sheepish.
“So what does that mean for Mick?” Brian asked, a feeling of dread building up in him.
“Boys, I don’t know how to tell you this, but your friend is gone. The house takes who it wants and doesn’t give them back. I think you should all just-
He was cut off by Keith, who jumped up suddenly and quickly and stormed out the door into the storm, which had slowed to a drizzle. Brian hurried after him.
“Keith. Keith, where are you going?” The blonde asked, catching up to the guitarist.
“To find Mick, Brian. This is crazy-Jack’s not gonna tell me he’s just fuckin’ gone. And ghosts? Is he kidding?
Brian sighed. “But Keith, I saw something in that house. Makes me sick just thinking about it; and then Jack’s story…
Keith flung his hands up in frustration. “God, you believe all that? C’mon, Brian; what happened to Jack’s family was a real bummer, sure, but it’s nothing to do with any damn supernatural shit.”
“And me?” Brian asked, crossing his arms. “What do you make of that? Keith, look, I’m not a kook, but maybe there are things in this world we just can’t explain. And mate, he’s not in there; Mick’s not in the house. I looked and yelled for a good five or ten minutes; I don’t know what’s going on, but Jack seems to.”
The dark haired boy looked back at the house and then back at Brian, jaw set stubbornly. “I don’t care what he says, Bri. Mick’s not gone…he can’t be-I-he just can’t be.”
The blonde stared knowingly. Keith’s voice sounded so hollow and full of shock. He didn’t need to say anything else; Brian could infer and pick up hints as well as anyone else-and had, over the past couple of years. His band mates’ relationship, though not overtly advertised, was sort of an open secret.
The boy took a step forward and clamped a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Keith, I have no intention of leaving here without him. But there’s a way to do things. I think we should go back to Jack’s, ask some questions, come up with a plan…and then we’re gonna go and get Mick.”
Keith looked up and met Brian’s eyes. A few raindrops slid off his light lashes and down his face; his blue eyes were confident, and his smile was determined and sure. Keith managed a weak but genuine one back.
“Alright. Fine.”
The blonde draped his arm around the younger boy’s shoulders as they walked; though Keith couldn’t help but give one last longing look back at the house and picture a sienna haired boy with blue eyes as deep and changing as the ocean locked somewhere deep within the now foreboding building. The thought made Keith’s heart wrench with guilt and a lump formed in his throat.
…
“You’re not dead.”
Mick blinked and looked up at Louis. Mick had stayed at the window, hands on the sill, just staring out vacantly.
“You asked me earlier if there was any hope, or anything you could do.”
Mick perked up. “Yes?”
“You’re not dead. I have no hope; I’m passed that, but you’re not. That’s the key; I don’t know what your friends could possible do, and I don’t want to get your hopes up, but your chances are much better, with your soul still being intact and your body still alive.”
“Really? I could get out of here?” Mick couldn’t hide his hope.
Louis rubbed the back of his neck uneasily. “Look, I really don’t want you to get too excited-
“You don’t know me very well, then, do you?” Mick interrupted.
-but…yes. You’re not gone from the physical world. So I don’t see why you don’t at least have a chance.”
Mick nodded. He felt better, more alive now. They would find a way, and Mick would help in any way he could. The singer went back to the window and sighed. It was hard, having his world, having Keith, so close to him, yet so far at the same time. Louis noticed his melancholy and suddenly had an idea.
“Tell me about your band, Mick.”
This seemed to bring out a new side of the boy. His blue eyes came alive, and a smile spread over his face-the first genuine one since his arrival-as he talked animatedly about his band and their music. Louis listened attentively and couldn’t help the small grin that tugged at the corners of his own mouth. He’d been lonely; he hadn’t realized how much he’d missed talking to people-and this one sure liked to talk once he got going. The young Cajun wished he could do something more for this odd newcomer, but for the time being, he could only try to make his time here more bearable.
Rating: Pg-13
Pairing: Keith/Mick
Disclaimer: Not real, never happened.
Word Count: 3,914
Note: So sorry, school’s been crazy busy. I’ll try to do better about updating more often.
The sky was dark and the wind was fierce as Brian walked the short distance from Jack’s house to the hotel. The blonde’s pace slowed and he noted with interest how ominous the little town looked right now, but he was soon spurred on by a few raindrops beginning to fall from the sky. He entered the hotel and went into his room, locating his cards quickly. The boy whistled casually as he stepped back into the hall and called out for Mick.
“Come on, Mick, time to eat. Chop, chop.” The boy sighed, annoyed when he heard nothing. He grumbled and went down to the singer’s room. “Mick, quit fuckin’ around, let’s go!”
“Or don’t, it’s not my loss if you don’t eat,” the blonde added under his breath. He was about to give up and go on back to Jack’s when he thought he heard a familiar voice upstairs.
“What the hell you doin’ up there?” Brian yelled. The boy mumbled another curse and started to climb the stairs. As he got further up, he noted a severe change in temperature and dabbed his sweaty face with his sleeve. The air also suddenly seemed thicker, and Brian patted his pocket out of habit to reassure himself that his inhaler was there. It was darker on this floor, muggier, and for the life of him the guitarist couldn’t figure out why the singer was hanging out up here.
“Mick?” He said hesitantly. “Mick, you up here?”
It was raining hard outside now; the thunder rolled and lightning electrified the sky.
Then, a noise rushed past the boy and down the stairs very quickly then; it sounded like a mumbled, distorted voice and Brian went rigid at the top of the stairs. His immediate explanation was the wind, but it had felt very cold when it whooshed past his ear and made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Brian’s heart rate sped up and he licked his dry lips. He put his hand on the banister to steady himself and looked around. He’d never been up here before, and now he wanted to leave. But Mick.
“Mick, if you’re up here and tryin’ to get to me, it’s stupid and it’s not working. C’mon, mate; it’s time to go.”
But even as he said it, Brian knew his voice was weak and unconvincing. Why was he scared? Sure, it was damn creepy up here, but there was nothing to be afraid of. However, Mick didn’t seem to be here, and Brian was debating on what to do next when another sound from all the way down the hall made him snort. He’s there. Idiot probably didn’t even hear me. Or if he did he’s ignoring me. The blue eyed guitarist started towards one of the doors at the end when a strange flash of completely silent lightning not accompanied by thunder filtered through the dusty window at the very end of the hall. It lit up the whole floor, and then the boy went ghostly pale. He stood stock still, breath shallow and unsure.
The lighting had casted a silhouette on the wall; it was quick the first time, but it was clearly the shadow of human. But that wasn’t what made Brian’s stomach drop. What caused that was the startling realization that the shadow’s eerie, defined shape was most definitely the silhouette of a hanging person. Brian scolded himself; the shape had seemed so clear, but the boy’s nerves were frayed and he convinced himself that that’s what was wrong. The second harsh flash, however, removed all doubt and seared the image in Brian’s mind.
Because this time, it wasn’t just the shadow. This time, Brian saw clear as day the hanging form that had casted the shadow.
And now the guitarist stared at himself.
The lightning revealed Brian’s own body, suspended a few feet above the floor by a rope, so very slightly swinging in the empty air.
His disbelieving eyes were first drawn to the neck, and even in complete shock the boy felt nauseous. The rope had dug into the flesh all around the throat and neck, making a sickening wound there, red and angry. Ugly bruises of deep purple and blue also splotched the flesh.
His skin was the ashen grey color that often accompanied death and his arms and legs dangled helplessly limp at his sides, useless deadweights.
His normally well-kempt blonde hair was matted and disheveled, and there was a nasty gash on the side of his head that let a small, steady stream of blood run down his face, over his jawline, and down to his collarbone. But the most horrifying thing was the face.
Brian eyes now settled on his own face.
He stared at the way his tinted pale blue lips relaxed into a mournful, awful frown, and the way his eyes, with the dark circles around them, stood out in stark contrast to his lifeless, grey, lonely face.
Brian looked away but couldn’t erase the image of what appeared to be his own death. He bent his legs and placed a hand on each knee and leaned forward in an attempt to gather himself. He felt dizzy. He felt numb and disconnected, like this had to be happening to someone else. Short of breath, he looked up again. All it took was for the image in the hall to disappear and reappear with another flash of lightning and a sharp, especially loud burst of thunder to send the guitarist sprinting down the stairs, taking them three at a time and nearly crashing down.
Just for a split second, as Brian was nearly out the door, he heard it again. Except this time there was no mistaking it; it wasn’t distorted or unclear now, and after what he’d just seen, Brian didn’t even try to disillusion himself.
The sound rushed passed him again-an amused, unsettling giggle that was carried away on the wind, into the storm with the blonde.
…
Mick just stared at the young man across from him. His story…it was sad, and unbelievable, and crazy-though the singer supposed that if this could be happening to him, he should be more willing to keep an open mind. He cleared his throat.
“So, forty years, huh?”
Louis nodded, and Mick felt his heart sink
“Fuck, what have you been doing for all this time?”
Louis shrugged. “I lost my sense of time when I died, Mick. I pay no attention to the hours and minutes that pass,” the curly headed boy smiled wryly now.
“It’s funny; I’ve watched the people, the clothes, and the buildings change around me with time. Yet I remain the same; my clothes, the way I speak…even this building is forever frozen for me as it was the day I died in 1924. His eyes softened. “My family moved away shortly after. They’re passed now. Neighbors, friends…gone. Dead or moved away too. This place does that to people.”
Mick swallowed hard. “How many people have there been like you and me?”
Louis thought. “Before me? Several. I knew of the rumors and odd happenings in this place when my family bought the hotel. My parents brushed it off like everyone else, but I now know many of the stories of people disappearing or…dying under the strangest circumstances were indeed true. The years my family owned this place were disrupted every once in a while by unexplainable, weird, but basically harmless incidents. I was young when this was going on, but I remember business boomed for us. People flocked from all around to stay with us on their way to bigger and better places.” Mick groaned in regret and rolled his eyes here.
“Like us,” he mumbled.
Louis nodded sympathetically. “Yes. Like you. At any rate, it had been years since anything as major as a death or disappearance had happened-until things picked up in 1924, ending with my death; word spread of an eighteen year old kid that had inexplicably dropped dead and suddenly the thrill and fun of a “haunted” hotel wasn’t quite so fun anymore. My bizarre end, combined with the already existing rumors and stories was enough to drive folks away.”
“But why you? Why at that time?” Mick asked.
Louis shrugged again. “I don’t know, and frankly, I don’t think there is any particular rhyme or reason to it. Mick…the forces and beings that run this place have been around for a long, long time. They’re powerful and frighteningly unpredictable. The only reason I can come up for why they do anything is that they’re just plain evil.”
Mick suddenly felt very scared as a though hit him. “Louis…that person, that thing I saw with Keith-is he one of them? One of those beings? Mick’s voice was shaky, hesitant, and Louis nodded soberly.
“Yes. They can do things like that. Don’t ask how. I quit asking myself years ago; since I knew I wasn’t going anywhere, letting go of all the questions and endless wondering was the only way to bring myself some sense of peace.”
“I don’t want a sense of peace!” Mick exclaimed. “I want to go home; I want my friends, I want my family and my music! I mean…are you telling me there’s nothing I can do?”
Louis was about to respond when a banging and rustling sound led them both to the window.
Mick’s heart jumped in surprise at the sight of Brian all but flying away from the hotel.
“Brian? Brian!” Mick called, attempting to open the window.
“He can’t hear you, Mick. He with you?”
Mick nodded eagerly. “Yeah-but what the bloody hell’s wrong with ‘im? He’s running like he’s seen a ghost.” Mick’s own words dawned on him and his expressive blue eyes widened.
“I wouldn’t doubt it. I don’t know why they took me when they did or why they’ve taken you-boredom, just because they can, who knows?-but if they’ve scared your friend off it means they are not after him. But that could change. They’ve revealed themselves now, sooner than they’d planned, and it’s only a matter of time before everyone else finds out something’s not right.” Louis glanced at Mick, as if studying him, and spoke carefully.
“Will they come for you, Mick?”
The singer blinked. “Will they…? Oh. Yes; yes, they will,” the boy answered softly but with confidence. He turned to Louis and looked at him thoughtfully.
“What’s going to happen to them, Louis? Will they be okay?”
The other boy’s normally calm, neutral brown eyes filled with compassion and when he sighed he looked very tired and every bit his actual age.
“That, my friend, is one thing I’m afraid I don’t have the answer to.”
…
Brian was soaked; he was also freezing cold and gasping for breath, but he was almost there. Everyone stopped what they were doing and stared with wide eyed confusion when he bursted through the door.
“Bri? Brian, what is it?” Charlie asked, striding over to him. The blonde vigorously shook his head and struggled to speak, and that’s when Charlie noticed the inhaler clutched tightly in his fingers. He grabbed Brian’s hand and guided the inhaler up to his mouth. When he was able to breathe deeply and the coughing eased up, he plopped down into a chair and buried his head in his hands. No one said anything for a few minutes, and then Jack spoke up in a grave voice.
“What is it, son? You saw something, didn’t you?”
Brian sat up and nodded weakly. Jack paled and rubbed his face.
“Someone wanna tell me what’s going on?” Andrew broke in.
“I-I saw something; or I think I did. Maybe I didn’t really see it,” Brian babbled.
“Brian, where’s Mick?” Keith asked sharply. He didn’t like this; didn’t like that Brian had obviously been rattled by something in the house and hadn’t come back with the singer. Panic sprung up in the blonde guitarist’s eyes.
“Oh, Keith; I don’t know. I didn’t see him, I don’t-
“The fuck you mean ya didn’t see him? You say you saw something that made you run from the house and you just left him!?” Keith was getting anxious; Brian very rarely lost his composure like this.
The boy clasped his hands together and his hostile gaze shot up to Keith.
“Keith! I just couldn’t find him! I didn’t leave him-I’m not even sure he’s there! And if you had seen what I’d seen-
“Ok, ok,” Bill broke his silence and held up his hands. “Brian, why don’t you just tell us what you saw?”
Brian hesitated but took a deep breath and slowly dove into the story.
As he tried to describe the gruesomeness of what he’d seen, he knew he wasn’t doing it justice. He knew there was no way he could get his friends to picture it properly or completely convey the pure terror he’d felt at the sight of himself in that state. The shock, the horror, the desperate desire for it all to be a trick but deep down knowing it felt far too real for that. When he was finished he looked up, fully expecting someone to call bullshit on the whole thing or tell Brian he’d finally lost it. But no; Jack stared at him very seriously.
“God; I didn’t think it would happen with ya’ll here; it’d been so long, I thought they’d calmed down. Lord, what have I done now?” The older man covered his mouth with his hand and shook his head.
“Whoa-what’s that mean? What’re you talking about?” Ian inquired, forehead wrinkled.
Jack sighed deeply. “Try to keep an open mind, folks. You’re gonna have a hard time believing me, but try. Ya’ll remember how I told you about the strange things that have gone on in the hotel before? That family that was murdered and the other stuff?”
Andrew rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes, the ghost stories. What about it?”
Jack looked like he was about to speak but paused, as if contemplating how to continue. “Andrew, you saw the picture of my brother Louis earlier. He’s…no longer here. He passed away when he was eighteen in 1924. I was ten.”
The rest of the group averted their eyes to the floor, not knowing what to say, or respectfully stayed silent. Keith cleared his throat impatiently.
“Sorry to hear it, mate. But, ah…?”
“What does it have to do with all this?” Jack finished for him, raising his eyebrows. “This is the part where I really need to stay with me. Sorry, I haven’t talked about this in years,” the man sighed. “The hotel-used to be a house, remember-had a reputation long before we moved here, as you know. But it was nothing my parents thought they needed to be concerned about. And they were right, for the most part. We had odd little happenings here and there. I experience some of it myself, but it was dismissed as a child’s overactive imagination. Louis was the only one who ever believed me when I said I’d seen something. But then the happenings started to steadily increase the year he died; they become a little more frequent, and violent-dishes being thrown, stories of guests suddenly becoming confused or disoriented, things like that. There’s a room on the second floor that people seemed to have the most trouble with; when a maid came screaming out of there, claiming she’d seen something in a mirror while cleaning it, Louis became determined. So he went up there one night after our parents had gone to bed and at a time when we had only a few guests, telling me he was just going to see-wouldn’t let me go with him. He made it sound like an adventure,” Jack smiled fondly at the memory, and then became sober again.
“That’s the last time I saw him. I fell asleep waiting for him. And I’ll never forget the next morning. It was total chaos; I went outside, and there was a crowd gathered outside the building. A neighbor saw me and brought me back in; told me to stay inside. He sat with me till my parents came home, and then…they told me the news. I didn’t find out all the details for years, when I was older. Apparently, someone had gone into the room and found him crumpled up in front of the mirror. Wasn’t anything anyone could do; the ambulance came, but he’d been gone for a while by the time they got there. The thing is they couldn’t find anything wrong with him. It was like his heart had just suddenly stopped without an explanation. We stuck around for a little while after that, but we had to move. It hurt too much to stay.”
When the man was finished, he looked around. Everyone had a strange, contemplative look on their face. Bill broke the silence.
“So…what are you saying? You think something supernatural happened to your brother?”
Jack nodded. “I don’t think-I know. And that’s not all; I came back here when I was thirty years old. My parents were gone, and for years after Louis died, I’d never felt satisfied. A healthy eighteen year old doesn’t just die like that. I had to find out for sure if it was connected to the house. So I went back; the place had been abandoned, but I got in and went to that room. I wasn’t welcome-could sense that. I felt like I couldn’t breathe, so I went into the bathroom, to the sink. And when I looked into the mirror…I saw him.”
“Saw who?” Loog asked, though he didn’t really like where all this was going.
“Louis,” Jack whispered. “My heart stopped. I hadn’t seen his face in twenty years, but there he was; brown hair, brown eyes…exactly as I remembered. I put my hand up to the glass, but he disappeared, and some horrible, decayed thing took his place. When it smiled at me, so evil and arrogant, I punched the mirror out and ran. I ended up buying the hotel; I was really the only one that knew what it was, and I wasn’t going to let anyone else go through something so terrible. I went back later and covered up the big mirror and locked up all the doors. Haven’t let anyone stay there since-uh, until now,” Jack added, looking sheepish.
“So what does that mean for Mick?” Brian asked, a feeling of dread building up in him.
“Boys, I don’t know how to tell you this, but your friend is gone. The house takes who it wants and doesn’t give them back. I think you should all just-
He was cut off by Keith, who jumped up suddenly and quickly and stormed out the door into the storm, which had slowed to a drizzle. Brian hurried after him.
“Keith. Keith, where are you going?” The blonde asked, catching up to the guitarist.
“To find Mick, Brian. This is crazy-Jack’s not gonna tell me he’s just fuckin’ gone. And ghosts? Is he kidding?
Brian sighed. “But Keith, I saw something in that house. Makes me sick just thinking about it; and then Jack’s story…
Keith flung his hands up in frustration. “God, you believe all that? C’mon, Brian; what happened to Jack’s family was a real bummer, sure, but it’s nothing to do with any damn supernatural shit.”
“And me?” Brian asked, crossing his arms. “What do you make of that? Keith, look, I’m not a kook, but maybe there are things in this world we just can’t explain. And mate, he’s not in there; Mick’s not in the house. I looked and yelled for a good five or ten minutes; I don’t know what’s going on, but Jack seems to.”
The dark haired boy looked back at the house and then back at Brian, jaw set stubbornly. “I don’t care what he says, Bri. Mick’s not gone…he can’t be-I-he just can’t be.”
The blonde stared knowingly. Keith’s voice sounded so hollow and full of shock. He didn’t need to say anything else; Brian could infer and pick up hints as well as anyone else-and had, over the past couple of years. His band mates’ relationship, though not overtly advertised, was sort of an open secret.
The boy took a step forward and clamped a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Keith, I have no intention of leaving here without him. But there’s a way to do things. I think we should go back to Jack’s, ask some questions, come up with a plan…and then we’re gonna go and get Mick.”
Keith looked up and met Brian’s eyes. A few raindrops slid off his light lashes and down his face; his blue eyes were confident, and his smile was determined and sure. Keith managed a weak but genuine one back.
“Alright. Fine.”
The blonde draped his arm around the younger boy’s shoulders as they walked; though Keith couldn’t help but give one last longing look back at the house and picture a sienna haired boy with blue eyes as deep and changing as the ocean locked somewhere deep within the now foreboding building. The thought made Keith’s heart wrench with guilt and a lump formed in his throat.
…
“You’re not dead.”
Mick blinked and looked up at Louis. Mick had stayed at the window, hands on the sill, just staring out vacantly.
“You asked me earlier if there was any hope, or anything you could do.”
Mick perked up. “Yes?”
“You’re not dead. I have no hope; I’m passed that, but you’re not. That’s the key; I don’t know what your friends could possible do, and I don’t want to get your hopes up, but your chances are much better, with your soul still being intact and your body still alive.”
“Really? I could get out of here?” Mick couldn’t hide his hope.
Louis rubbed the back of his neck uneasily. “Look, I really don’t want you to get too excited-
“You don’t know me very well, then, do you?” Mick interrupted.
-but…yes. You’re not gone from the physical world. So I don’t see why you don’t at least have a chance.”
Mick nodded. He felt better, more alive now. They would find a way, and Mick would help in any way he could. The singer went back to the window and sighed. It was hard, having his world, having Keith, so close to him, yet so far at the same time. Louis noticed his melancholy and suddenly had an idea.
“Tell me about your band, Mick.”
This seemed to bring out a new side of the boy. His blue eyes came alive, and a smile spread over his face-the first genuine one since his arrival-as he talked animatedly about his band and their music. Louis listened attentively and couldn’t help the small grin that tugged at the corners of his own mouth. He’d been lonely; he hadn’t realized how much he’d missed talking to people-and this one sure liked to talk once he got going. The young Cajun wished he could do something more for this odd newcomer, but for the time being, he could only try to make his time here more bearable.