The Moorsfield Hotel Read online

  The

  Moorsfield Hotel

  By

  L.C. Quackenbush

  Dedicated to

  Bret Brown

  for being one of my oldest,

  sweetest friends. Thank you for

  lending me your beautiful

  face for the cover.

  I love and miss you very much!

  And

  A. Micheli

  an incredible photographer.

  I also thank you allowing

  me to use your

  your face on the cover!

  1

  Jake huffed as he used his foot to slide open the grate in front of the elevator that he was attempting to utilize. Shifting the many grocery bags in his arms around, he stepped into the rectangular room and closed the grate behind himself in a similar fashion before hitting the circular number five on the wall with his elbow. Leaning his back against the wall as he looked up at the mirrored ceiling, the man sighed as he realized his stubble was starting to get out of control. Glancing to the numbers above the door of the ancient elevator, Jake was certain this had to be the worst part about living in an outdated hotel.

  The Moorsfield had been built a decadent, five-start hotel in 1917. It had catered to the wealthy in every way imaginable until the economy came to a halt during World War Two. By the time everything had settled down again, the hotel had fallen into disarray and the original owner sold out to the highest bidder. Now, just over a hundred years later, the building was still standing; though it had dropped down to a one-star building that offered up rooms by the month to long-term residents.

  Standing fully upright again, Jake felt the elevator drop as it leveled with his floor. Waiting for the doors to open so he could get back to his room, Jake sighed as he once again fought with the useless half-door. Not paying any attention to what was happening outside of his personal bubble; Jake was shaken from his stupor as he heard a light ‘oof’ arise from his left. Looking up for the first time, Jake saw that he had bumped into another person.

  “My bad.” He glanced over the tall, caramel colored man who appeared to be in his mid to late twenties and had a smattering of stubble, which appeared to be intentional, across the lower half of his face.

  “No problem.” The man stated simply as he reached out to shut the grate for Jake, “Do you need a hand?”

  “Thanks, but no.” Jake shifted his load around, “My room is right here.” He tapped the door with the toe of his boot.

  “Alright then.” The man ran a tattooed hand over his black hair and readjusted the loose bun that was holding it back, “See you around.” He casually sauntered through the door that contained the stairwell and headed downward.

  Digging his key card out of his pocket, Jake waved it in front of the handle of the door with a faux-gold ‘515’ stuck to it. Pushing into his room, the man quietly appreciated the small updates the current manager of the hotel had added as they did make his life slightly easier. Dropping his bags onto the bed, Jake looked at the ancient desktop computer on his dresser and muttered to himself darkly about writer’s block as he slowly put his groceries away.

  ~~~

  “Nah, I haven’t felt much of anything yet. I just finished my first walkthrough. I’m not too surprised as it’s the early evening, though. You know they rarely show up on the first round.”

  Roland Gaona was standing on the platform between floors three and four as he spoke to his boss, “We both know how wary spirits can be around newcomers. I figure something will show itself after dark or, at the very least, I’ll have some idea as to what is happening around here by the end of the week… Yeah… Of course I did…. Okay, talk to you later, Janette.”

  Hanging up the phone, Roland spent a few moments appreciating that he managed to get great cell reception in a stairwell before continuing on to the first floor where, he had heard, a bar resided.

  Wandering past the vacant front desk, Roland looked through a small crack between a set of double doors to make sure he was in the right area. Once certain, he pushed quietly through the doors and looked around the surprisingly deserted room. The carpet under his feet was old and worn, but was still a deep scarlet with twisting, golden designs running through it. A few small, circular, wooden tables were scattered around the edges of the room that also contained two sizeable billiards tables. Overhead hung a grandeur chandelier that made Roland uncomfortable to stand under as he had watched The Phantom of the Opera one too many times.

  Moving toward the aged wooden bar to his right, Roland looked up to see his own reflection in the mirrored wall that stood behind it. Sitting down on a red leather bar stool, Roland drummed his fingernails against the wood as he looked up to the top shelf which held rows of virtually untouched, dusty bottles of high end liquor. Roland’s mind had started to drift off when a warm tenor voice rose from the doors.

  “It really would be easy to grab one and run off, wouldn’t it?”

  Roland turned around and made eye contact with a beefy, dark skinned man who had a charming smile twisting across his smooth face. His hair was twisted into very short dreadlocks, the tips of which had been bleached to a medium-blonde. A plain, navy shirt that was streaked with what appeared to be oil stretched over his broad chest and simple black jeans covered is legs.

  “Are you a mind reader?”

  “Nope,” the man stepped behind the counter, “just a bit of a delinquent.” He winked to let Roland know he was joking and offered his hand up to shake, “I am also the live-in maintenance man of this hotel and, at this moment, your personal bartender.”

  Roland shook the man’s hand, “Good to meet you. I’m Roland.”

  “I’m Devon.” The man replied warmly, “What can I get for you?”

  “A double scotch on the rocks, please.” Roland was reaching for his wallet but paused when Devon held his hand up.

  “Free drinks for the new resident psychic.”

  “How did you know that was me?”

  Devon gestured to the tattoos that ran up both of Roland’s arms, “Not only was I aware the boss called in a psychic, but I’ve never met anyone else with damned near every religious symbol known to man in ink up their arms.”

  “You are very observant, Sir.” Roland raised tumbler to Devon before taking a sip, “While we’re on the subject, though, I bet the maintenance man could give me a few pointers on where to look for boogiemen in this place.”

  “I sure could.” Devon poured himself a shot of Jager, “What exactly are you looking for?”

  “Your boss wants to know who is haunting this building, why they are doing it, and whether or not it has any correlation with how bad the business is going. Once we know that, he’ll decide if he wants to kick the spirit out or make it an attraction.”

  Devon rolled his eyes, “Typical.” He threw back his shot, “You should know now that it’s not just one spirit though.”

  “That’s not surprising in a place like this.” Roland took another sip, “Are there any hot-spots?”

  “The basement is creepy for sure.” Devon rested his elbows on the counter as he thought, “Then again, most basements are.” The man took his time thinking, “Whatever is in here is fairly free roaming but there is this one room on the fourth floor that seems to act up more often than the others.”

  “Is anyone renting it out right now?” Roland finished off his drink.

  “Yes, but they’re due to check out in two days. That is, if they last that long.”

  “It’s that scary, huh?”

  “In my opinion, no, but some people get startled easily and this couple is just here for a short vacation.”

  “Definitely noted, thank you.”

  Roland’s train of thought was
interrupted as the door burst open to reveal the blonde that had run into him earlier. He was a moderately tall, lean, disheveled looking mess with dark circles around his tired looking eyes. His hair was slicked straight back and dark stubble that did not match his hair ran across his chin and down his neck all the way to a massive tattoo on his chest that was peeking out from under the loose v-neck shirt that adorned his torso. Beneath this was a pair of ratty pajama pants that had seen far better days and bare feet.

  The man was sending Roland a wary gaze as he strolled casually behind the bar and grabbed a bottle of gin. As Roland stared in shock, the blonde dropped a wad of cash on the counter before turning around and exiting as quickly as he had entered.

  “That was rude.” Roland turned back around to face Devon.

  “Not at all, he’s just a little eccentric. I don’t mind.” Devon was flattening out the bills and sliding them into the ancient cash register that resided beneath the bar.

  “What’s his deal, anyway?”

  “He’s a classic case of a struggling writer at the end of his rope.” Devon refilled Roland’s drink, “His name is Jake Ziegler. He’s lived in this building for three years but, even though he’s been published at least a couple times before, nothing he writes is being accepted anymore. I don’t know what the exact problem is though.” Devon knocked back another shot.

  “Well, have you actually read his work?”

  “Nope.” Devon shrugged, “I couldn’t even tell you what genre it is. I don’t have a lot of spare time to go to the library as this place is severely understaffed. I’m on call pretty much twenty-four-seven.”

  “Ah, that sucks.” Roland emptied his glass, “Thank you for the drinks. I should probably finish up my walk-through.”

  “Sounds good to me.” Devon set the two glasses in the sink, “If you need anything, my room is the one on the far end of the first floor hallway. Knock anytime. I don’t really sleep.”

  After thanking the man, Roland wandered back out the doors, determined to find something paranormal before he went to bed that night.

  ~~~

  Roland was sitting on the roof of the hotel as he tried to smoke away his vague sense of irritation. Being a natural born medium, he’d had twenty-eight years to hone his skills and instincts. Rarely had he ever walked into any environment that came up reading free but, today, in supposedly one of the most haunted hotels in St. Louis, he had felt absolutely nothing.

  Exhaling smoke as he looked to the orange tinted clouds overhead, Roland let out a frustrated groan.

  “Something’s not right in this place.” Roland muttered to himself seconds before a loud click sounded from the door that led back into the hotel. Head jerking up, Roland once again saw the walking train-wreck that was Jake Ziegler.

  “You’re not up here to jump, are you?”

  Roland was startled that the man had spoken to him so casually, “W… what?”

  Jake lit up a cigarette and took a long drag before replying, “I’m just curious. Most people don’t bother to break onto the roof unless they’re looking for some adventurous amorous activities or are going to jump. As you’re completely alone, I figured you’re not up here for the latter.” Jake filled in the sentence with a vague gesture to the edge of the building.

  “Oh, no!” Roland stood up and moved to stand closer to the peculiar man, “I was given an all-access pass from the manager. I’m here on business for the hotel.” Roland flashed the keycard he had stashed in his deep pocket, “You’re not up here to jump are you?”

  “Nah.” Jake exhaled, releasing the distinct odor of gin into the air along with the cigarette smoke, “I just like to smoke outdoors sometimes and don’t particularly feel like getting mugged on the street.” He held up a key ring with three cards hooked to it, “I lifted some special access cards of my own. If you hadn’t noticed, this place isn’t well guarded.”

  “I had noticed that, actually.” Roland found the blunt nature of his smoking companion amusing, “Aren’t you worried you’re tattling on the establishment to an inspector that could shut down your building though?”

  Jake scoffed so hard he choked on smoke, “You expect me to believe you are an in inspector?” He wiped a stray tear from his eye, “You are very funny.” Jake looked the man up and down once more before continuing, “You have too much ink in your skin and haven’t had enough visits to the barber for me to believe any formal business would hire you.” Jake lit a second cigarette off his first one, “Now that you bring it up, though, what is your business here?”

  “I could be under cover…”

  “And I could be J.K. Rowling but alas, I’m still virtually unheard of and you still have noticeably gauged ears and a real lip ring.”

  “Touché!” Roland was pleasantly surprised at how easy it was to talk to Jake, “I am a medium. I was called in by Mr. Vanhousen to see if I can sort out the haunting, or hauntings, in this building.”

  Jake gave Roland a long, slow once over as he debated if the man was telling the truth. Fidgeting under the long stare, Roland felt his nerves rising as he waited on edge for Jake to come to a conclusion. After what felt like eons, the blonde nodded.

  “You won’t find them on the roof.”

  “Well, no, of course not” Roland faltered, “I came up to smoke off some stress because I can’t find signs of anything anywhere and this has never happened to me before.”

  “You don’t say...” Jake scratched at his chin and thought for a few moments, “It seems that is this hotel’s greatest trick.”

  “What is?”

  “Taking away people’s most natural affinity toward the jobs they have chosen.” The blonde’s exhale came out a wary sigh.

  “Oh my god, you’re right!” Roland threw is cigarette butt to the ground and stomped it out as his excitement rose, “You’re brilliant!”

  “What are you even…?” Jake blinked hard as Roland’s sudden mood swing momentarily incapacitated him, “Are you high? I mean, it’s cool if you are, I don’t judge, but I don’t know anything about ghosts.”

  “There must be something in the building that is intentionally jamming my abilities. It’s rare, but I have read about curses that suck motivation, inspiration, and talents out of certain people so I don’t see why one couldn’t wreck an entire space.”

  “Other people have seen the ghosts though.” Jake had turned to face Roland as he was now completely committed to the conversation, “Hell, even I have a few times.”

  “Yes, that’s why I was called out here in the first place.” Roland rubbed his hands together as he tried to get his voice to catch up with his mind, “Spirits will sometimes choose to show themselves to people for various purposes, but the trick of my gift is that I can usually see them at any given moment, with or without their consent. If one chose to appear now, it could appear to both of us, but if my gift was working properly, I could see or hear it without you having the same experience.” Roland looked up to Jake, “Unless, of course, you’re also a medium?”

  “If I was even a good enough liar to pretend to be a medium, I would absolutely not be wasting my time with a dead-end writing career.”

  “Right.” Roland was chewing on the ring in his bottom lip as he thought, “You don’t by chance know of any rooms that have weird marking or objects or even a funky vibe in them do you?”

  “Well, the billiards room gives me the jeebs, but you seemed perfectly comfortable in there earlier so, no not really. Sorry.” Jake shrugged.

  “It was worth asking.” Roland was pacing as he tried to remember the floor plan of the building, “I’ll just take another walk through or something tomorrow and try to figure this out.” He looked up to Jake who still had a slightly skeptical look on his face as he watched Roland cautiously, “Thank you, Jake.”

  “You’re welcome, I think?” Jake paused for a few seconds, “How did you know my name?”

  “The maintenance guy told me.”

  Jake’s eyes narrowed slight
ly, “Weird, I didn’t think anyone in this place other than Vanhousen knew my name but I guess after three years, it’s about time. I figure I should know who you are now as it appears we’re going to be bumping into each other, both literally and figuratively, on a fairly regular basis while you’re here.”

  “I’m Roland Gaona,” he held his hand out to shake Jake’s, “and it was a brilliant stroke of luck bumping into you. You have no idea how long it would have taken me to reach this conclusion on my own.”

  “In that case,” Jake opened the door that would lead back to the sixth floor, “I might also recommend you visit the public library. It’s only six blocks south-west of here and probably has the blueprints to this building as they keep the historical things in the back.”

  “Again, thank you.” Roland stated sincerely as he stopped outside the door to his room.

  Jake waved him off, “Don’t mention it.”

  “If you insist.” Roland unlocked his door before pausing once again, “If you see or hear anything, feel free to come and talk to me, alright?”

  “Sure thing.” Jake waved the man off as he walked toward the elevator with a surprising amount of grace for someone who had clearly downed a fair amount of liquor that evening.

  Shaking his head at how strange this job was turning out, Roland moved back into his room to think over the new idea the surly author had unintentionally presented him with.

  2

  Roland was rifling through a small pile of documents in the back room of the public library. The librarian had seemed a little uneasy about handing over the blueprints to a hotel until she had realized what a dump the place was. After cracking a joke about ‘the most useless heist in St. Louis’s history’ she had left Roland alone in the back room to continue his research.

  Scanning carefully over each of the many blue scrolls, Roland was elated to find that the hotel did contain a fair few rooms that were not open to the general population that he hadn’t noticed the day before. Glancing over to the scanner, Roland knew instantly that the pages would never fit. Snatching photographs of each one on his phone instead, Roland made a mental note to thank Jake for this idea later.