Jeremiah snapped the chain that secured the large double doors and tossed it aside. The aged wooden doors opened with a loud and hideous groan. Ignoring the "No Trespassing" signs posted at the entrance, the group entered the decaying, abandoned hotel. Jeremiah took the lead, followed by Grace and Dawn, and Jack and Scott took up the rear, Scott's hand firmly clamped on Jack's right arm as he pushed him into the ancient ruin. They cast their eyes on what was once the lobby of a sumptuous luxury hotel, now the victim of ages of neglect. Dust covered almost everything, like a jacket of grey soot. A sofa sat in the midst of the lobby, its black leather torn and faded. All around was quiet, as quiet as a grave, which this dilapidated building now was.
"Hello?" Jeremiah called out. There was no response save a resounding echo.
"And I thought this place looked creepy on the outside," Grace said.
"Yeah," Dawn agreed, "and does it seem to anyone else that it's colder inside this place than it was outside?"
"You have observed correctly," Jeremiah replied, "It is indeed colder in here. Much colder, in fact, with a chill that comes not from the obvious darkness, or any possible insulating effect of the brick edifice. No, this is likely supernatural."
"Ain't no likely about it," Jack said, "It's supernatural, all the way."
"Is that what you were going on about," Scott asked Jack, "when you were saying that rest here would elude us?"
"Maybe. But hey, you, me, and the big guy are all vampires, so it's no big thing to us. The girls, on the other hand?"
That did it. Dawn got right in Jack's face. "Oh, because we're girls, we can't handle a ghost or two? Is that it, you sexist bastard?"
Jack's eyes grew wide. Ghosts may not have scared him, but apparently Dawn's reaction did. "Whoa! Take it easy, Red! I didn't mean nuthin', honest!"
"Yeah, sure you didn't," Grace snarled. "Big, bad, Jack. Terror of the Portland House. Well, who's the terror now?"
"I'll tell you who the terror is," Scott said, "It's the guy with the remote control for those bracelets you're wearing. Remember those, Jack?"
"Aw, shit, Scott," Jack said, "You really don't have to remind me."
Scott's attention was suddenly grabbed away from Jack as he noticed movement on the main stairwell. He looked up and saw a cowboy dressed in a long brown duster, period clothing, and hat, looking down at them. Why Scott hadn't noticed him before was not immediately apparent to him.
"Oh, hey, guys, look," Scott said as he directed the party's attention to the cowboy on the stairs, "Looks like we're not the only ones who decided to get out of the rain. Hey, mister? We're sorry, we don't mean to be in your space here."
"Who are you talking to, Scott?" Dawn asked.
"The cowboy guy. There. On the stairs."
"What cowboy guy?"
"Him!" Scott pointed up the stairs toward the man, who then turned away from him. "That guy! The guy who is walking up the stairs, and... into the wall. Okay then."
"I am surprised that you did not recognize that man as a ghost," Jeremiah said, "I mean, after all, you were a ghost too, not long ago."
"Oh, and just because I was a ghost once, that means I know all ghosts? Really?"
"You just saw a ghost?" Grace asked.
"What is Jack not telling us about this place?" Dawn asked.
"Look," Jack replied, "Like I alluded to earlier, this place is haunted. Okay, more than haunted. Actually, it's pretty insanely haunted. There's portals here to dimensions of evil beyond your abilities to comprehend. There are ghosts, demons, poltergeists, all sorts of fun spectral critters running around this place."
"And what else?" Scott asked.
"Okay, so, some of the ghosts here, well, I made 'em."
"Oh!" Dawn cried, "What you're saying is that you killed some people and somehow their spirits got trapped here?"
"More or less."
"Jack!" Scott growled.
"Okay. Yeah. Fine. I killed some folks here and their spirits got trapped. Wasn't my fault!"
"It wasn't your fault you killed them?"
"No! Okay, yeah, that was on me, but not the spirit trapping part. That's not my fault."
"Oh, well, that's a big relief."
"Haunted or not," Grace said, "we need to seek out places to get some rest. I think it's best to separate the boys and girls, if you don't mind."
"Especially considering that all the 'boys' here are vampires," Jack responded.
"And what is that supposed to mean?"
"Well, you know, those basic vampiric urges. You know, sweetheart, our appetites are large, and I ain't just talking blood, darlin', you know what I'm sayin'?"
Grace snorted. "Just you try something, vampire. I've been itching to kill one of you bastards for a while. So go on. Give me a reason."
"Uh," Scott said, as he placed himself between Jack and the advancing agent of Ministry, "I don't think that will be necessary. Jeremiah and I will keep a real good eye on Jack here. Plus, I can always bust out that remote control!"
"Yeah, well, if you need help, I'll gladly be there."
"I'm sure you will be. Anyway, yeah, I think it would be a good idea to find some rooms and try to get some rest."
"Right," Jeremiah said, "We will head out at first light. Hopefully the road will be clear by then."
Grace relented, calming herself down as she stepped away. "Come on, Dawn," She said, "Let's find us a suite."
"Oh, a suite!" Dawn whistled, "I hope we can find something with a hot tub and a mini bar!"
"At this rate, I'm just hoping for no asbestos and no rats."
*
Jeremiah and Scott settled on the second floor as their place of rest. They decided on taking shifts; one would remain awake to keep an eye on Jack while the other would try to sleep for a while. Naturally they could hear any commotion from just about any part of the building due to their superior aural abilities, so they could respond if the women needed help -- not that Scott thought they would; he knew full well that both Dawn and Grace could take care of themselves. Jack sat between Jeremiah and Scott, and the hopes Scott had for any rest were shattered as Jack just could not keep his damn mouth shut. As such, Scott was occupied with his own hassles. He didn't know what the girls were up to.
"That fucking asshole," Grace growled as she and Dawn prowled the first floor, looking for a room. "I see why you guys hate Jack so much."
"Yeah," Dawn responded, "Well, just you wait until he kidnaps you."
"I'm so sorry. Scott told me all about that. It had to be a traumatic experience."
"It was. I'm still dealing with it. Needless to say, it was my introduction to this whole weird world that we're now in."
"And you had no idea Scott was a vampire then, did you?"
"No way. I didn't know there were such things as vampires. Then again, I didn't believe in werewolves or Bigfoot either."
"Oh, I knew about vampires. I knew they were bad news, which is why I tried to kill your boyfriend. Sorry about that, by the way."
"No need to apologize. Sometimes I feel like killing him myself."
Dawn started trailing off as she felt drawn to one room in particular. She gained Grace's attention and pointed toward the room.
"Room 109?" Grace asked.
"Yeah, sure, why not? It couldn't be any worse than any other room in this place."
"I dunno, I'm getting a real creepy vibe out of there."
"Grace, this whole hotel is creepy. I don't think we're going to find a non-creepy room here."
"Good point."
Dawn pushed the door open. It swung with a foreboding creak.
"Well," Grace said, "The décor is kind of lackluster, and the amenities stink, and all those paint chips that are peeling off the wall probably contain lethal doses of lead, but other than that, it's cozy."
"I'll park myself in this corner by the door," Dawn said.
"That's fine, I'll take a seat in the far corner by that old radiator."
Having secured their spaces on the cold, dusty floor, Dawn and Grace talked at length about life, love, and other mundane stuff that likely was not too different from what Jeremiah and Scott were talking about (only without the consistent and unwelcome interruptions from Jack). At length, however, both Dawn and Grace somehow managed to drift off into a strange and unsettling sleep.
It was three o'clock in the dark of morning when Grace awoke, or at least she thought she awoke. Her eyes slowly opened to something completely unexpected – the ghostly vision of a woman, glowing white, dressed in a shabby Edwardian era dress, her hair long and unkempt, a spectral chain binding her to the radiator. Grace's eyes suddenly opened wide with terror, and yet she did not move, or cry out. Her heart was racing, her breath was shallow. The ghostly visage reached out to her, its cold hand touching Grace's cheek gently, almost comfortingly. And then Grace blacked out.
When Grace awoke, everything around her had changed. She was back out in the lobby, which was now clean and bright. The sun was bursting through the windows and glass doors and the room was bustling with activity. Men and women all in Edwardian period dress were going to and fro, some checking in – or out – at the main desk, as uniformed bellhops assisted clients with luggage. Grace looked outside and saw the streets of Goldfield alive with activity, as horse-drawn carriages traveled up and down the main street in front of the building. No one seemed cognizant of her presence. It seemed she was the ghost among so much life.
Grace noticed a mint condition Hudson Roadster pulling up in front of the hotel and parking. Two men jumped out, both dressed in long dark coats that protected the men's business attire from the dust of the road. One of the men, a handsome middle-aged man with dark blonde hair and pale skin, seemed to be the leader. The other man was immediately recognizable – it was Jack.
A bellhop ran from the lobby to attend to the men's needs. Obviously, these men had money. The bellhop took the few bags the men had and led them into the building. As they entered the hotel, they were met by a heavy-set, tough-looking and well-dressed man with thin black hair. This man smiled broadly as he took the hand of the middle-aged visitor.
"Well, well!" The heavy-set man chortled, "If it isn't my old friend, Phillip!"
"George Wingfield!" Phillip responded, "It is so good to see you. I understand you are doing well these days!"
"As the most powerful man in Nevada, I certainly am! And who is this dashing young man with you?"
Jack offered his hand, which Wingfield shook. "This is my protégé and assistant, Jack Turner. Jack, may I introduce to you George Wingfield, richest man in Nevada and owner of this here hotel."
"Pleasure," Jack said.
"The pleasure is mine. Any friend of Phillip's is a friend of mine. Is this your first time to Nevada, Jack?"
"Yes, sir. It is."
"I detect a bit of an accent. Texas, correct?"
"That you are, sir. I am a Texan by birth."
"Then you'll not find our climate here too disagreeable. It certainly is hot, but rather drier. Anyway, welcome to the finest hotel you can find between St. Louis and San Francisco. Please, allow me to check you into one of our finest rooms, then we can discuss matters over brandy and cigars in my lounge."
*
Time had no limitations in this dream, or vision, or whatever it was that Grace was experiencing. Time suddenly moved forward, into night. The activity levels had declined, most of the hotel customers having retired for the evening. Gaslights were being lit in the streets. Jack, Phillip, and Wingfield stood in the nearly empty lobby, speaking with each other.
"One day," George Wingfield said, "This entire state will be wired for electricity, as I'm sure the great cities of the east already are. Soon, Mr. Edison's invention will illuminate the entire west!"
"Although," Phillip said, "Truth be told, it's actually Mr. Tesla's invention."
"Yes, but Mr. Edison is more amenable to making business. Anyway, it matters little. We are not here to discuss electric power, we are here to discuss a personal matter. One that requires your utmost discretion."
"We are, if nothing else, most discreet," Jack said.
"My protégé is correct," Phillip agreed. "After all, you are familiar with our true identities."
"Correct," Wingfield replied, "you are beings about which Mr. Stoker wrote in his novel. I am familiar."
"Very well. Then please, share with your friend Phillip the cause of your dismay."
Wingfield stepped in closely and spoke in hushed tones. "I have, shall we say, manly appetites. I am sure you understand. Be that as it may, in the exercise of said appetites, I chanced to engage the services of a soiled dove, or lady of ill repute. It was a poor decision on my account, but our business, shall we call it, continued for a length of time, until I found the woman to be with child. Now I am certain that this woman is indeed bearing my child, as our arrangement was an exclusive one."
"Ah, I see," Phillip said, "She was your kept woman."
"My mistress, for remuneration. Upon finding her condition, naturally I wanted nothing further to do with her. However, when she discovered my intentions, she threatened me with blackmail. Now, I'm a wealthy man! I have aspirations, ambitions! Were it let out that I fathered a bastard by a whore, I'd be humiliated publicly! There'd be no end of embarrassment. And so, I was wondering if you might be able to assist me."
Phillip nodded. "Indeed, sir. You do realize what you are asking of us."
"I do. I wish this embarrassment to disappear on a permanent basis. As I have no stomach for the dark deed, I was hoping my old friend Phillip would be of assistance."
A large smile appeared on Phillip's pale face. "It would be our pleasure, Jack's and my own. Wouldn't it be, Jack?"
"Oh, it certainly would," Jack replied. "May I do the deed, Phillip? It's been a while since I had fresh meat."
"You certainly may. Now, George, where is this problem, and does she have a name?"
"Libby," George said, "Libby Walker. I have her in room 109, away from the usually occupied rooms. She'll not cause you any grief, as I've chained her to the radiator."
"Libby. Very well then. My protégé and I will attend to the lady presently, allowing for you to retreat from the scene. Discreetly, of course."
"Thank you, Phillip. I am much indebted to you."
"Think nothing of it, George, since we are friends, and to be quite honest, some jobs pay for themselves!"
Wingfield nodded his agreement, handed Phillip a key, then quickly left the vicinity. Phillip directed Jack down the hall, to the room marked 109. He unlocked the door and slowly opened it.
Inside, it was as Wingfield stated: a young woman, in a tattered gown, chained to the radiator. Her stomach was distended. She awoke from her sleep, startled by the newcomers.
"Who are you?" She demanded, "Where's Wingfield?"
"Shh, it's all right. My name is Phillip, and this my associate, Jack. We are compatriots of Mr. Wingfield."
"Where is the bastard? What do you want of me?"
"Mr. Wingfield is presently indisposed, but he requested our assistance. And so, here we are!"
Libby Walker was not afraid of these men. Not yet, anyway. A defiant sneer was on her face. "That fucking coward! How dare he not face me, not after what he's done to me!"
"Oh, my!" Phillip laughed. "The mouth on you! For shame, such profanity! Jack, please make sure the door is closed behind us, wouldn't you?"
Jack did as commanded. The door shut, that latch clicking into place with a harsh finality. "Now, Jack," Phillip said, "You wanted the first serving, so please, enjoy."
Jack smiled, his smile twisting as his face morphed into a horrifying caricature of its former self. Fangs jutted forth from his jaws. Libby could not comprehend the scene. She screamed, but her scream was soon silenced as Jack was upon her, ripping her throat open and imbibing her life's blood.
*
Grace was horrified, more than she had been since she witnessed her own sisters' fate at the hands of a vampire. She had no choice but to watch, transfixed, as the laughing vampires devoured the girl's blood, mutilating her body in the process. She watched as they wrapped her dead body in a carpet, then took it through the dark and quiet hotel, down into the basement, where they located the entry to an old mine shaft into which they dumped the unfortunate woman's body. Grace overheard their conversation as they went about the cruel act.
"I certainly hope no one heard the scream," Jack said.
"It doesn't matter," Phillip replied, "for if someone makes an issue of it, we'll have ourselves a virtual feast on the poor soul!"
More laughter. More sickening, disgusting laughter. Then Grace blacked out once more. When she opened her eyes, she saw that she was back in the present day, back in room 109. The apparition in white was still there, but Grace felt no fear. No, she felt other emotions, as tears began falling from her eyes. The ghost backed away from her and slowly faded into nothingness.