Out of the Mist (10 page)

He clutched his
unbuttoned coat around him before unlatching the balcony door and
stepping outside. The full moon hung low in the sky, and, to
Reginald's numb mind, it seemed ready to swing down and snuff him
out. Stars twinkled mockingly in the sky, their sharp edges
piercing his skin and gouging his heart. He leaned against the
balcony and, despite the darkness, stared far ahead to where he
knew the Atlantic Ocean met the horizon. Below him, the ocean
smashed its furious fists against the boulders. To his left, in the
distance, Cape d’Or Lighthouse radiated.

As if possessed, he
hoisted himself to the balcony railing, throwing first one leg and
then the other over the wide strip of wood. With one final look
into the room where his once-beloved wife lay, he let himself
topple to the rocks below.

September
1927

"Room 428. Up the
staircase. Fourth floor and to your right," Ned said as he handed
the keys to Mr. and Mrs. Doucette. "It’s a nice room overlooking
the ocean, with a balcony. Just remodelled. Checkout is 11
a.m.”

Marcus smiled at his
bride. Gail grinned in return when he grazed her arm, causing goose
bumps. "Let's go."

When Marcus reached
for the suitcases, the porter appeared by his side. "Allow me,
sir."

Once in the room,
Marcus tipped the porter and closed the door. He smothered his new
wife to his chest and gave her a passionate kiss. “It's late,
honey, should we get to bed?"

"You tired?" Gail
winked.

"It is our
honeymoon."

Gail laughed. “Yes,
it is. And don’t you ever forget our date of September 12, 1927. I
don’t want a husband who forgets his anniversary.” She turned
toward the bed and noticed the framed picture hanging on the wall.
“What an odd picture,” she said. “Who’d want a picture of an ugly
horse like that on the wall, especially in a hotel
room?”

“
Never you mind
that,” Marcus said as he moved toward his wife.

An hour later, the
two dreamt of their happy future until Gail, who faced the window,
stirred when the moonlight swept into the room. She blinked at the
blinding glare, wishing she’d pulled the drapes across the balcony
door.

“
Marcus,” she
whispered. “You awake?”

Not receiving an
answer, she rolled over and scooted toward her husband. Just before
she spooned into him, intending to lay her arm across his chest, a
chilling dampness swept over her. He felt cold. And clammy. Usually
Marcus was as hot as a furnace blasting forth on a frigid winter's
day. Her arm, having first touched something solid, suddenly
slipped into nothingness. Chills flickered up and down her skin as
if a foreign object slithered through her body.

“
Marcus!” Gail
screeched before bounding to the floor. “Ahhhhhck!”

When two shadowy
figures arose in the bed, a gunshot echoed in the sudden darkness.
She covered her ears and screamed again. “Marcus!”

Marcus jumped from
the bed. “Gail, honey, what is it? What's the matter? Calm
down.”

Gail’s hands flew to
her mouth. The bodies in the bed rose to lengthen into vaporous,
wriggling serpents and slithered across the wall. As if rooted to
the floor, she couldn't budge. She wanted to move. It was only a
few feet to the door—only a few feet to escape from the spectres.
They were after her—those flat, eel-like creatures.

Marcus grabbed her,
crushing her tight to his chest. Sobbing, she clung to him and
pressed her face against him. Why weren’t they racing to the door?
She gathered the courage and looked up at his face. “We have to go.
We have to get out of here.” She squirmed, but he held her tighter.
Nervously, she glanced around the room.

“
Shhh, shhh. You
must’ve had a bad dream. It’s okay now. “Shhh.” Marcus patted her
head to calm her down.

“
No, it’s real...they
were there—bodies in the bed...dead bodies...holding onto one
another...wouldn't let me go...thought it was you.” She pointed at
the bed, trying to catch her breath in between her rushed
words.

Marcus glanced at the
bedclothes askew on the floor. “Honey, there's no one there. Wait,
let me get the light. See, just you and me.”

“
No, Marcus, there
were two people in that bed with us. Two dead people!” she
shrieked, clinging to him again. “You must have seen them; you had
to have seen them! And one I touched. It was horrible, so
disgusting!”

“
Shhh, honey, shhh.
Let's get back to bed. It's late.”

“
No. No. I
absolutely...no, I won't sleep in this room. There's something
here. I can feel it. A presence. An eerie presence. Spying on us. I
can smell the blood. Can't you smell it?”

“
No, Gail, I can't.
Calm down.”

“
I know what I saw. I
know what I heard. I'm out of here, with or without you.” Gail
wrestled out of his arms and, naked, headed to the door.

“
Okay, okay. I'll go
to the front desk and see if there's another available room.”
Marcus pulled on his pants. “Wait here. I'll go see.”

“
Oh, no you're not.
No way. I'm coming with you. You're not leaving me alone in here.”
Suddenly realizing her nakedness, she grabbed her robe.

They made their way
to the lobby. After ringing the desk bell several times, Ned
emerged from a door behind the desk. He rubbed his bleary eyes and
suppressed a yawn.

“
There are ghosts. I
saw them.” Gail blubbered. Her arms flailed. Marcus half-heartedly
corroborated his wife’s statements.

Ned glanced from Gail
to Marcus. “Ah, yes. Room 428.” After a pause while he searched for
words, he continued. “That’s our best room. There’s no such thing
as ghosts. Not in this hotel. You are the first guests in that room
since it was remodelled.”

Gail, despite her
frenzy, glimpsed the recognition that washed over Ned's face. “You
know something, don't you? I don’t care a fig what you say. There's
something about that room, isn't there?”

Ned glanced
away.

“
Gail, hush.” Marcus
put his arm around his wife.

“
He knows something.
Something about that room. It's haunted, isn’t it?” Gail glared at
Ned. “I want another room. I’d leave this hotel for good, but it’s
too late to go anywhere else.”

“
No, ma'am, there are
no ghosts. The hotel—the room—isn't haunted. I know no such thing.”
Ned leafed through his book, turned around, and pulled a key from
the slot. “Here, room 202. I'm sorry for your bad experience. This
room is on the house. I’ll refund your money in the morning. Let me
help move your bags.”

“
That's quite okay,”
Marcus said. “We can handle it. Come on, Gail, let's get moved so
we can get back to sleep. Morning will be here before we know
it.”

“
I'll wait in the new
room while you get our stuff.”

“
If you like, you can
leave your things there till morning,” Ned suggested.

“
No.” Gail shot more
daggers at Ned. “I want our stuff out of there now. You hear me,
Marcus? Now!”

Marcus and Gail
headed to the stairs. Gail, out of breath when they reached the
second floor, said, “There's something fishy. He knows something’s
wrong. Why else would he give us a free room?”

“
Oh, Gail, he just
wants to keep his guests happy.”

Marcus unlocked the
door to room 202. “Wait here. I’ll be back in a few minutes with
our belongings.”

1938

Sally, the
chambermaid, hesitated before room 428. She pooh-poohed the tales
about the hotel and room 428 in particular. A murder and suicide
about 10 years previously was common knowledge around the area.
There was nothing odd about it, just an explicable happenstance
sparked by jealousy, rage, and despair. The weirdest and scariest
stories were the ones about guests who woke up in bed to find
bodies beside them, except they weren’t real, of course. They must
have been ghosts, for what else could they be? And then there were
bodies that fell from the balcony and disappeared. Not to mention
other mysterious tales generated by the rumour mill and gossip gone
amuck.

There were few jobs
in Cape Chignecto for a 56-year-old woman, and Sally was elated
when hired as one of three chambermaids at Ocean End’s Hotel. A few
ghosts wouldn’t stop her.

She tiptoed over the
threshold. Her eyes darted about the room. “Get hold of yourself,”
she mumbled. “It’s just another room to be cleaned for the next
guests.”

Sally stripped the
bed and gathered the soiled towels. She scrubbed the tub and sink
and placed clean, folded towels on the rack. To others, those were
mundane chores, but Sally took pride in her work. If she did a job,
it was going to be done right, whatever task it might
be.

Later that day,
Harry, the manager, accosted Sally in the laundry room. “Sally, did
you finish with room 428?”

“
Yes,
sir.”

His eyes narrowed and
his tone of voice held rebuke. “I sent a guest up there earlier. He
came back in a huff, said it was a mess.”

“
It was spotless when
I left it, sir. What’s the problem?”

“
It’s a mess, I told
you. I just went up there myself. Get back in there and clean it
up.”

Sally glared at her
boss. “But it was neat as a pin when I left.” She couldn’t help but
notice Harry’s face suddenly pale, just before he turned
away.

“
Get it straightened
up. Now!”

Sally climbed the
staircase, shaking her head and muttering. She didn't know what was
happening, but she didn't like being accused of not doing her job.
By the time she reached the fourth floor, she gasped for breath and
rested for a few seconds. She hesitated again before the locked
door to room 428. The last thing she wanted to do was open the
door, but she’d lose her job if she didn’t.

She fiddled with the
key before the door opened. She stared in disbelief when she saw
the disarray. It would take her hours to put it back to order. What
on earth had happened?

Dirt had been
trampled on the carpet, leaving large footprints. Empty dresser
drawers lay toppled in a heap. Pillows had been ripped apart, and a
few straggled feathers floated in the breeze from the open balcony
door. Dirty towels and linens lay strewn about the room. She
gritted her teeth and sighed. “This is what I’ve heard before. The
ghosts in the beds. The unexplained disorder. Harry knows this mess
isn’t normal. It’s the apparitions that have come. Yes, siree, them
ghosts have come.”

Then her practical
side took over. “I’ll show them,” she muttered. “This room will be
back to normal in no time.”

1950

Clyde MacDonald
stared at the deceptively calm water. The ocean fascinated him—how
it spewed its guts one day and rolled in as soft as a baby’s breath
the next. Ocean’s End Hotel was similar, its usual serenity
disturbed by periodic machinations of strange apparitions that
haunted the place.

Business had been
slow for years, and word of sightings and unnatural happenings
hadn’t helped. Fewer and fewer people wanted to stay at Ocean's End
Hotel. Over the years, he’d lost workers, as well as guests. Once
the number of guests slackened off, it was necessary to fire staff.
He couldn’t afford to pay the help when money wasn’t coming in.
Even his trusty manager, Simon, left.

Cape Chignecto was
situated about half-way between Eatonville and Advocate Harbour,
both 20 kilometres away. Why his ancestors had built such an
establishment at that locale never ceased to puzzle him, though the
nearby residents must have been elated. The MacDonalds originally
settled in Eatonville, established by the Eaton family in 1864, and
several years later Freeman MacDonald built Ocean’s End Hotel high
up on Cape Chignecto. Eatonville’s population at its peak, when his
grandparents resided there, would have been about 350 souls, but
the village had been almost abandoned by the 1930s, with the last
year-round resident leaving in 1943. Advocate Harbour still
thrived—somewhat—and boasted residents who fished for a living.
Those folks, however, didn’t frequent his hotel.

Why had he remained?
Why had he listened to his father and taken over the place? Running
a hotel had never been an aspiration. Still, he tried to make a go
of it, marketing the area as a tourist attraction to the bigger
cities like Halifax, approximately 250 kilometres away. City folk
liked to get away from hustle and bustle, and nothing existed on
Cape Chignecto except the hotel as a final destination—nothing but
the vast wilderness and the endless horizon, a prime location for
relaxation.

Stories of shipwrecks
lured a few people, as did lurid renditions of ever-present ghost
stories. The excitement of exploring caves and tunnels at the base
of the cliff that might contain the remains of missing guests also
attracted some visitors. He constantly admonished the managers to
warn those searching for undiscovered caves and exploring
mysterious tunnels to be back on high ground before the tide
turned, for once the water came in, there would be no escape. He
also advised his employees to point out the dangers of powerful
currents that could suck individuals into whirlpools or carry them
out to sea.