Level Zero by Dan McDowell (debian ebook reader .txt) 📗

“Buy you out? I just asked for a room. Not the building. What’s in it for me?”

“There’s a lot more to offer, darlin’. Let’s just walk around for a minute. I’ll show you. Back over here, northwest corner, we tell fortunes. Does that interest you?”

“No… no,” he answered. “I’m a believing man. I want nothing to do with the spirit world.”

“Suit yourself. Let me take you over here to the bar. Isn’t it marvelous?”

Chris ran his hand down the side of the polished but dusty bar top.

“Yep. It still has the original cherry wood,” she said. “Take a seat and pick your poison.”

“I gave up the bottle. Too many men dead in my family from it.”

“Fair enough, mister morality. Let’s go over here — The Table of Vice. I’ve got more opportunities for pleasure.”

“I’m sorry. Miss…?”

“Greenwich. Sylvia Greenwich.”

“Miss Greenwich, I’ve got my own selfish agenda.”

“I know you do. My only rules, whether you ‘rent a room’ or you take the entire building are simple, and they’ve always been the same. Don’t you go having a lying tongue with me… Ain’t no room in here for a false witness. There sure as hell ain’t no room for stirring up trouble in the community or any damn haughty eyes. You respect us as if we are royalty answering to a higher power, you hear? You best not set your feet where you ain’t welcome either. They’ll rush to evil faster than you can count to three. I promised there wouldn’t be any more innocent blood spilled here, either — no more wicked schemes. You get the idea. You said you’re a believing man. This might even sound familiar.”

Chris nodded. “Yeah. I catch your drift.”

“Just sign the dotted line, honey.”

What’s going on here?

“I’m sorry? You have the paperwork ready already?” Chris said. “Something’s not adding up. We only just started talking. I think it’s time that I leave.”

“Let’s not stop what we’ve already started,” she said. “Oak Hollow’s been waiting for a visionary like you for ages. Don had the paperwork lined up long before he passed on to the next life. We just haven’t had the right one come through the doors. Breathe some new life into us, and we’ll get out of your hair.”

“Give me a second to think.”

“Okay. I’ll scream at Katrina for ya.”

What the…

“How do you know about Katrina?”

“Doesn’t matter. You’re here for help, aren’t ya?”

“It does matter,” he said. “I want some answers.”

“Don’t get testy with me! You can have her back. Now sign the dotted line.”

Now you’re just getting me angry, lady.

“What are you saying to me? Why should I trust you?”

She laughed. “You’ve got nothing to lose… but your wife… or your mind. Riverton’s got plenty of those people running around already. Why add yourself to the list when you’ve got the opportunity of a lifetime right in front of you?”

“What are you talking about? This is weirding me out.”

He heard a mysterious voice speak in a gruff tone, “Just sign it while you’re still on this side of the headstone.”

Sylvia smiled as she made eye contact with Chris. “Take a look around if you’re not ready. I just have a feeling about you, Chris.”

He grabbed her by the arm, pulling her toward him. “I never told you my name… or my Katrina’s.”

“You didn’t have to, honey… Your beautiful soul screams it loud. Here you are.”

The room remained dim. Chris grabbed the document from Sylvia, noting its peculiar resemblance to the texture of skin.

Is this grafted together?

Despite his reluctance, his desperation to give Katrina another chance overarched any rational thought process. He signed the document, and the entire room went dark without a soul in sight.

“Sylvia? You in here? My lighter’s at the hospital.”

The mysterious voice spoke again, appearing as a shadowy figure in the room’s corner surrounded by cigar smoke. “Don’t sweat it, Wilkerson. You’re on my terms now — Sylvia’s nothing more than a distant memory, all but dust and ash. I’ll leave you alone. Just uphold the warnings Sylvia spoke earlier.”

Lights and incandescent lanterns illuminated the space as Chris studied the large room. The Table of Vice had disappeared, there were no signs of the fires lit, and the bar was empty. The dated tapestries and fountains were full of garbage, syringes, and vermin. Chris walked across from one side of the ground floor of the building to the other. He found remnants from years earlier, but the appearance of the room had changed. Reaching in his shirt pocket, he examined the document he signed.

What do you know… the deed to the property. Too easy. What am I mixed up in now?

Struggling with the disorienting reality of his experience with Sylvia and the mysterious figure, he concluded, Yes. This will be Creepy Nights. I love middle of the night epiphanies.

Despite elements of good buried deep within, his seasonal appreciations for the dark became unhealthy fixations. Creepy Nights would be the place his unmentioned dream to sell scary stories would become a reality.

CHAPTER SIX

Just beneath the hotel, CREEPER JOE BONSALL lurked the fated Oak Hollow property’s abandoned tunnels. He was not a towering presence, nor did he possess a notable girth. His skin became paler with time as he remained confined and away from the familiar scorch of the Texas sun. Isolation stripped the vivid blueness in his eyes. They now matched his pupils, and he had a pronounced hobble. He was dressed in a shredded burgundy toned bellhop uniform — ragged with scraps missing and chewed into by rats and years of wear and tear. Dust lingered in his pores, refusing to wash away despite many tireless efforts. He sat in silence, waiting for his next assignment from the one who kept him captive, the Shadow. Tormenting voices whispered in his head, one after another.

Forever trapped. You damned fool. You never listened and you’ll never leave. Your mother is disgusted with you, now and forever.

The Shadow emerged. “You should have listened. You know what this place is?”

“A