Tales from the Haunted Hotel

[BlackFeather]

“Introductions are usually the best way to begin, first thing being first let me introduce myself. My name is Sabrael Gideon; I am the seventh member of my family line to take pleasure in calling the Hotel Sanctum my home and source of income. Being the current owner and operator, I am all things to all people, that is to say I am ‘answer man’ to both guests and staff, as you can imagine it leaves me with little time for myself.

Well enough about me as I am only a side note in the grandeur that is the Hotel Sanctum, built in the 1920s on what is said to be sacred earth the hotel has withstood the tests of time. Originally created as an escape for the wealthy elite it has over the years been home to many a famous and even at times infamous clientele. This place has seen its share of joy and sorrow and it is said by some that these memories still reside within its walls, a monument to time past.

There are some who even claim that those whose lives have passed return here in death to linger to what had been the most glorious times of their lives. Other rumors abound and if one where to write a book of them it may take years. I only know of what I myself have witnessed and I prefer to keep my own council about it. I wouldn’t want you to think the proprietor was mad.” Somewhere in the background coming from the direction of the kitchen an ear splitting scream can be heard cutting off the dark eyed man’s monolog, followed by the distinctive crashing sound of breaking china. .

“Please excuse me won’t you?” he locks eyes with the reporter to whom he had been speaking only moments before the scream shattered their interview. “Looks like we shall be in need of this again.” He casually gestures to the ‘help wanted’ plaque leaning up behind the counter. “I do so hate to trouble you with this, his expression and tone the epitome of refinement, “But perhaps we could take this up again later?” he waits for the a nod from the stylishly dressed reporter, and with quick self assured strides heads toward the kitchen just in time to catch a hysterical female dressed in cook’s whites in his arms.

A striking silhouette cut in handsomely tailored soot colored suit he towers over the quaking chef, as she blubbers into his lapel. Soothing her with deep toned words, he motions for the woman behind the front desk to put out the placard. “Yes, yes, I do understand why you can’t stay….”he can be heard murmuring while shepherding the woman down one of the imposing hallways and out of view.

Now Hiring

(OOC: this is an experiment in a rather free form style of RPG that may or may not become a steaming hot bed of eroticism, but should it travel that path then it will be open. Staff or Guests positions are open; also acceptable are spirits and other forms of supernatural creations as this is a haunted hotel. Perhaps the sacred ground upon which it is built encourages such activities. I hope we shall see. I would appreciate PMs from anyone desiring to join in just to have a heads up. Thanks )

 

[sharingfantasies]

Tara Bradshaw pulled over to the side of the road as the gloomy mist rose enough to see the shoulder clearly. She had been driving forever it seemed although in reality she knew it had only been a few hours. About five miles ago, the threatening fog had descended around her small car and she had been driving hunched over the wheel, muscles tensed for the past hour. Driving slowly, peering ahead for any lights, afraid to pull over because she was unfamiliar with the area and didn't know if the shoulder was actually there or if the road dropped into a canyon. Afraid that if she pulled over she would be rear-ended by some other fool trying to drive through the thickest fog she had ever seen. Afraid to keep going for fear of hitting or being hit and not being sure what was the right thing, the safe thing to do. Driving so slowly at times, if it hadn't been for the needle of the spedometerm, the changes of the odometer, she would have sworn she was sitting still.

When the fog had lifted enough to see the shoulder, she had pulled off so quickly she skid in the small gravel. Leaving on her headlights and emergency flasher lights, which she had switched on when she entered this ground-level cloud, Tara stepped out of her car and moved to the edge of the shoulder away from the road. There she stretched and shuddered in relief as the intense tension that had filled her body, slowly eased. Bending over to her toes, doing a couple of squats, arms up over her head, she slowly worked out the kinks that had been tightening more and more as she drove. With a deep breath released slowly, Tara once again felt slightly in control. Her heart beat slowed, her shivering stopped and she wiped her brown tousled curls, now damp from the fog, away from her face and green eyes.

Peering into the gloom ahead of her, she noticed the wooden legs to a small sign. With a backward glance at her car and the road, she walked the few yards to the sign, standing eerily as the fog swept around the sign legs, curling around the sign as if the fog was alive, reaching out to her. Tara shivered again, the fog was cold and her silk blouse was soaked against her skin from just the few minutes she had been standing outside.

The small sign indicated the location of a hotel as being left at the intersection and a few miles further down the road. "Thank goodness," Tara muttered outloud. She wasn't sure she could have gone much further, hopefully by the time she got a few miles down the road the fog would lift and things would be fine.

Tara returned to the car, dug out her coat from the back seat, shivered as the warm material touched her damp cool skin, slid into her car and slowly pulled out onto the narrow road hoping like crazy that she wouldn't miss the turn-off. Not only was she dealing with impenetrable fog but the Timex watch on her wrist told her that it was getting late and soon darkness would take over. She did not want to be on an unfamiliar road, in a blanket of fog, in the dark.

A half hour later, Tara pulled into the curved driveway of the hotel. A perfect example of Gothic architecture, it somehow fit the foggy night perfectly. With a sigh of relief, she dragged her sore, tired body from the car again, and grabbing her purse went into, hopefully, get a room.

 

[Sultry_Shade]

It had been one of those weeks, the kind that wind on for decades only to blow up in your face. Delia had been busting hump between two jobs only to find at the end of the week here first job was going bankrupt and the second was firing her because she wouldn’t sleep with the sleazy son of the owner. So once again she was up a creek without said paddle in a canoe with a leak the size of a fist. Nothing like a forced vacation, not that she couldn’t use the time off, but her creditors wouldn’t even begin to understand. It was lost in thoughts like these that she caught the ad in the paper.

It was short, sweet and too the point they needed a pastry chef at the Hotel Sanctum, that rambling place on this hill, the one everyone always insisted was haunted. She had never been the kind of girl to consider such things as she was more of a skeptical mind. What could it hurt; after all she was now in dire need of employment. So without another thought of such things as ghosts she dialed up the number, and was pleasantly surprised to find after speaking with a very lovely voice that she would have an interview the very next morning.

Now if she could secure this gig, things could very well be looking up.

 

[BlackFeather]

The day had started off at a smooth clip at first, only to deteriorate with the leave taking of the pastry chef, though he could not blame her for not wishing to give her two weeks. Still, it left the Hotel in a bit of a bind as their dinners were known the world over, and one of the best parts about dinner is often the desert.

He was much relieved to hear there were already prospects in the works, as Michelle the head of human resources has advised him, she already had several appointments set for interviews as replacements.

That moment of relief was short lived as he was then advised that the night desk clerk would not be making it in this evening as she had received some rather grievous news regarding a family member, her returning to work was now rather shaky. Such things often fell upon Sabrael to shoulder, not that he was not used to it, but sometimes he wished he were only an employee and not the owner.

He found himself manning the front desk running a long fingered hand through his ink black hair, creating a slightly disheveled appearance, one only encouraged by his now rumpled suit. Hoping it would be a slow night, he glances up just in time to see a rather attractive young woman approaching the desk. Out of habit he glances down at the registrar to see if there is a reservation noted, and blinks in surprise to see a name begin to form before his very eyes, Tara Bradshaw.

Curbing his surprise he puts on his usual calm expression and greets the newly arrived guest, “Good Evening and Welcome to the Hotel Sanctum, I believe you have a reservation?” unsure if this name is the young woman’s identity he speaks in a questioning tone, but something tells him this is she.

 

[RedHairedandFriendly]

Kimber Olerotoss blew a puff of cold air from her body - okay, she blew a puff of air into the room, immediately chilling it, though it had been comfortable moments ago. She wasn’t happy. She was satisfied, for the moment. The cook was gone. That was an accomplishment that she was very glad of, but he was still there and now another was coming in. Promises of more were expected too. Kimber’s gray eyes grew steely and she studied the woman.

She noticed the woman had a purse. She smiled. Kimber started to hum quietly as she kept her image from appearing. When she reached the woman’s side she slipped her fingers into the purse and began to toy with things. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the ability to touch. When she felt the plastic she sighed, again a cold breeze caressed the air, this time very close to the female. “Hmmm...” she hummed. “Tara,” she thought to herself.

She tightened her hand on the plastic and felt it begin to freeze in her cold touch. Soon it was so frozen that when Kimber squeezed it, using so much of her energy that for the briefest of seconds she appeared like an invisible wave of dust. Just as quickly the credit card was a mass of frozen plastic crumbs and Kimber was slipping into the floor to the basement below.

Once she reached the lower level of the house she giggled. Her giggles were cut off when she heard a much louder laugh. She rolled her eyes until she saw the culprit. She followed his gaze and looked up to the floor. “Damn,” she muttered. Her head was still poking above the floorboards and the rest of her dangled below, suspended in the cellar floor.

When her head slipped free she settled down on the ground and went to her tree. The place where all her happy times as a woman had begun and ended. It was here that Kimber rested. It was here where she remembered her life, before the murder. She sat down and watched the house. Ever so often she would concentrate on one room and turn on a light or turn one off. Simple things for now. She was in a decent mood. The woman would have to stay. She had no plastic to pay for a room and if she had enough cash. . .well. . .that could be handled too.

As she kept vigil over her resting place she found herself recalling her last moments. Her husband had discovered her with a man. Not a lover. But he wouldn’t listen. He killed them both. Her friend was just that a friend. She wasn’t sure what happened to him. She’d never saw him again, or . . . saw any sign of him, but she was still there. She had felt the blows to her head repeated over and over and when she screamed for him to stop, Kimber realized that it wasn’t her body that screamed, but it was her spirit. It was then that she knew she was dead, but she never understood why she hadn’t crossed.

The manor had been built on top of the small dwelling her and her husband had owned, several hundred years before, when they had come over as settlers. She had rested by that tree for so long, only bothering people when it looked like they would be staying for a while. She didn't want company. Company brought pain. . .after all her friend had just been paying company to her, not "paying" company to her.

 

[sharingfantasies]

As Tara approached the desk she shivered. A sudden cold breeze seemed to chill her to the bones. Although her silk blouse had dried in the car as she had slowly made her way up the fog bound road, she was conscious of being colder now than she had been on the side of the road when she got out to stretch. Shaking it off, she hoped that soon she would be in a hot shower and that would warm her up.

As she approached the desk, she mentally crossed her fingers, "Please let there be an available room," she prayed silently. Tara's mouthed opened in surprise as the man behind the desk said she had a reservation. Closing it quickly, she realized he had to have mistaken her for someone else.

"No, I don't have a reservation, but, would you have an available room?" she asked. "My name is Tara Bradshaw."

Tara's mouth dropped again, when he told her he had a reservation for a person in that name. "Do you suppose there is another person with the same name?" she inquired. "No one, including me, knew I would be stopping here. I saw the sign on the side of the road a mile or so back and turned impulsively because the fog was so horrible, " she explained.

The man introduced himself as Sabrael Gideon, owner of the hotel. He suggested that she take the room, and if, impossibly as it sounded, if another Tara Bradshaw should appear, he would take care of housing her also.

Tara shrugged slightly, "If you are sure?" All she desperately wanted was to get into a shower and then into a bed. Her long drive though pea-soup thick fog on top of her shaky emotional state, had her exhausted to a point of wanting to cry. If the owner was taking care of the mixup, if that is what it was, that was fine with her. She didn't even care if she had to share a room, as long as there was plenty of hot water.

Setting her purse up on the desk counter, she shivered again as she opened it to get out her identification and credit card. She knew it was crazy but it seemed as if a cold blast of air had come from the inside of her purse. Maybe she was just semi-delirious after her ordeal of a day. She pulled out her driver's license and reached in to get her credit card. Her fingers were so cold they were almost numb and she had trouble fingering through the few cards she owned.

"I don't.. where is it? she muttered to herself as she flipped through the cards again. Surprisingly it was not anywhere to be seen. Blushing at the amount of time it was taking her to get it out, she was glad there wasn't a line of people behind her waiting.

"I am sorry, I am so tired I guess I am just missing the card. I know it is here, I used it earlier today for gas." She pulled out all the cards and went through them one by one: ATT phone card, work identification card, auto club card, a gift card for a movie place that she had gotten for Christmas but never used, medical insurance card, and a picture of her youngest brother from when he was a child. But no credit card. Frustrated she pulled the purse open wider and emptied out her sunglasses, keys, lipstick, change purse, checkbook and pen. Then she peered into the purse as if the card had somehow shrunk and was hiding at the bottom of the purse but all she saw was a couple of pennies, an old peppermint Lifesaver, and some dust.

"Well that is odd," she commented out loud. "Why would a pile of dust be in the bottom of my purse?" Shaking her head at the oddity, she looked up at the man and smiled tentatively, her pale cheeks tinged in pink with embarrassment. "I am really sorry, Mr. Gideon, will you accept a check? I seem to have misplaced my credit card. I probably left it in the car but it is too dark to find it tonight. If you will let me write you a check, I will find it in the morning and we can use the card then. I promise I am good for the money, we can call the bank in the morning to verify my account if you wish?"

 

[BlackFeather]

A man would have to be carved of stone not to feel the chill that took over the room shortly after he discovered the freshly inked entry in the registrar. He wondered which entity it might be, there were really so many, and he had only begun trying to categorize them. His mind was momentarily taken with this, but not wishing to appear rude becoming lost in thought as such; he manages to redirect his attention to his weary guest.

Never being one to stand on ceremony and understanding all to well how it is to be in a bind Sabrael gazed at Tara with a deeply compassionate expression. His indigo eyes fix on the red faced woman intently, and he casually touches the back of her hand, just a moth light brush of fingertips, his hands warm on her chilled skin.. He seems to read something there and draws back, turning to take down one of the many room keys on the peg board behind him, speaking as he does.
“Miss Bradshaw, I hope you don’t mind me calling you Miss, he pauses a moment having a bit of a tug of war with the key before pulling it loose, Here at the Hotel Sanctum we are very accommodating, I’m sure you are good for your word about the money, and as you appear to be utterly exhausted why don’t I just see you to your room now and worry about the bill in the morning;” His tone deep and almost melodic with a note of some accent lending to his words a usual flavor.

Turning again to face her with the key now in firmly in hand, he smiles it is an expression that lights up his whole face, revealing a glimpse of his youthfulness, a break from his usual stoic visage. “Please come with me, room 115, I think it will be perfect for you. I do believe it is rumored a famous silent screen actress once stayed there. It has a full bath and a lovely feather bed.” He strolls from behind the counter to take her up the hall.

 

[TheIndigoSultan]

Brock McFarland hit the ancient cast-iron boiler with a massive wrench. "Stop acting up, you old bucket of rust! I dinna ken why I try to keep you runnin'. I've half-a-mind to talk to the bossman 'bout tradin' you for scrap and getting a whole new system!" His voice was rough and low, with a slight Scottish brogue. "An you, ya wee ghosties! I know you've been messin' with the thermostats again! Stay away from my bleenin' hotel, or I'll pray for the Laird to send you all straight to Hell!"

Brock was a somewhat short, stocky man with massive shoulders like a bull, a deep chest, a bit of a beer gut, and hands like iron skillets. His side-burns and attached moustache were covered in dirt and grease. His hands were filthy as well, with dirty under his thick fingers. Two pale, almost pretty, blue eyes peered out of his strong, broad face. The thatch of hair atop his head was almost black and stuck out in odd directions, when his plain, black baseball cap wasn't pushed down on his head. He wore his ubiquitous denim overalls, with a red flannel shirt and his leather tool-belt.

Brock gave the furnace one last smite with the wrench, before it sparked into life. "And aboot bleedin' time too!" He stomped over to the wooden plank propped up on stacked paint-tins, that served as his desk, and looked for the next task on his list. A large, clay mug was held in one hand, containing coffee and a large carved ivory pipe was held in the other, containing smoking tobacco.

 

[RedHairedandFriendly]

Kimber knew as soon Sabrael would let the woman stay and so Kimber accepted that for about two minutes and then she left her dwelling and slipped back to the house. She immediately noticed the temperature of the room had improved, not that she could feel it, but because the occupants seemed more comfortable. The initial chill gone. She rolled her ghostly eyes to the ceiling an then down toward the cellar. She got angry and stopped on foot loud and she knew the sound vibrated through the room.

Her eyes moved to that of the Master of the Inn and she smirked at his reassurance that the room would be handled in the morning. “If she stays that long,” Kimber thought.

She brushed by the woman and rested a hand on her shoulder. Kimber whispered gently, almost a soft breeze kissing the air. “You should go,” she sighed and slipped quietly away.

The air was cool once more as she glided through the wall and back into the kitchen. She ran her fingers over the copper pots that hung from the ceiling, the energy she set through them gave them an unbearable heat and she knew if someone reached up to still their movements, they would feel the warmth of Hell.

Her laughter filled the room as she moved deeper and took a seat on the lower step of the cellar. She watched Brock drink his coffee and move to light his pipe. Kimber sends out a puff of air and laughter fills the air as the match expires in the wind. She does this several times, each time he attempts to light the pipe she comes closer. Her eyes, if full of life would show a smiling woman, but she only stares in lifeless humor as she places one finger in his cup of coffee and freezes it solid.

“Your furnace is out again,” she giggles in his ear, leaves him and as she walks back she winks at the ghost that plays with the furnace. Only the dust that stirs in the air shows her presence. Kimber rises up and slips through the various levels of the house until she finds room 115. Her eyes scan the room and she glides inside the mirror, where she waits with a most horrid expression, though once Tara sees it Kimber will disappear and find another to play with.

 

[TheIndigoSultan]

Brock sighed and placed his frozen coffee on the desk top. "The power of Christ compels you..... That tears it. I'm movin' to Florida." He sighed and went back to messing with the furnace. Finally he got if firing up again.

After fixing the furnace, yet again, Brock stromped slowly up the stair, headed toward the hotel dining room. It was time for some grub and some hot coffee. He gotten a new mug and gone to pour more, only to discover that someone had turned his coffee into lemonade.

 

[sharingfantasies]

Tara was so grateful at the kindness of Sabrael Gideon that she was torn between kissing him and breaking down into tears. "Bless you Sir, for I surely could not have gone further."

Picking up her small travel bag, she began to follow him only to pause, eyes wide, as another cool breeze flowed past her. Shivering heavily, but not wanting to say anything when she was lucky that she was being allowed to stay, Tara walked on after the dark haired owner. A thought passed through her mind, although it oddly seemed to come from elsewhere, that she should go from the hotel.

Tara shook her head, she was beyond exhausted, barely able to put one foot in front of the other. Only a sense of a hot bath and a warm bed kept her from collapsing where she was. It would take more than a passing thought to keep her from her appointed rendevous with the bath. She half grinned to herself, too tired for anything more such as a laugh, as the fanciful idea of a rendevous with a bathtub came to mind. She was past tired, past exhausted, she had now entered the giggle zone. While that was fine as a child, as an adult it was a bit absurd.

She almost groaned aloud as Gideon opened the door and showed her the elegantly appointed room. She didn't care what the cost was in the morning, it was worth every cent. Delicately adorned with lace and flowered prints, the room held a huge platform feather bed with a small step ladder obviously needed to get to the top of the thick mattress. A small sitting area by a fireplace and large window with a window seat kept the room from being overwhelmingly huge. Tara imagined that the view when the weather was clear and the sun was shining would be impressive. The room looked like those you see on television on shows about how the Rich and Famous lived, with bouquets of cut flowers on various pieces of furniture. The scent light and delicate, rather than the overpowering scent that one would have imagined. She leaned against the doorway, as Gideon lit the preset kindling and logs, then went to stand in front of the large opening of the natural rock fireplace. With her back to the flames she began to shiver, her teeth chattering as parts of her began to defrost.

Gideon went into the attached private bathroom and Tara heard the sound of water running into the tub. She closed her eyes for a moment, fighting back the tears, it had been such an awful day and she had stood up to it strongly, but the kindness of this man was her undoing. When she heard him coming back she took a deep breath and lifted her head, swallowing back the tears, she smiled at him, as he carried a heavy full length terry cloth robe towards her.

With her teeth still chattering, she struggled to respond to the man whose generosity could not truly be repaid. "Thank you, Mr. Gideon, you have no idea how much I appreciate you letting me stay. And the extra touch of the fireplace and bath... I truly thank you."

Realizing she was close to breaking down again, Tara stopped talking but took the robe and held it close to her body. The material was soft and thick, and she knew that when it was around her, it would comfort her. Reaching out her hand, she laid it on Gideon's arm, "Thank you so much for everything. I promise I will pay you in the morning. I promise."

As Gideon nodded, Tara headed towards the bathroom, slowly purposefully taking one step at a time. Her only goal now was to stay awake long enough to get warm and then into the bed. Tomorrow would be soon enough to deal with everything else.

 

[TheIndigoSultan]

OCC: I apologize for the OCC intrusion. Rather that do it again, I relaced mine with another.

IC: Brock tramped down the halls of the hotel, looking for the boss. Brock had been working here since he was eighteen. That had been a long, long time ago. Sure, he still had some color in his hair, but his family always did keep their color into their late fifties. Brock was bitching and mumbling under his breath as he strode down the hallways, headless to the dirty his boots were leaving behind. He scratched himself a few times, since no one was around to see, until he arrived at the front desk. No one was there. The boss must be seeing a guest to their room. Looks like the bloody bell hop wasn't being lazy again. Brock plopped his rump down on a chair meant for the guests and started to pick at his fingernails with a screwdriver.

 

[RedHairedandFriendly]

"Oh she's coming," Kimber thought to herself. She watched the woman approach the bathroom and she could tell she was readying herself for a bath. "Eeek!" she squealed, the sound easily heard by any mortal or ghost within ear shot. "Damn, woman you were supposed to look in the mirror first. All women look in the first, don't they?" she thought. She heard the laughter of the others ringing in her ears and she groaned. She slipped from the mirror and began to follow the woman around for a while, but seeing her prepare for her bath was to much, the young girl fled the bathroom.

When Kimber floated into the bedroom she looked around at what other mischief she could cause. She opened windows and played with lights and when she left, the alarm clock was blaring as well as the television and radio. She smiled as the noise filled the hall and she went to see who else she could play with.

 

[Sultry_Shade]

The music spins around her and she moves in a flurry of powder, fragrance and brushes preparing her very best interview face. All a flutter like a hummingbird on amphetamines she begins practicing her employed mantra, hoping this would be the one, as she’d already called it quits on her previous positions. She had a small next egg to hold her over, but it was already running thin, due several rather nasty set backs, but then that was usually her lot.

Tugging at her unruly bangs, she curses softly under her breath, the cut was just a little to short for her curl and had a tendency to resemble more a mad mop then haute couture. As she fussed at her errant curls, the cell phone on the counter began to chime out, indicating an unknown caller, glancing down she was surprised to see the Hotel Sanctum coming up on the little screen. She hadn’t recalled programming their number into her cell’s memory; after all she hadn’t actually gotten the job yet. Stranger yet it was still the generic ring, shaking it from her mind she hits the button to pick up.

“Hello, this Dee,” she chirps brightly upon answering, in moments she is bombarded by a rather harried sounding woman with a series of questions regarding whether or not she was superstitious or believed in ghosts. The woman then paused long enough in this line of questioning to indicate she was the H.R. director of the Hotel and that they were in a rather desperate situation having lost both the pastry chef and now one of their other cooks had gone out on disability. She was rambling a little, but she didn’t mind, there was promise in the direction of this call; she would let the lady talk until doomsday if it would get her hired on.

Ironically it was shortly after this comment crossed her mind that the conversation with the Director, her name being Carla, turned to salary and start dates. All of this without her even setting foot in the place. By the end of the call, she was once again among the gainfully employed, her first shift beginning at 5pm that evening. Well at least she didn’t waste the make up, though she now had a few hours to kill before hitting the kitchen.

 

[RedHairedandFriendly]

Her first thoughts were of the Master of the Inn, but she was sure he was at his wits end already looking for help. A motion to her left caught her eye and she stopped. Kimber turned and looked at the picture of a quiet English countryside. "Oh its you."

The little woman in the painting spun around and waved at Kimber. "Is there someone else coming?" she asked the little woman.

"Yes. . .another woman. A cook. I sent the call."

"You did. . .well, she won't stay long. I'll see to it. The kitchens are the best. To much pepper. Not enough salt. Burnt pies, rolls, spoiled fruit. . ." Kimber went on and on listing all the things she could do in a kitchen. She floated down the stairs in search of fun and ran into Brock. She wasn't watching where she was going and floated through a chair, literally right through it and Broch. For a moment she felt warmth and found it pleasing. "That was nice," she thought to herself and then spun around and faced him.

She stayed invisible and watched him clean his fingernails. "You look bored Broch." She flicked on the light beside him and tossed the Glamor magazine from the coffee table into his lap. She then slipped into the chair across from him. She blew the pages until they stopped on "10 ways to have a better orgasm" and waited for his approval.

 

[sharingfantasies]

Tara was cold. She couldn't remember ever being this cold, especially inside a building. A look screech filled the room and Tara grinned. Just like home she thought, thinking of the old pipes in her ancient bathroom and how much the scream sounded like them. A second ago, the room had been filling with warm steam rising from the bath and now there was a cold draft. Tara moved about the room a little, amazed at the size of the bathroom which was as large as her kitchen at home. Shivering again, she shed her clothing quickly, and slid into the hot water. As cold as the room had been a minute ago, it was now warm and toasty. With a sigh, Tara slid into the large tub and turned on the jets. With her own moan of pleasure, she leaned back against the back of the tub and let the jets relax her muscles. Over the sound of the jets, she thought she heard music. The volume soft enough that it felt soothing. Closing her eyes she sighed deeply.

"Don't think about anything," she admonished herself. But as her body relaxed her mind began to wander of her miserable day. She tried to remember how happy she had been, was it only yesterday? And now, her world was turned upside down. She knew she would never forget the look on Dan's face or on Angela's face for that matter.

Dan had had his pants down around his ankles, his bare ass facing his office door, Angela's legs wrapped around his waist. When Tara had blithely walked into the room, picnic basket in hand, heart light with the love and affection that most newlywed's feel, he had jerked and turned his head to see who had entered. His mouth literally hung open, the letters PANIC written plainly in his eyes, like the typical children's cartoon.

Angela, on the other hand, instead of hiding behind Dan, had peered curiously around his shoulder to see who had entered. When she spotted Tara and huge smile had crossed her face. "Take that!!" her eyes said clearly. "Who gets him in the end."

Tara had frozen in place for a moment. Their expressions burned forever into her memory. Then she had walked further into the room, and set down the picnic basket she had lovingly packed to share with her new husband of two weeks.
In a calm, cool voice she had looked at Dan and said, "I am sure you two will be hungry when you finish. Enjoy the food." Then she had turned to walk out. As she reached the door, she made a showing of pressing in the door lock so that when she closed the door, the lock would catch. It made a nice sound she felt. A loud click that ended that life.

Still somewhat in shock, she had driven back to the house she and Dan had bought together. It was her dream home. An old Victorian that needed a lot of love and care and modernizing but had wonderful architecturally sound construction. Tara had been waiting, for what seemed her entire life, to own that house. Not that she wanted Old Lady Winslow to die, but Tara knew that when the woman did pass on, her family would sell the house. Tara's fear had been that Mrs. Winslow would pass before Tara had the money necessary to buy the house. But Tara had been lucky, and she had managed to squirrel the money away and Mrs. Winslow had been one tough old bird, Tara laughed softly, living to be one hundred and two years old. As soon as the house went on the market, Tara had contacted the family, and offered twenty thousand over the asking price if she could have the house immediately.

As an interior design artist, Tara had then begun to save up to start making the necessary changes to the house, starting with the electrical wiring that was so old, turning on two appliances at the same time would blow the fuses. Now the house had plenty of new wiring that included central heat and air, radiant floor heating in the bedrooms and bathrooms, satellite television and radio ( a surprise she had added for Dan), and circuit breakers rather than the old fashion fuse box.

Although there was a lot of work left to be done, especially the plumbing, she and Dan had moved into the place a week before the wedding. Using the time to get the place settled before leaving for their two week honeymoon to the Bahamas. They had just gotten back on Sunday, and both had gone back to work, Dan to his office at the business center where he was a CPA for a major company, and Tara to her small office where she was boss of her own company.

"Now," Tara thought, tears in her eyes, "I don't know what I am going to do." She felt the tears flow down her cheeks and gave way to the intense pain filling her heart.

She had left Dan's office, gone home, packed two suitcases, locked up the house, and headed to her office. Luckily she was between jobs, having finished up the Smithson condo just before the wedding. She called the answering company and let them know she would be out of town for awhile, and had her business calls forwarded to her cell phone. Personal calls she would not take until she got back to them. Then she had gotten into her car and headed west. Right into a fog bank that had lasted for thirty miles and taken her four hours to get through to this hotel.

The water cooling off as her tears slowly eased, Tara rose from the water and dried off. Wrapping herself into the thick fluffy robe, she turned off the jets. Suddenly the room was filled with extremely loud music.

Her hands to her mouth in embarrassment, Tara threw open the bathroom door and ran across to the alarm clock. Quickly pushing the button, she sighed. It hadn't occurred to her that the music she had been listening to was coming from her room. The last guest must have set the alarm for music and not realized it was set for pm instead of am or how loud the volume was set. With a sigh of relief as the shrill sound stopped, Tara wondered why other guests hadn't complained. Not that she would have heard the phone if they did, she realized. With a silent apology to others, she went back into the bathroom, drained the tub, glanced into the mirror and shuddered at her red splotchy face. Dragging a brush through her hair to take out the snarls, she went back into the bedroom and carefully climbed into the feather bed. With a soft laugh, as she sank deeply into the mattress, Tara hoped she wouldn't be smothered by feathers. Pulling the robe around her closely, the material warm and comforting, she tugged the sheet and comforter around her and made a cocoon into which she snuggled. Reaching out to turn off the light, she silently thanked Mr. Gideon for rescuing her, and was asleep even as her eyes closed.

 

[BlackFeather]

Sabrael had come from a long line of compassionate people, and his behavior was a natural reflection of his upbringing. He was often embarrassed by gratitude, though grateful for it. His color rose slightly illuminating the depths of his ink dark eyes as Tara thanked him in such a heart felt way. Not usually one to be at a loss for words, he stammered something about it being his duty and really not trouble, but he could feel that touch of heat in his face, despite the chill that had sprung up into the room.

Lingering just long enough to be kind but not ungentlemanly he stood silently watching the exhausted and obviously overwrought young lady make her way towards the tub. She looked so frail, he wanted all the more to insure her comfort, pausing on the way out to stoke up the fire in the fireplace just a touch more. Wondering if the cold that seemed to be pervading the Hotel was any indication that Brock had failed to get the monster of a furnace back on its feet, or just more ‘ghost weather’. He called out his good nights to Tara as he pulled the great wooden door shut behind him, just missing the din ensuing within.

Making his way down the hall back the front desk, he glanced at his watch with a frown, where had the night gone? Pausing by his office on the way back to the front desk in hopes of catching a nap on the sofa he’d placed in there just for that purpose; he happened to notice a memo left by Carla.
Thoughtfully she had left it letting him know there would be a new pastry chef by dinner time Thursday. “Well that would be today I guess, he murmurs aloud realizing how late it had become. Glancing up through the cutaway window into the lobby he caught sight of Brock, and that hope for catching a few winks was gone in a flash. “No rest for the wicked, he sighs and returns to the front lobby to see what the burly Scotsman was in need of.

Taking note of the trail of debris left in Brock’s wake, he made a mental note to call one of the maids up to sweep after speaking with the Scot. Well sleep was over rated, he thinks with a wry smile, and once again runs his hand through his hair. He would definitely have to escape to his private room later in the day or risk collapsing from exhaustion, hopefully the spirited haunts of the Hotel Sanctum would allow for such a respite, again he smiles. In spite of their antics he had always felt a kinship and affection for the phantoms of the place.

Squaring his shoulders and reapplying his stern, Mr. Innkeeper Boss face, he approaches Brock who had had by this time fallen into a light doze, his chin on his chest and a thin reedy snore escaping his flared nostrils. Sabrael could not suppress his grin at this scene, but before waking Brock, he was sure to fall back into his usual firm countenance, after all the man had no patience for softies.

 

[sharingfantasies]

Sometime during the night, Tara was awoken by loud creaking sounds. At first the sound startled her as much as waking up in a strange place. The fire had burned out and the room was chilly. Poking her nose up from under the huge quilt under which she had been cocooned, Tara sighed heavily. "Darn I hate my body at times like these, " she groaned feeling the pressure of her bladder insisting she get out of the warm bed and into the cold room. With a deep sigh, she squiggled to the edge of the bed, and put her foot down. "Wha....," she had forgotten about the necessity of using the ladder. With a soft chuckle, she carefully slid out onto the ladder, and wrapped the heavy robe around her naked body. The next sound heard was a soft "eek" as she sat down on the cold commode.

When she was finished she returned to the room and turned on the light. Digging through her suitcase she found a silk nightgown and a pair of socks. "Not the most elegant outfit," she muttered but it was definitely utilitarian. She wished she had brought a flanned gown or even better that she owned a pair of pajamas with feet like she had had when she was a kid. The silk gown was cold at first and she shivered as it slid down her body. Wrapping the terry cloth robe around her once again, she leaned down over the smouldering fire and stirred the bits of wood around until she had some pieces that were still glowing with red. Carefullly she put some more wood into the grate, and blew on the red glowing bits until the flames caught and began to burn again.

Brushing her hair out of her face, she found her watch and realized that it was only 3 am. Again she heard the loud creaking noise and smiled to herself. The old hotel was settling the way old houses do, the walls and joints shifting with age. She walked over to the window and peeked out from behind the heavy velvet drapes. There was a full moon and the fact that she could see the light from it meant that the fog had lifted somewhat. The trees that lined the edge of the property were some kind of willow and the branches swayed, letting Tara know that there was a stiff breeze blowing.

"Good," she said quietly to herself. Maybe the wind would blow the fog out of the valley, and she would be able to continue her journey later in the morning. As she started to let the drape fall, a sudden movement outside caught her attention, for a moment she gasped and then laughed out loud. A small patch of fog and been blown into the yard and in the middle of the night had taken on the appearance of a Hollywood movie ghost. "Shades of Casper," she laughed as she moved away from the window.

Turning off the light, she crawled back up the ladder into the huge feather bed. Her body was much warmer now so she took off the robe and laid it at the end of the bed. Then snuggling down in her gown and socks, back under the homemade quilt, she yawned. The bed was so comfortable, maybe, if the cost wasn't too high, she could stay a night or two longer. After all she didn't really have any destination in mind, she had just been running away as she always did when her life overwhelmed her. Refusing to let her mind drag out the memories of the yesterday morning, Tara decided she needed a place to rest and figure out what she was going to do with the rest of her life. This place was better than most, so if it wasn't too expensive, she would stay.

She yawned again, as the loud creaking filled the room. Wondering if the creaky old house and the blowing wind would keep her awake, she yawned again. Closing her eyes, she was sound asleep before she could have one more thought.

 

[thesystemsex]

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