Bleed - Moderator's Champion 2010

[Rocket Rabbit]

Bleed
by Claire Hack

A Bleed is one of those hotspots where travel between worlds is possible.
They exist all over the world; some are known about and well-documented, others
remain the unknown cause behind mysterious happenings.

One such Bleed exists within the walls of the Towerette Hotel,
a run-down though perfectly hospitable establishment run by Seth Lea.
Living on the premises are his family – his elderly uncle, Ewan;
his younger sister, Grace, who passes her days in an almost catatonic state;
Nicky – a woman unsure of her role in life
 and Rabbala, a demon who rarely leaves his room.

Life in the hotel is rarely easy, but its about to get much more difficult...

Chapters
Prologue
Chapter 1: A Dream of Dead Things
Chapter 2: Rainy Day
Chapter 3: Spirit Guide
Chapter 4: The Marble Archway
Chapter 5: The Hundred Years
Chapter 6: Into Darkness Thrust
Chapter 7: Cleaning Lady
Chapter 8: Breakthrough
Chapter 9: After the Fall
Chapter 10: Beans on Toast
Chapter 11: Slaughtered
Chapter 12: Preparation for his Homecoming
Chapter 13: Unlucky
Chapter 14: Breach
Interlude

Like this story?
Check out Bleed: Ghosts at Christmas

A seasonal short story set in the Towerette Hotel before the events of Bleed.

[Rocket Rabbit]

[... post reserved...]

[NicTei]

   This is the most amazing story I've ever read!  I particularly liked this line:

[... post reserved...]

Riveting.  Absolutely riveting.

[Rocket Rabbit]

  Shhh! Don't draw attention to it!!

That post is reserved for the prologue, which hasn't been written yet, but I wanted there to be a place ready for it when that does happen. :]

In the meantime, a shiny new chapter!

[Rocket Rabbit]

Chapter 1: A Dream of Dead Things


Seth Lea had never been inclined to pay much attention to his dreams. More often than not, they were random and confusing, without a shred of meaning in them. They were fragments of his subconscious and nothing more, as far as he was concerned.

The night he changed his mind about dreams was like many others. He took a meal to his sister’s room and helped her eat; afterwards, he wiped the dribbles of gravy from her chin and gently teased the knots from her hair. Finally, he helped her into bed, tucking the covers up under her chin.

“Are you going to stay in bed all night this time?” Seth said softly, smoothing out the knitted throw-over. He knew Gracie wouldn’t answer him. She never did.

She screwed her eyes and turned her pale, gaunt face away from him, a thin mewling noise escaping her chapped lips. She clutched at the blanket’s hem with her long, slender fingers. Pianist’s hands, Seth thought, like he always did. Gracie should have been a pianist.

He heaved a sigh and rose from his chair. No more ‘what ifs’ and no more ‘if onlys’. It was difficult enough dealing with Grace as things were, without imagining what could have been. Love her as she is.

He smoothed another crease from her bed sheets and turned away to check the window. Locked, yes. He tried it just in case. The etchings on the glass were all intact, the stones and trinkets glued to the wooden frame all still secure.

Sighing again, Seth crossed the room to the door, performing a similar check there. Everything as it should be. “Night, Gracie,” he said softly. His sister didn’t respond. She never did.

It wasn’t until he’d gone downstairs towards his room that he realised. The door! He cursed himself as he turned and hurried back upstairs. It was unlike him to forget to lock the door.

He reached the top of the stairs and ran to Grace’s door, fumbling in his pocket for the key he always carried. And stopped. His heart went cold in an instant. The key was not there.

He stared in dumb horror at the door. It was wide open, even though he’d closed it only moments before.

"Grace?" His voice high pitched as he looked into the room. Dread crept up his spine. "Gracie?"

His sister's bed was empty, the sheets crumpled and spilling onto the floor. The chair at the bedside where Seth always sat to read to her at night lay on its side, a leg snapped off. He felt a cold sweat prickle at his brow.

"Grace?" He stepped fully into the room, hands clenching, unsure what to do.

"Brother." He spun around. Grace stood on her dressing table. Broken glass trinkets were scattered beneath her feet; even from here, Seth could see her feet were cut and bleeding. "How nice of you to come."

Seth hadn't heard his sister speak since she was a child, but he knew instinctively that it wasn't her voice. It was low, growly, like she'd swallowed gravel. And her face too... it was all wrong.

He stared, mouth agape. The face looked like his sister - her mouth, her nose, her almond-shaped eyes - but it wasn't. The skin was mottled and clammy looking. Her lips were grey and cracked. Streams of mucus ran freely from her nostrils. Her eyes... they were not Grace's eyes. These eyes were cold, dark, like looking down a tunnel through night-time mist.

Seth tried to speak, to challenge the impostor, but his mouth was dry as dust and he couldn't draw enough air into his lungs. Grace tipped her head back, her lips parting. Her narrow tongue darted out and licked her lips. She gave a long, drawn-out sigh and looked at him again with those dead eyes.

"Seth." She grinned malevolently.

Then Seth saw something that made bile rise in his throat. He trembled and shook as a pair of mottled, blue-ish grey arms appeared from behind his sister, encircling her waist. She moaned in pleasure as one dead hand crept up to squeeze her left breast through her night-gown. He saw the brittle fingers feeling out her nipple, tugging at it through the fabric.

The other hand crept further down her body. It slid down past her hips and stroked at the space between her legs, pressing through her nightie, rubbing.

Seth found his voice.

"Stop!"

And then he woke up.

-x-

He rolled off his bed threw up on the floor. The acrid taste burned in his mouth, but he could still smell it. The smell of the dream. The dream of dead things.

For a while, he just lay staring at his ceiling. His mind was hazy, like he had a hangover and he felt like he'd swallowed a desert. He was so thirsty, but he was too exhausted to move. His alarm clock read 6:03 am, much earlier than he'd planned to get up, but going back to sleep was not an option.

Seth sat up, rubbing his eyes with the ball of his hand. The dreams were becoming worse, much more vivid. The colours, the smell, the sound of Grace's voice; they were all so clear in his mind. The arms... it made his skin crawl, the thought of his sister being molested like that. Eventually, he stood up, carefully to avoid the vomit still on his floor, and pulled on his dressing gown.

The need to check on Grace was growing, as it always did after the dreams. She would be safe, as she always was, but he still wanted to see her. He took the brass key to her bedroom door from its place in the top drawer of his bedside table and made his way to her room.

As he approached the staircase, he heard shuffling footsteps and sharp tapping on the wood. Shuffle, shuffle, tap. Uncle Ewan came into view, descending the stairs. Seth stopped to let him pass and the old man gave him a grin from beneath his moustache that Seth did not return.

"What were you doing up there, Ewan?" he said, coldly.

"Oh, nothing," his uncle replied mildly. "Just thought I'd check the windows again."

"You don't need to." Seth could hear the iciness in his own voice. “I’ve told you before – I don’t want you up there.”

The briefest of frowns flickered across his uncle’s face. “Seth, she’s my family too. I’m allowed to see her, even if you won’t let me help take care of her.”

Seth didn’t reply, just glowered before finally making a hmph sound in his throat. The troubled look on Ewan’s face passed and he just grinned again and gave Seth a jovial wink before continuing down the stairs. Shuffle, shuffle, tap. Seth carried on climbing.

Grace's room was in the tower, right at the top. Seth had put her there because it had its own staircase, and it felt safer to him. It was easier to guard.

After a short climb, he reached the door and felt in his pocket for the key. He eased it into the lock and turned it as quietly as he could. Grace rarely slept well. If she had managed to sleep, he didn't want to wake her.

He felt the tightness in his chest release when he saw the shape curled up in the four-poster. She was asleep, he was glad to see. Underneath the covers, she looked impossibly thin, unhealthy even. He made a note to look up some more filling, fattening recipes online.

His scan of the room took only a few seconds, just long enough to see everything was in order. He didn't like having the door open, so he quickly pulled it shut and locked it again. He'd be back again soon to bring her some breakfast.

-x-

A little later, Seth jogged down the stairs into the lobby, fully dressed. Black and orange paper decorations hung from the ceiling and an elaborately carved pumpkin grinned at him from the desk. Maggie was in her chair, pecking away at her keyboard, a bored look on her face. Her grey-blonde hair hung in wisps around her face, which was showing more lines nowadays than when Seth had hired her.

"Lucinda quit. Jackie quit. The whole bloody cleaning staff has quit!" Maggie looked up at him sharply, a look of scorn suddenly crossing her face. Seth approached the desk and leaned on it, peering around at Maggie's computer screen. It showed a table of earnings. The number written in red at the bottom was much larger than last month.

"Have you put out another ad?" he asked, plucking a yellow post-it note from the corner of the screen. He peered at it, frowning.

 "Of course I have," Maggie said irritably. "I know how to do my job."

Seth apologised. "Any calls about it yet?"

"No, and who can blame them? Working in this place? If I'd known all the shit that goes on here, I would never have taken this job."

He grinned. "And yet, you've stuck it out."

Maggie smiled wryly. "Apparently so. And I even spent some of my pay on these damn decorations." She gestured at the pumpkin and reached in her pocket, pulling out a lighter. "Damn candle keeps blowing out."

"Well, let me know if anybody calls about the cleaning jobs," Seth said, heading towards the dining room. He passed beneath the white archway and felt a chill up his spine.

He paused in his step. He usually didn’t like stopping here – it was a dangerous place to linger, Rabbala always said. He felt a chill seeping into his skin as he gazed at the white marble, pristine though it was never cleaned.

If he strained his ears, he could hear them. The people on the other side, if you could call them people. After all, Rabbala had come from beyond there, and he was as far from human as it was possible to be. Although, Seth considered, Rabbala was still definitely a person, if not human.

He felt Maggie’s eyes on the back of his neck. He knew she was extremely superstitious about the archway. She became nervous and irritable if anybody lingered there. He’d even witnessed her shouting at guests who showed too much interest in it. To put her at ease, Seth turned and gave her a warm smile before continuing into the dining room.

There weren’t many guests in the hotel this week. The few that were staying with them were eating breakfast in the dining room. Seth did his thing and greeted them, asked them how they were enjoying their stay. He didn’t really listen to their answers; he’d heard everything there was to say about his hotel. People always commented on the atmosphere, it seemed. Beautiful, peaceful, spooky. Nothing these people said today surprised him.

He excused himself and carried on to the kitchen. Pushing open the varnished oak doors, he was greeted by the smell of bacon and eggs.

“Dafydd?” he called. The hotel’s cook poked his head out from the pantry and beamed at him.

“Hungry?”

“Not right now,” Seth said, eyeing the food. The Welshman was an excellent cook, but Seth had never been able to stomach a full English breakfast. “Is Grace’s food ready?”

Dafydd looked disappointed and nodded. “Yeah, yeah.” He went to the massive stove and stirred at a pan. “Pass me a bowl?”

Seth obliged, passing a floral decorated bowl from the cupboard at his knees. Dafydd ladled some porridge from the pan and handed it back. “Cheers,” said Seth.

“You really should let me cook her something different one of these days,” he said. “Seems all that girl eats is grey mush.”

“Nutritious grey mush,” corrected Seth, arranging the bowl on a tray. He crossed to the fridge and filled a glass of orange juice. “You know I’ve tried, Daf. Anything more than mush and she just can’t keep it down.”

“Poor girl.” Dafydd tutted and poked at his bacon. It hissed back. “I could always try liquefying stuff with the new blender.”

Seth looked at him. The cook had pestered Seth for months for a new blender for the kitchen, and then hadn’t found much occasion to use it. “It’s worth a try.”

“Excellent.” Dafydd took the bacon pan off the heat and slammed it down on the worktop.

“Nothing too rich, mind,” Seth added. He poured a mug of coffee for himself and set that on the tray too.

“Right. Chicken, with roast peppers, courgettes and eggplant, maybe?”

“Whatever you like, Daf.” Seth picked up the tray. “Just remember, I have to clean it if she throws it back up.”

The Welshman gave him a sympathetic look, before turning back to his stove. “Get out of here, you bloody saes.”

“Ah, shut up, sheep-shagger.”

[NicTei]

Very well written, Robbit!  Turns out planning for a year can do wonders for your writing.  Who'd've thunk?

And no Traveling Shovel of Death yet, either.  I may actually stick that in my story for the heck of it this year. :3

[Rocket Rabbit]

Thanks muchly Nic. :] I am quite pleased so far. 3,561 words and counting, though I really should go to bed now. It's 4am.

And no Traveling Shovel of Death yet, either.  I may actually stick that in my story for the heck of it this year. :3

Ah, it's only the first day. Plenty of time for the Travelling Shovel to make its appearance! 

Coming tomorrow: Chapter 2! :]

*waits in fear for Chinaren to start complaining about me finishing various other works*

[Chinaren]

Nice intro Robbit! 

Still like Horizon though. 

[Rocket Rabbit]

Still like Horizon though. 

Awww... Well... there is a chapter of Elsewhere on the 'horizon' (pause for laughter). There is a chapter of Horizon half finished, but a new character was giving me a headache. I will try and dig that out sometime soon, just for you.

Until then, I'm literally oozing ideas for this. Yeah, literally. Oozing. It's actually quite unpleasant. It's like diarrhoeia (sp?), I think. Nothing you can do but let it all rush out. ;]

[NicTei]

It would be spelled 'diarrhea,' I believe.

[Kensei-Teichou]

O_O Keep writing Robbit! I'm actually sort of hooked on this now. It's really well written! *claps*

[Rocket Rabbit]

Chapter 2: Rainy Days

Off-Topic:

Just a quick warning: Nicky swears a lot. Not like many of you care that much, but I felt I should give fair warning. :]

It was bloody well pissing it down, and here she was, knelt in the middle of a muddy lane in her best work clothes. Nicky wrestled with the flat tire on her bike, trying to keep sodden strands of hair from her face. She was soaked to the skin and freezing and this bloody pump wouldn't bloody well work.

"Fuck it!" The bike pump sailed through the air and landed in the hedgerow, and she aimed a vicious kick at her bicycle for good measure. It toppled over into the ditch, the spokes of one wheel spinning desolately.

Groping in her pocket for her mobile phone, Nicky waved it above her head, fruitlessly trying to get a signal. Typical, fucking typical. "Damn it!"

She resisted the urge to fling the phone into the bushes too, thrusting it back into her jacket pocket instead. She hefted her bike out of the ditch and righted it, and considered retrieving the pump too. No point, too much hassle. I'll just buy another.

The rain came down with a steady hiss as she set off walking along the lane. Brian was going to be pissy when she finally got to work. She guessed she'd be at least half an hour late, and this wasn't the first time. Damned if she could go a week without being late.

The lane took on a steeper incline, and soon her breath started coming in shorter and shorter puffs, billowing out in mist before her face. That would be the cigarettes. She felt herself begin to sweat beneath her sodden clothes. Bloody brilliant.

When she reached the top of the hill, she paused, groping in her pocket for her cigarettes. Luckily, they were still relatively dry, but as soon as she pulled one out, it began soaking up the rain. She gripped it between her lips and tried to shelter it with one hand as she fumbled for her lighter. It was the one with a picture of Whitby Abbey on it, a present from Jon. Back in the day, she thought grimly. It had been a present, but she'd put it aside after the breakup. She'd only started using it now because she couldn't be arsed going out to buy another lighter.

With some difficulty, she lit the cigarette and took a grateful pull before continuing. She quite liked this part of her journey to work. Across the fields ahead of her was the Towerette Hotel. It really was a pretty building, she thought, though she'd only ever seen it from the outside. From here, she could just about see the driveway leading up to the hotel, lined with orange and lime trees. It seemed like a cool place. Picturesque.

By the time she made it to the shop, she was absolutely freezing. Her nose was running rivers and her fingers were numb. She parked her bike and chained it around the back like usual and quietly pushed open the door. Maybe Brian was late too today. She could only hope. The man kept time like he'd swallowed a Rolex. As expected, he was there, waiting. A dark look like thunder appeared on his face when he saw her.

"About bloody time!"

Nicky felt herself blush and prepared her apology. "Sorry, my bike -" but he cut her off.

"No, I've had enough, Nicole."

"Sorry," she said pointlessly. Brian crossed the storeroom to his desk and flopped down in his chair, pulling a sheet towards him.

"This is the fifth time this month. It's getting ridiculous. I've got a business to run here."

"I know, Brian."

"I can't be worrying about whether you're going to bother showing up on time," he continued, not looking at her. "And what about the days when I need you to open up early for me?"

Nicky knew he wouldn't bother listening if she told him, quite truthfully, that those were the only days when she definitely got here on time. The days when it mattered. Instead, she just nodded mutely, waiting for him to continue. He'd just write her up again for it and give her some dull, tedious task for the day.

"I have to let you go, Nicole."

Her head jerked up. What? "I'm sorry?"

"I've had several job applications from students at the college over in Leyton." He waved at a pile of CVs on his desk. "I'm sure one of them can keep time better than you."

"But..." Nicky didn't have anything else to say. It wasn't exactly like she enjoyed her job, but she did have bills to pay.

"Expect your last pay check at the end of the month. I'll sort out the paperwork." Brian stood up and approached her. "However, I'm not sure I can give you a good reference. I'm sure you understand."

Nicky fought back tears. She'd worked here for a year, more or less. Yes, the work was boring and repetitive, but a job was a job. "I understand." She forced the words out, hearing her voice crack. "I guess I'll be going then."

"Yes." Brian reached out and shook her hand gruffly. "Goodbye, Nicole."

-x-

Ten minutes later, and Nicky was sitting on the bench outside the post office. The rain had lessened. That was something at least. She fumbled another cigarette from the pack and lit it. The third one in an hour. You really should cut back.

What a shit day. She felt in her pocket for some change and was happy to see there was enough for a cup of tea from the cafe next door. Ah, but you still have to get cat food. There was enough for tea, or cat food. Not both. Damn it.

Nicky sighed and thrust the change back into her pocket. Cat food it was, then. She would have to go without until she got home. King and Cracker came first, as always. She rose from her seat, took her bike and began wheeling it down the high street towards the Spar. She didn't bother chaining it outside the shop; she'd only be in for five minutes or so.

The lady behind the counter remained absorbed in her crossword puzzle as Nicky entered and headed for the pet food aisle. At least it was warmer in here. She wiped the moisture from her face, realising what a complete mess she must look. Still, nothing she could do for now. A nice hot cuppa would have helped, but the cats needed food.

She squinted at the shelf. King Prawn preferred the brand name stuff, but Cracker wasn't too fussy. She counted through her change, even scraped together the coppers from the very bottom of her pocket. King would just have to make do with non-branded cat food, she thought. She took two cans up to the counter and deposited her money. The cashier gave her a sour look before scooping the pennies up and meticulously counting through them. Finally, she nodded and passed Nicky a receipt.

"Cheers," Nicky said, turning to leave. She paused at the door to read the notices, little squares of card blue-tacked to the glass. No decent jobs going in the village, or over in Leyton, by the looks of it. Maybe there was something on the website, but that meant a trip to the library in Leyton, which would be a bitch without her bike. When she got outside the shop, her phone started ringing. It was Jack, the drummer.

"Hey, Nick. You still up for band practice tonight?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, yeah." Nicky dropped the cat food into the basket on her bike and stood with a hand on her hip.

"Pick you up at seven then?"

"Yeah," she replied, and then she had an idea. "Actually, are you free now?"

"Uhh... yeah, actually. Why?"

"Could you pick me up from outside the post office?" She sighed. "My bike got a flat. It was pissing it down and I'm freezing."

"Uhh... I don't know."

"Oh, come on, Jack. Please?" Nicky massaged her forehead. "I just got fired from the shop. I'm having a massively crappy day."

There was a pause. Finally, "Okay then. See you in about fifteen minutes?"

"Thanks, Jacky-bob."

Twenty minutes passed before Jack pulled up in his little white work van. He reluctantly agreed to help Nicky load her bike into the back, amongst paint and planks of wood. She climbed gratefully into the passenger seat and extended her hands towards the heater.

"Back to yours?" he asked.

"Please."

-x-

Cracker had pissed on the kitchen floor. The whole flat smelled like cat urine. Nicky felt herself embarrassed in front of Jack, apologising as she cleaned up, threw open the windows and sprayed some air freshener. At the sound of the aerosol can, the two cats flattened their ears. They were curled in their basket, looking annoyed at the intrusion.

She made a cup of tea and left Jack in the big room while she changed in her bedroom. It was only a three-room flat; bedroom, bathroom and combined kitchen and living area. The rent was going to be more than she could afford now she was jobless, but it was in a decent spot on the outskirts of the village, above a used book shop, which she liked.

She peeled off her soaked blouse and threw it in a crumpled ball into the wash basket before towelling herself off a bit. Every piece of her clothing, right down to her underwear, had felt the rain. She dressed quickly again in baggy jeans, a band t-shirt and her black biker boots. A comb through her hair and a swipe of mascara later, she returned to the living room to find Jack looking bored. The TV remote lay near his hand.

“Ah, yeah,” she said, making some tea for herself. “No TV. Sorry.” It had been about two months since she’d been able to afford her TV licence. Things like that had been much easier to manage when Jon still lived here.

“No problem,” Jack answered, unconcernedly. King Prawn was now rubbing up against his leg and he looked uncomfortable.

“Not a cat person?” Nicky asked, to fill the awkward silence more than anything. She watched him firmly shove the cat away with his foot.

“Not really. Allergic, I think.”

“Right.” They sat there, uncomfortable in each other’s company for another few minutes. Nicky drained her drink, and Jack finished his soon afterwards. “Could you give me a lift the library?”

“In Leyton?” He sounded less than enthusiastic.

Life would be much easier if you could drive, wouldn’t it? Nicky sighed to herself. She wondered how her friends felt about being taxis for her.

There was a mewling from the corner. Cracker had climbed from his basket and was stalking a house spider across the floor. His pupils were dilated; Nicky could see the yawning blackness of his eyes from across the room. He padded after the spider on silent paws before lunging forward and taking it in his mouth.

“Urgh.” Nicky turned away at the sight of the long legs dangling from his mouth, but she was sure she could hear a crunch as Cracker bit down.

Jack gave a quiet sigh and scratched the back of his neck. “Want to go now then?”

“Yeah. In fact, I’ll grab my bass and you can just leave me there.” Nicky felt like she was keeping him from something more important. As far as she knew, he didn’t have a girlfriend, a d he was off work today. All his friends were her friends too, so she couldn’t imagine what he was so eager to get back to.

King Prawn glared at her when she dislodged him from her lap and stood. Her bass leaned against the wall by the window, the case covered in stickers. As she approached the glass, movement outside caught her eye.

A man stood on the pathway opposite, staring up at the building. As Nicky gripped her guitar case, he took off running up the street. She watched, mildly amused by his strange run. All gangly and loose, like a puppet. He disappeared around the corner within seconds, and she turned back to Jack.

“You ready?”

-x-

The rain had started up again by the time Jack dropped her off at the library. She left her bass in the back of his van and ducked out of the bad weather into the one-story building. She brushed a water droplet from the end of her nose and headed towards the computer section.

She browsed through the usual job search engines. She’d been looking for a better job for the last eight months, but her lack of qualifications let her down. She’d quite like to be a manager, she thought, but nobody would hire her. It seemed unfair.

There was nothing really of interest on the job site, but she sent off a few applications to show willing and started trawling through her usual websites. There were quite a few new hits on the band’s website, she saw. A few new people were showing interest in attending the gig next week, which was good, she supposed. Jack would be happy at least. He was always banging on about how they should make more of an effort to reach new audiences.

When she was finished at the computers, she browsed through the DVD section and picked out a couple of classic horror films from decades ago; Night of the Living Dead and The Mystery of the Wax Museum. Both were in black and white, but she’d seen already all the modern horror films the library kept.

As she was scrutinising the cover of a likely-looking film, her phone began to ring. She muttered apologies to the librarian as she deposited the DVDs on the front desk and ducked outside.

“Nicole! At last.”

“Mum.” Just when you thought this day was crappy enough. Nicky felt the beginnings of a twang of guilt. She’d been avoiding talking to her mum for a few weeks now. She had a feeling she knew how this conversation would go.

“How’s work?”

“Oh, okay.” Actually, I was fired, mum.

“Good, dear, very nice. Heard anything back from the college?”

“Oh, not yet. I keep checking the post though.” Lie. I didn’t even apply.

Her mother tutted, the dry sound like a tick down the phone. “Why don’t you just give them a ring? Chase them up on it.”

Out of habit, Nicky thumbed a fag from her pocket with one hand. She had no intention of going back to college. She’d dropped out twice already and Leyton Sixth Form was a shithole anyway.

“Are you smoking again?” Her mother was quick off the mark, and her tone was steely sharp.

“Uh… yes.” And to be honest, I never stopped, like I told you I did.

And so the conversation wore on for another ten minutes. Nicky tried to remember a time when she hadn’t lied through her teeth to her mother about everything. Not for at least five years. Not since the divorce.

“Well, I suppose I’ll leave you it, Nic.” Her mum sounded weary by now. “I know you’re busy with work and everything, but try and answer my calls every now and then, okay?”

“Yes, mum.” Fucksake. I’m twenty-one years old. Just leave me to it permanently.

The line went dead. As expected, Nicky felt the familiar guilt at lying to her mum. She finished her cigarette, staring down the street, watching a figure standing in the bus shelter not far away. She knelt down to stub her fag on the ground and when she straightened the figure was gone. Later, she thought it strange that no buses had passed.

-x-

[Chinaren]

Very nice Robbit, I really enjoyed that.  I just wish you would have warned me about the swearing.  I was shocked.







 
 

[NicTei]

She's, like, a female version of me without a job in the future going to a hotel that has a bleed and the ability to play an instrument that doesn't require air and pressing stupid little valves that mock you every time you press the wrong one down and play a note that sends the rest of the chord out of key and gets everyone in the band to glare at you like you've got a friggin' horn coming out of your head and fire coming out of your mouth and I just realized that this is a big run-on sentence.

...damn.

[Rocket Rabbit]

Los chapters are coming think n fast. Well, fast at least.  I'm gonna post one a day for the rest of this week (presuming a keep up my pace) and then slow down over the following three weeks.

Word count currently stands at 8,869. I want 12,500 by the end of tonight.

So, without further ado-do, chapter three.

Incidentally, in about an hour, I'm going to meet a bunch of strangers off the internetz. I'm attending one of the Nanowrimo meet-ups being staged in my area. :] Wish me luck!

RR x

[Rocket Rabbit]

Chapter Three: Spirit Guide


The gloom in Rabbala’s suite was near absolute. Ewan leaned closer to the gas lantern, peering at the dusty, faded page of the ancient tome in his hand. The haze from Rabbala’s incense sticks made his eyes water, but he did his best to concentrate on the job at hand.

“Like a jug… a cup perhaps?” Ewan scrutinised the word again. Translation had never been his forte, but there were few languages that Rabbala didn’t have a strong grasp of, besides English. Unfortunately, this book seemed to be written completely in one of those few that his friend could not fathom.

“Cup?” Rabbala rasped from his chair across the table. “For holding water…” He trailed off into thoughtful silence, tapping his long fingers on the cover of his own book.

“Well, I assume not in the literal sense,” Ewan replied. He delicately placed the book on the desk and reached for his glasses, sweeping them from his face in a practised manoeuvre and polishing them on a cloth from his pocket. “More likely a metaphor of some kind.”

“Metor… Metaphor?” his companion mused. “Ah, but for what?”

“What indeed. Perhaps that is a mystery for another day.” Ewan sighed and carefully slid his glasses into his breast pocket. “My eyes can’t take any more.”

“You grow old, friend.”

“As do you.” This coaxed a rare chuckle from his friend; a dry croaking sound, like ice breaking. Ewan smiled himself. He plucked a rich tea biscuit from the packet on the table, carefully holding it away from the priceless texts. “You do remember what today is, don’t you Rabbala?”

Rabbala lifted his head beneath the heavy cowl he wore. A brisk nod, just once. “Sarah?”

Ewan felt an unintended sigh escape his lips. He always tried to not be quite so sentimental this time of year, but it became more difficult with every day that passed. “Sarah, yes.”

“She comes to your thoughts often now?”

“More so than ever.” Ewan swallowed the last of his biscuit, his throat suddenly incredibly dry. “Kate tells me I grow closer to her.”

There was a hiss of disapproval from beneath the hood. “Kate? Don’t believe a word that she speaks.”

“Rabbala, I trust her implicitly. She has never once led me wrong.”

“She lies, Ewan. Her kind always do.”

A silence fell over the room then. Kate was one of the few things Ewan and Rabbala could never agree upon. Ewan simply couldn’t understand his friend’s mistrust of the spirit world, whereas it seemed Rabbala didn’t approve of Ewan’s deep faith in such matters.

“How is the child?” Rabbala asked at length.

“Hardly a child, as well you know.” Ewan straightened up in his chair. His back was beginning to seize up and his discomfort was growing. “You know what Seth is like.”

“He loves his sister.”

“I don’t doubt that, friend, but I love her too. He won’t let me near her. I have to sneak around behind his back, like he’s the elder and I’m the child.”

Rabbala shook his head disapprovingly, though it was difficult to tell beneath the hood. Ewan sighed again and looked at his watch. Almost 2 o'clock.

"I think I may leave you now, friend," he said mildly. He reached for his walking cane propped beside the chair and prepared himself to rise from his chair. The arthritis in his knees was getting worse, he thought, wincing. When he was finally upright, he looked back down at Rabbala, who hadn't moved. Ewan tapped the open books on the table.

"We'll continue this tomorrow," he said. "See if we can't make any progress with that devilish translation."

"Yes," hissed Rabbala. "Where do you go to?"

"I feel like getting some fresh air," Ewan said brightly. "A walk around the grounds, maybe. It’s a good day for it, not that you would know, friend." He chuckled. Rabbala had a deep-seated aversion to light of all kinds. All these hours spent in his room in the dim light played havoc with Ewan's aging eyes, but Rabbala would have it no other way.

"Enjoy it, Ewan."

"I'm sure I will."

Stepping out into the relative brilliance of the hallway, Ewan encountered his nephew coming along the corridor, carrying a tray of empty dishes. Ewan smiled at him, and received only the usual icy stare in return. Seth continued down the stairs, and only when Ewan was sure he was gone did he begin his awkward shuffling gait towards the upper staircase.

He didn't know whether Gracie was ever aware of his presence. In his heart, he guessed, he didn't believe she did. Regardless, he still enjoyed spending a little time each day in her room, reading to her. Black Beauty had been one of her favourites when she was a child, he remembered. Seth didn't know that he kept a paperback copy of it hidden at the back of Gracie's desk drawer. It was from this that he planned to read to her today.

Seth also didn't know that Ewan had a spare key to her room. The boy would be livid if he ever found out, Ewan knew. He kept it on a chain around his neck. He knew how precious it was, that entering Gracie's room was not a right, but a privilege.

She was sitting up in bed when he shuffled into her room. Ewan tried his best not to make too much noise with his cane on the wooden floorboards. His nephew would come tearing upstairs in an instant if he thought there was anybody up here.

"Good afternoon, dearest," Ewan said quietly. He hobbled over to the desk and located the Black Beauty book. The chair at her bedside would leave his back crooked and sore and he would most definitely come to regret it later. It seemed worth it though. He edged the chair a little closer to her bed, sat carefully down and found the page marked with a thin strip of paper.

Gracie shifted in her bed. She turned her bright, clear eyes towards him, seeming to only just notice his presence. Ewan looked away. He couldn't stand to look her in the eyes these days. They were so clear, like mirrors. All he could see in them was a life Gracie should have had.

-x-

It was growing dark when Ewan left her room. He'd managed a good few pages before his voice had given out, but she'd dozed off anyway. He carefully replaced the book in its drawer and made his usual check of the runes and amulets attached around the window.

Something about them had been troubling him lately, but he couldn't exactly decide why. By all accounts, they were all functioning correctly. Everything seemed fine, but there was still a niggling little worry.

He remembered to lock the door on the way out and approached the top of the staircase. He always found this staircase daunting. One step wrong and he would tumble down to the next landing. They were steep, dangerous steps. He remembered in his youth, when a staircase like this would have given him no pause for thought. He would have torn up and down it like a wild thing.

Ewan steadied himself on the rail, lowered one foot to the next step, doing his best to keep his balance. It didn't help that the wooden flooring up here was so worn and slippery that every turn of his foot sent a shudder through his heart. He considered for the thousandth time asking Seth to replace the floor, but then he remembered what his nephew's response would be. Ewan had no reason to go up here. Seth wouldn't want to encourage him going up here by making it any easier.

After a lengthy struggle, Ewan made it into the lobby. Margaret the manageress was behind her desk, looking somewhat bored. Her expression brightened when she saw him, and she rose from her seat. Ewan smiled and waved her away as she hurried to his side to help him.

"Easy there, girl. I can manage just fine, thank you very much."

"Oh come on, Mr Lea." Maggie chuckled to herself. "Can't have the big boss doing his hip again on these tiles."

Ewan had to agree with her. That particular day had been less than enjoyable. He lowered himself onto a sofa near the desk, one that the guests usually used. It would have been a waiting area, except that business at the Towerette was so small that there was rarely a queue for anything.

"Anything I can get you, Mr Lea?" Maggie asked. She smoothed the creases from her pinstripe trousers and regarded him with a steady eye.

"Oh no, no." He smiled at her. A lovely, respectful young woman really, he thought. He remembered wishing that perhaps Seth would learn from her example. The boy was always so cold, so distant and the saddest part was that Ewan couldn't blame him for it. It would be wonderful if, just for once, they could get along like a real family, even if they weren't.

"Well, at least let me fetch you a cup of tea or something?"

Relenting, Ewan nodded. "One sugar please, and plenty of milk."

He sat for a while, admiring the paintwork in the lobby. It was a rich green paint, decorated with silver fleur-de-lyses. He smiled to himself. Sarah had picked it out when they'd done the restoration together. That would have been... oh, too many years to count.

He felt his smile begin to fade. It wouldn't have been so long after their engagement, if he recalled. He rested his head on one hand, staring at the wall. There was a piece of Sarah right here in this room, if he let himself think about it. After all, her hand had helped paint these walls. If he looked closely enough, he would be able to see the individual brushstrokes. Each one left by his wife.

"Mr Lea?" Maggie broke him from his reverie. She passed him a cup of tea with a delicate china saucer.

"Thank you dear." He took a sip and hid a grimace. Maggie was a wonderful woman and a demon at running the hotel, but she couldn't make a decent cup of tea to save her life. Ewan forced a farcical grin onto his face. "Excellent, as always."

"One other thing, sir." She looked uncomfortable. "You remember the group that's visiting tonight?"

"I'm sorry?" His mind was blank.

"The paranormal research group from over in Leyton. I told you before, remember?" Maggie moved swiftly across to her desk and fetched a yellow scrap of paper. "Since its Halloween, they want to do a ghost hunt through the hotel."

"Ah, yes." He remembered now a heated discussion with Seth about letting this group into the hotel. Seth didn't like having people like that messing about with ghosts underneath his own roof. Ewan had finally persuaded him. After all, James Smith, the gentleman leading the group, was an old friend from Ewan's university days. Smith had promised to pay rather a lot for the ghost walk, and Ewan knew his nephew couldn't turn down decent money these days.

"Mr Smith hoped you might meet the group beforehand and tell them a little about the history of the house."

Ewan beamed. "Of course."

"Well then. Glad that's sorted. They'll be here around eight."

"I'll be here waiting for them," Ewan said amicably.

-x-

Dinner was rather hushed. Seth seemed more pensive than usual, Ewan noticed. He could see the dark circles around the young man's eyes and the perpetual frown he always seemed to wear nowadays. Ewan finished his food as quickly as was politely possible and made his ways back upstairs. He wanted to talk with Kate before the tour group arrived.

He clicked the door shut behind him, leaning on the sturdy oak, breathing in the smell of polish. His room was a bit of a shambles to be honest. Ewan refused to let the cleaning staff in. They always messed up the circles he so meticulously prepared for his conversations with Kate. It was much easier to maintain a circle than having to redraw a new one every day, like Ewan used to. It was just impossible for him to get down on his knees anymore.

He took the velvet bag of clear crystals and the silk bag of jet stones from their places on the shelf and made his way into the centre of the circle. Now this was the difficult part; sitting down on the floor. Clutching the bags under one arm, he leaned on his cane and steadily lowered himself onto a low stool. Once there, he very carefully shuffled off that and onto the smooth wooden floorboards. There. It wouldn't do his back or knees any good, but he'd worry about that later.

He reached for the chalk and carefully moved the stool from the circle, balancing his cane on top of it. It took only a few minutes to sketch out the appropriate runes on the floorboards where they had been rubbed away. He reached into one bag and then the other, scattering the contents across the circle, watching carefully where they landed. Kate would be able to see more sense in it than he would, as usual, but he always tried to see the patterns first. It was the only way he was ever going to learn.

Finally, he straightened his back, tossed the chalk aside and began the breathing exercises. They weren't an essential part of the ritual, but he found they really helped him relax, and Kate was always more responsive when he was relaxed. When he was ready, he called for her.

"Seth?" As usual, she was waiting for him. Her face swam into focus before him, curls of brown hair swimming around her cheeks. Her eyes were brighter a shade of aquamarine than was naturally possible.

"Kate, good evening."

"You argued with Rabbala again." Her voice was like a wind-chime, different notes all mixed up together, except all in perfect harmony. It was uncanny how she always knew these things, but then again, Ewan supposed, she did exist in the spirit world. She said the spirits saw everything the living did.

"Yes. You know how he feels about you. It's a shame you can't talk to him yourself."

"He will not speak to us. He cannot. It is outside his ability."

"I know." Ewan sighed. "How is Sarah?"

"She misses you, today especially." Kate sounded bored. He often asked after his dead wife, but according to Kate, Sarah rarely had much important to say. Kate said that many of the spirits began to lose their memories when they passed over. Ewan didn't like to believe it, but Kate maintained that Sarah had most likely forgotten all the memories he still held so dear; their wedding day, their first kiss, all those secret moments they shared only with each other.

"Does she remember me?" he asked now.

"It's hard to say. She recalls your name, I know for sure." The spirit guide paused, the echoes of her voice fading away. For a moment, Ewan thought she’d left, but then her crystalline voice rang out again. “She’s calling to you now.”

Ewan sighed. It was difficult talking to Sarah though Kate. He'd never yet had any confirmation that it was even Sarah he was talking to. He’d never been able to make direct contact with her. He had only Kate's word and his own gut instinct. It was strange but he still felt somehow closer to Sarah sitting here, in this circle, in extreme discomfort, talking to a spirit guide who could be frustrating at the best of times.

He was interrupted by a knock on the door of his room. As though through a thick fog, he could just hear Seth's irate voice above the banging.

"Don't worry, Ewan. He still blames you, but it will pass." Kate's voice began fading away. She was leaving.

"You've been saying that for years," Ewan grumbled, albeit half-heartedly. He gradually felt the call of the real world. The dusty smell of his bookshelves, the polish of the floor and the furniture were all coming back to him.

He found himself sitting on the floor, a smudged chalk circle surrounding him. As always, he wondered whether the experience he'd just had was actually real or not. This would pass, he knew. Kate was real.

"Come in," he called to his nephew. Seth pushed open the door with a look of thunder on his face, which flickered as he took in the sight of his uncle sitting on the floor. His eyebrows rose.

"What the bloody hell are you doing?"

“Ah. Would you mind giving me a hand up?” Ewan reached out for his walking cane, grasping it with the ends of his fingers and drawing it closer. Seth darted across the room and took his outstretched hand.

"What were you doing down there?" he said, a rare note of concern in his voice as he helped Ewan rise to his feet. Ewan felt his stiff joints creaking in protest, and his back ached dully.

"Oh, nothing much," Ewan said mildly. "Thanks."

He watched his nephew's gaze sweep around the room, across the stacks of dusty books, the set of circles chalked on the floor and the crystals scattered everywhere. Within minutes, his expression had hardened and the sullen look Ewan was so used to returned.

"The paranormal group is waiting for you in the lobby," Seth said, all familial concern gone.

"Of course. I'll be down in a minute."

"Ewan, were you in Grace's room earlier?" Seth's eyes were like dark flints and just as cold. Ewan froze in his shuffle to the door and turned to look at his nephew.

"I don't have a key," he lied, forcing a grin onto his face. "Why?"

"Oh," Seth said, looking distracted. "It just seemed like... Never mind, then."

-x-

Off-Topic:

A long chapter, for me. Just over 3000 words. :/

[Angel]

This is really good Robbit. It's keeping me interested

[Chinaren]

Very well written stuff Robbit.  Nicely done old girl.

[Rocket Rabbit]

Chapter 4: The Marble Archway

Off-Topic:

Wow. These chapters are actually fairly long, by my usual standards, at least. Well, I hope you enjoy. There is some swearing, and also Seth now has a drinking problem. This came as a surprise to me!

Seth sat at the front desk. It was getting late in the evening and Maggie had clocked off for the day. The only real reason he was here was in case any of the visitors from the Leyton group needed anything. He'd arranged a massive pot of tea and another of coffee.

The group was mostly made of middle-aged and older people, though there were a couple who were clearly a little younger than he was. They stood out amongst the rest, with intricate silver jewellery, raven hair and dark clothing. He smiled politely at them, but received only sullen glares in return. He noticed one of the hotel guests in the group too, a woman from London with pale eyes.

He watched his uncle giving them the speech about the Towerette and its history. It was the cleaned up version; there were, after all, some things they didn't like the general public to know about the place. Rabbala, for example. The otherworldly guests they had to stay from time to time.

His uncle was very good at this sort of thing, Seth thought. He watched the old man telling them the story of the original building, burnt down in 1672; he rapped his cane sharply on the floor to give emphasis to his words. The small crowd pattered with applause and chuckled at his impression of one of the old lords who owned the land nearby.

As far as Seth was concerned, they were all ghouls. He tried not to let his distaste show on his face as they moved off into the dining room. Poking around his house, his place of business, looking for things they didn’t understand. Nothing but ghouls. They passed under the white archway; he could bet that not a single one of them would realise the significance of that.

He was wrong though. One man stopped under the archway, reaching out to run his hand over the smooth, flawless stone. He didn't seem to be with anybody else in the group, since they all carried on without him. Seth leaned forward on the desk to get a better view and felt a prickle of unease.

The man had his head bowed now, one hand pressed against the arch. Seth could see his shoulders moving; he was taking deep, steady breaths. For a moment, he just waited there. Then his head snapped up and he moved away, following the group. He walked like a scarecrow, with long, loose strides.

That was a bit weird. Still, most of the people in these groups seemed a bit weird, he’d learned. The hotel had quite a reputation in the area and they came from time to time, people like that.

The archway though. That was what made it worrying. Seth stood up and leaned on the desk. Usually the archway’s… aura, to use one of his uncle’s favourite words – well, for the most part it was undetectable. He’d only known one person who’d picked up on the presence of the gateway there on her own. She was a psychic – a real one, not some sideshow attraction – and her name was Georgia. She’d seen the gateway beneath the arch straight away. He remembered the look on her face, how her eyes had widened with fear.

She’d given away its name too, spitting it like a foul word. Bleed. It was called a Bleed.

He approached the arch, slowly, reached out his hand. Of course, there was nothing to feel but empty air. But, surely that man must have noticed something unusual. It was a bad sign if he had. If a random stranger could feel the Bleed’s influence, it would only mean bad things.

"What are you doing?" Ewan stood near one of the tables in the dining room, his cane held loosely in his hand. The ghost hunters had moved on without him, and now he began shuffling towards Seth. The steel tip of his walking cane rapped on the stone flags. Seth stepped away from the arch.

"Nothing." Nosy old man. Always so condescending too. "Aren't you going with them?"

"Oh, no." Ewan scratched thoughtfully at his moustache. "Smith said he'd rather lead the group around on his own. He said I might influence them in some way. He wants to see what they pick up on their own."

"Hmm," said Seth, not looking at him. He sighed. "I have work to do."

To his annoyance, Ewan followed him to the desk, even going so far as to sit in the chair when Seth didn't. Seth bit back a snide comment as he set some documents to print from the PC and rifled through the paperwork on the desk.

"Doesn't it strike you as ironic that these people come to the Towerette looking for the paranormal," said Ewan conversationally, "And yet they all walk straight past the most paranormal thing in the place?" He chuckled softly to himself.

Seth considered telling him about the man who'd lingered under the arch, but thought better of it. It would only open up further conversation, and to be honest, he didn't really want to discuss the Bleed with Ewan. Not now, not ever, really. He gathered up the papers he'd printed and headed for the stairs.

"Good night, then," called Ewan from behind him. Seth tried to decide whether he sounded hurt or not. Then he tried to decide whether he cared if the old man did.

-x-

The dream was a familiar one. He had it every few months, almost always after a long night spent poring over the hotel's account books. The numbers always began to bleed together and swim before his eyes, until he would pour himself a glass of whiskey to relax. And then another, and another. And then he would fall asleep and dream about his sister, and about the days when she was still truly his sister.

In the dream, Gracie was playing by the stream at the house they lived in as children. Her fair hair, so much thicker and healthier then, dancing in the breeze and her cheeks were rosy. She was dropping stones in the water, laughing hysterically at the splashing sounds. She was six years old.

Seth really hated that dream. It wasn't a bad dream, exactly, he thought as he poured himself another glass of whiskey. In fact, nothing bad happened in the dream at all. Grace just crouched on the riverbank, throwing rocks in the water. It was the laughter that always stayed with him, Seth thought. He couldn't remember the last time she had laughed in real life.

It was too warm in this bed, he decided. He peeled the sheets away, stood and crossed to his desk, glass of whiskey in hand. The piles of paperwork he'd been putting off doing all week lay in a disorganised semi-circle there. He'd tried to make sense of them, but it was like there was a thick fog in his head. Concentration was near impossible.

Chills rippled across his bare back as he passed the window. He could only have been asleep for an hour or two, at most, but the thought of returning to his bed made him feel oddly nauseous. What was wrong with him? He had a full day tomorrow; he desperately needed to sleep. His last few nights had been disrupted by those nightmares about Grace.

Remembering the sight of those sick, dead arms groping his sister made his stomach turn. He eyed the remaining whiskey unenthusiastically and realised he was swaying a little on his feet. He couldn't see the point in stopping now, so he swallowed the remainder and fought back a retching in his throat before dropping heavily into his chair.

Grace. Poor, sweet Grace. She was like a ghost now. Seth's head swam and he leaned forward onto the desk, closing his eyes. How long had he looked after her like this? Three years? He couldn't remember exactly. Seemed longer somehow.

Before he'd brought her back to the hotel, his mother had put Gracie in some institute somewhere. He remembered visiting her there. Yes, and he remembered being angry at his mother for abandoning her there. She didn't belong there, he'd said - shouted, even - no, she belonged at home, with her family. The hospital wouldn't be able to help anyway. How could doctors and drugs and sterile white rooms help his sister? She wasn't like the other patients.

Grimacing, Seth leaned back in his chair, watching the ceiling blur above his head. Stupid bitch wouldn't listen to him though. He'd fought with her over it, but he wasn't able to get Grace out of there. No, he had to wait until his mother was dead. He laughed bitterly. He had to wait for his mother to die before he could save his sister from that place. How fucked up was that?

Not that Grace had responded to being at home as well as he'd hoped. In fact, there barely seemed to have been any change at all. That had been crushing. But at least she was safe under his watchful eye.

Yes, that was the other thing, wasn't it? She'd had no protection at the hospital, not the kind she needed. Seth dimly recalled trying to take her a selection of amulets. He'd even helped hang them from the ceiling near her window. He remembered she'd actually shown some interest in them, watching them turning in the air, casting glittering light across the walls of her pristine white cell.

The next time he'd visited her, the amulets were gone. Thrown away, the nurse had said. They had upset one of the other patients, they told him. What kind of nonsense was that anyway? They had no right to remove the amulets from her room. He'd been angry - they were the only personal effects in her bare little room. It had seemed pointless furnishing Grace with things like that when she showed no response to them, but those special amulets were important.

Seth turned the empty glass over in his hand. A droplet of amber liquid rolled around the bottom and out onto his paperwork. Poor, sweet Grace. She deserved so much better. Surely Ewan could see that? Surely he could see that his niece was supposed to have so much more than she did? Grace was eighteen years old - she should have gone away to her first year of university this autumn, Seth realised. He dropped the glass back onto the table with a thunk. That's right. Grace was a young woman, she should have been doing something great with her life. Instead, she was locked in that bedroom all day, doing nothing.

He remembered the feeling he'd had, walking into her room earlier. Something was wrong. It felt to him like small things had been moved out of place, but he couldn't remember which ones. Somebody had been into her room, but only Seth had a key. It was unlike Grace to even leave her bed, so he couldn't imagine her doing it.

He heard a grating sound from downstairs, like one of the heavy front doors being opened. He tried to make sense of it in his drunken stupor. Who would be down there at this time of night? Perhaps Rabbala? He knew the demon sometimes ventured out of his room for a midnight meal. He'd told the guests not to wander about at night anyway, so perhaps it was his uncle's friend.

Still... Seth looked towards his door uneasily. He was the guy in charge of this place. He should go look. Perhaps one of the guests was having a problem.

He stood from his chair, leaning heavily on the desk and doing his best not to topple over. The door looked a long way away, but it was only three staggering strides. The hall outside was dark. To the left was the staircase to Grace's room. To the right, the stairs down and the corridor leading to Ewan's room. Seth wobbled along and gripped the top of the banister, peering down into the gloom. Pitch bloody black.

"What are you doing?" A voice echoed out of the darkness and Seth leapt and turned. Ewan stood nearby, his tasselled dressing gown pulled tight around him. Before Seth could reply, his uncle scrunched his nose and sniffed the air. "Are you drunk?"

"Of course not," said Seth, slowly. "I heard something downstairs."

Ewan frowned at him, looking him critically in the eye before replying. "Yes, I did too. A series of bangs?"

Seth shook his head, bemused. "I heard one of the front doors open."

A concerned expression crossed the old man's face.

"I'll go look, shall I?" the old man said, shuffling towards the head of the stairs, cane in hand.

"No. Go back to bed, Ewan." Seth realised he was slurring, and put his hand over his mouth.

"You are drunk." A grimace of disgust on his face. "And what if there's a guest down there, looking for help? What does it say about this hotel when the proprietor comes to their assistance reeking of cheap whiskey?"

"Oh, fuck off, old man," Seth sneered. He leaned back against the hand rail. The tops of the steps seemed closer than he'd realised. "It'll take you an hour just to make it down there."

He saw his uncle's eyes widen, his face contort with fury. He laughed. It seemed funny because the old man was always so quiet and stuck up. He couldn't stop laughing. It was starting to hurt.

The slap echoed up and down the empty corridor. Seth had barely registered the sting of it before his uncle struck him again, on the other cheek. The laughter stopped dead. He raised a hand to his cheek, sobered slightly.

"Grow up, Seth, for pity's sake," his uncle growled. He actually looked livid.

Before Seth could say anything more, there was a shout from downstairs, and a series of heavy thumping sounds. They both turned towards the sound.

"You wait here," Seth said quietly, waving away his uncle's reply. "If somebody's broken in, you're too delicate to be of any help."

"Nonsense, Seth." A look of hurt appeared on his uncle’s face. “I’m fine.”

"I don't want you getting hurt." The words surprised Seth even though they came from his own mouth. From the look of his uncle's face, Ewan hadn't expected it either. Seth avoided his uncle’s eye, choosing instead to stare down into the darkness.

"Very well, then." His uncle stepped away. "Be careful."

"My mobile phone's on the dresser in my room." Seth stepped towards the staircase. "If you hear me shout, call the police, okay?"

"Of... of course."

The air grew cooler as Seth descended the stairway and he felt a draft flutter past his face. It seemed like the front door was open, then. The staircase led to a small corridor, away from the entrance hall. Seth paused at the foot, wondering whether he should put the lights on.

Something scraped down there in the darkness. Seth froze. There was silence for a moment and then came a flurry of knocking. It grew louder and louder. Hell, Gracie could probably hear it all the way up in her room.

“Who’s there?” he called, struggling to keep his voice steady. The knocking stopped instantly.

Seth reached out. The light switch couldn’t be more than a few inches from his hand. He stepped forward, felt his heart stop as the world gave way beneath his feet. He staggered forward, grasping at the wall for support.

Idiot! He’d forgotten the extra step at the foot of the stairs. His hand found the switch and he flicked it. For a second, nothing. Then the lights began to glow, gradually getting brighter.

A hunched shape was revealed at the far side of the entrance hall, near the dining room. Still in the shadows. Seth felt his skin prickle.

The shape wasn’t right. It couldn’t be human. It was too big, too long, too thin. It shuffled around and stopped dead still. Seth could feel its gaze upon him.

And then it was changing. It straightened up, filled out until it looked vaguely human. It began moving forward, towards him. He could hear footsteps on the stone.

It stepped into the light.

“You?” Seth gasped. All tension rushed from his body, replaced by relief. “What are you doing here, sir?” he asked. He moved to the front desk and located the other light switch. Brightness flooded the hall, illuminating the man for what he really was. Nothing more than a lost visitor.

The man from the ghost tour blinked at him, a smile spreading across his face. The man who walked like a scarecrow, Seth remembered. The man who seemed unusually interested in the white arch. Seth eyed him, now suspicious.

“Sorry,” said the man, looking anxious. “I was separated from the rest of the group earlier. I’ve been wandering about this place for hours.”

Seth knitted his brow. “The group left four hours ago. You’ve been here all that time?”

“Sorry. Yes. I didn’t touch anything,” the man said.

Seth looked about the hall. The front door was indeed hanging open, but the man hadn’t been standing anywhere near it. He’d been lurking near the dining room. Near the Bleed.

“The door’s open,” he said coldly. “You should go now.”

The man gave him a strange, almost disappointed look. “Yes, you’re right. I’ll leave.”

“Wait,” Seth called, as he turned to go. The man paused. “What’s your name, please?”

There was silence, in which the ticking of the huge clock in the corner seemed unbearably loud. The man slowly turned back to him, a twisted sneer on his face. Then Seth saw that this was just a trick of the shadows. The man was actually smiling politely.

“Sam West. Sorry to cause you any alarm.”

Seth followed him to the door, watched him disappear out of it. He watched Sam West walking in a straight line down the driveway, until he vanished into the darkness. Only then did Seth step back, shut the door and lock it. As a final precaution, he threw the massive deadbolt home with a clunk.

He paused in the middle of the hall, eyeing the marble archway. Sam West? He’d be sure to ask his uncle’s friend who led the paranormal group, about Sam West.

-x-

[Rocket Rabbit]

WANTED

Name My Story!

600 GROAT PRIZE!

THAT'S A-RIGHT, TOMEIANS.
Rabbit needs YOU to help her come up with a new title for this story.

Whomsoever comes up with a title that I like shall be given 600 groats from my own personal fund.
There is no closing date for this, and you can wait until the story is further advanced - or, dare I say it, finished - before you submit anything.

I want a title that's dripping with awesomesauce.
I want something so cool I get freezeburn just typing it.
I want a name so exciting, people will wet their pants just hearing it!

Ladies, Gentlemen and Chinaren
THE GAUNTLET HAS BEEN THROWN DOWN

Are You Man Enough for This?

Please post submissions in this thread.
I'm open to joke suggestions, but I would like some serious ones too!

[Chinaren]

Excellent writing again Robbit. 

As for the title, I'll give it a go, but to be honest I think Bleed is a really excellent one already.  Don't know why you'd want to change it!

[Phang]

Especially since there's been a title drop now. Mehehe!

[Rocket Rabbit]

Chapter Five: The Hundred Years


Nicky took a deep breath and stepped up to the mic. They were just starting on their final song for the night, something Jack had written. All she had to do was introduce it.

"Hey, thanks guys. This is our last one for now." She licked her lips. "It's a song called Good Morning. I hope you enjoy."

The other band members started playing, the crashing of the drums almost overpowering everything else. Nicky had personally always thought that they needed to correct their sound balance, but Jack loved making as much noise as his could on his kit. When her cue came, Nicky stepped in, jutting her hips and tapping her foot as she plucked the strings of her bass.

She could feel the sweat on her forehead. So uncomfortable. Jess, the singer, was thrashing away in front of her, flinging her straight hair in all directions and Pete the guitarist was going mental on a solo, which felt to Nicky like it was going on too long. Still, she kept playing her little riff and pouted at the audience.

When the song finished, Nicky swung her bass strap over her shoulder and set the instrument down. Jess was blowing kisses to the men in the audience, but they didn't seem overly impressed. It was a pitiful turnout. It was always a pitiful turnout, Nicky thought.

"Thank you! Thank you," Jess shouted now. She grinned cattishly at the audience and winked. "We are The Hundred Years. Pick up our free EP at the bar tonight!"

Twenty minutes later, they'd shifted their gear back into Jack’s van and were settling down at a table in the corner. Jess positioned herself next to Jack, leaning ever so slightly towards him. Nicky was left next to Pete, his thigh uncomfortably close to hers. She kept catching whiffs of his sour breath. Urgh.

"I'll get the drinks, then?" she said brightly, standing up a bit too quickly and banging the backs of her legs on the chair. She took orders from everyone else and dived towards the bar. They weren't being paid for this gig, but the barman had offered them two free drinks each. It was better than nothing, she reasoned.

When she got back to the table, Pete was talking about some gigs he'd lined up for them in the next few weeks. Nicky watched him stroke his thick, unwashed hair from his face and then lean forward on his elbows. His eyes seemed glued to Jess's chest even though she clearly wasn't listening. Her bright yellow head kept turning from Jack to a young-ish looking guy at the bar.

"They've offered us money, as well," Pete was saying as Nicky sat down. "Actual money."

Jack laughed, catching Nicky's eye across the table. "That's a new one," he said lightly. Nicky smiled.

"Where's this, then?" she said, trying not to sit too close to Pete.

"Place down in London, actually. Mate of a mate does sound at this alternative club down there." Pete grinned at her, his eyes seeking her breasts beneath her jumper. She gave him the iciest stare she could muster. Then she realised what he'd said.

"London?"

"Yeah. He's put me in touch with some of his mates who own pubs too. We're looking at seven or more gigs, all around the London bit."

"Wow."

"What?" Jess looked at them, her baby blue eyes wide and clueless.

"I said we've got some paid gigs lined up in London, courtesy of a guy I know."

Jess's face lit up like a light bulb. "Oh, epic, man!" she squeaked.

Nicky leaned back in her chair, sipping her cider. "It's a long way to go for a few gigs," she said finally.

The other three paused in their chatter and looked at her.

"Nick, it's London," Pete said slowly. "London."

"So what?"

"So what? We could get scouted or something," he replied. Jess almost squealed at this. "This could be it."

"Nicky, this pretty huge, you have to admit," Jack cut in.

"Yeah! I mean, do you wanna be playing shitholes like this forever?" Jess added.

Nicky took another swig of her drink and looked around at the pub. It wasn't a big place, she had to admit, but it wasn't unpleasant. 'Shithole' was unfair, she thought. "I quite like it here."


"Oh come on!"

"Nicky, we've been playing the same songs in the same pub to the same bunch of people for months!" Pete said, actually starting to sound angry now. "Take at look at these people. They don't give a shit about us."

"So? I like it. It's a nice place."

"Yeah, but its just not taking us anywhere."

"Who cares? I'm happy with us how we are."

Pete sighed. Even Jack, usually so easy-going, looked awkward and pained. Jess gave her a dark scowl.

“Told you she’d only hold us back,” she muttered, running her fingers through her hair. “Look guys, I gotta go. I’m up early tomorrow for work.”

“Yeah, I’ll head off too.” Pete downed the rest of his drink and stood, reaching for his coat. “Fancy a lift?”

The two said their goodbyes as they shrugged on their coats. Jess gave Nicky another icy glare as she turned to go. “Don’t be a selfish cow all your life, Nick. Think of the band.”

She sat with Jack after the others had gone. He picked up some more drinks from the bar and sat down beside her. She caught the scent of his aftershave as he ruffled his fingers through his thick mop of hair. Feeling her face redden, she stared hard at her drink, thinking perhaps the heat from her gaze would set the liquid bubbling in its glass.

"You don't seem too keen on the London idea," Jack said at length.

Nicky swallowed, took a mouthful of her drink and glanced at him. Too quickly, too quickly! Act normal! What, are you sixteen again? She forced a bit of a laugh. "I'm sure it'll grow on me."

 "Really?"

"Well, it's a good opportunity, right? We'd be crazy not to take it."

Nicky squirmed in her seat, avoiding his gaze.

"When's the first gig then?"

"Next week. I've booked two days off work." Jack lounged backwards in his seat casually. He always manages to make every little action look so cool and effortless. Nicky tried hard not to stare, but he was very pretty. No wonder Jess has her beady little eye on him. "I'm going to ferry us and all our shit down there in the van," he continued, apparently oblivious to her gaze. Realising she'd maybe looked at him for too long, she pulled back, dropping her elbows off the table.

"Well... I've recently joined the ranks of the unemployed, so I guess I'm up for it." She sighed. "It's going to be weird for me though. Big club like that."

Jack smiled, showing her all his teeth. Pretty, pretty perfect white teeth. "Ah don't worry," he said. "I'll take care of you."

Oh, I wish you would.

"No, I'm definitely up for it." Nicky sipped her drink, finding the taste unexpectedly bitter. "Should be fun."

"Yeah. Jess thought you wouldn't want to go." Jack looked uncomfortable now. "She was talking about getting her cousin in for a rehearsal this weekend."

"What rehearsal?" Nicky banged her glass on the table a little too hard. Cider sloshed over the rim and soaked her sleeve.

"Yeah, exactly." He shook his head. "I told her it’s no good, sneaking around like that. It's not good for the band."

Yeah, the band. Of course. Never mind that she's supposedly one of my few remaining friends. Bitch. Nicky regarded her drink sullenly. The fucking nerve.

"Ah, I'd better get moving. Work tomorrow and all," said Jack. He drained the last of his lager and reached for his coat. Nicky leaned forward to let him pass, and then he stood there looking at her. Expecting something.

"Oh," she said dully. She stood up and moved towards him. He opened his arms and she felt her face flush scarlet. At the last second, her phone started to ring. Fuck, fuck! Without meaning to or perhaps looking for any distraction she could, Nicky grabbed it from the table and answered it breathlessly.

"Hey Nicko."

Fuck. Only one person called her that.

"Jon?"

She saw a strange look pass over Jack's face at that second, and he mouthed something to her, but she couldn't understand. Her head was humming. So many thoughts, crowding for attention.

"Hey babes. How're you doing?"

"Oh, okay." Fuck. You. Bastard. "You?"

"Uh, pretty good actually," Jon replied. She could just see him sitting there, flicking his dark hair idly, looking so fucking sexy. "The job's going great, and I just got this nice new place in Hemel so I'm not too far from the city."

"Wonderful." She struggled to keep her voice level. She saw Jack, keys in hand. He gestured to the door. Without thinking, she nodded.

 "Yeah, so," Jon said quickly. "I'm heading back up your way in a day or two."

"Oh?" What? No. Don't you dare.

"Yeah, I need something, I think I left it there."

Don't you fucking dare. This is my patch. My territory. Don't come here. "Okay. When abouts?"

"I'm not so sure yet, but I'll give you a text soon." He chuckled. "Wouldn't want to surprise you."

Nicky could barely think straight. He was coming back. He was driving all the way up from London to pick something up?

"Look, I can't stay long," she said hurriedly. Jack would be waiting outside, she realised, to give her a lift home.

"No, me neither." He always sounded so casual too. Like nothing mattered. Too cool for school.

"I guess I'll see you then." Her voice quavered a little. She hoped to heaven he didn't notice.

"Yeah. Bye Nicko."

And just like that he was gone, hung up. Nicky realised her heart was beating heart, her stomach twisting. The whole phone call was like a hit-and-run accident. A hospital stay perhaps would be appropriate right now.

She stepped outside, pulling a cig from her bag as she went. She fumbled for her lighter and lit up before she realised Jack's van was nowhere to be seen. He'd left her.

"Fuck."

-x-

In the end, she'd stayed at the bar for another few rounds. And then a few more. And then she decided it was all a few too many and called herself a taxi. She sent Jack a text asking where he'd gone and why he'd left her, and then another apologising for shouting at him. She spent half an hour carefully crafting a text to Jon that she didn't end up sending.

Now it was morning. She lay staring at her mould-spotted ceiling with the crack that ran from door to window, waiting for the shrill siren call of her alarm clock. Eventually she remembered that it wouldn't come. You don't have a job. You have nothing to get up for today.

At first, it was a relaxing thought, and she snuggled back down beneath her duvet and slept for a few more hours.

When she awoke again, King Prawn was sitting on her pillow next to her face and Cracker was clawing at the bed sheets. They were hungry.

She did the hangover routine. Swallowed some paracetamol, chugged some water to get the taste of foul vodka from her mouth. She showered and tugged some clothes on, smoked a cigarette next to the extractor fan in the kitchen. And then she sat down on the sofa, stared at the TV screen and realised she had absolutely nothing to do with her life.

She found the DVD's she'd taken out of the library the other day and settled down to watch them. King Prawn curled up in her lap, purring like a fine car and drooling a little on her left. Cracker positioned himself on the back of the sofa behind her head. He always did like to get the best view of the telly.

Around 2pm, she answered a phone call telling her she hadn't been chosen for one of the jobs she'd applied for. Within half an hour, she'd had another three rejections, which was poor even by her own low standards. She dragged herself to the kitchen and made herself some coffee. This is a shit day, yet again.

Cracker and King Prawn were mewling at her feet for food. Damn. Running out again. And she was out of milk. And food in general. Brilliant. And me with no money.

She found her purse and trotted downstairs to the little supermarket around the corner. There was a cash machine there, and she checked her balance before withdrawing some money. No matter how long she stared at the number on the screen, it didn't seem to be getting any bigger. Fuck my life. She sighed.

As she traipsed around the shop, her phone buzzed in her pocket. It was a text from Jack.

Sorry about last nite. Had to rush. How's things with you and jon?

Well, we're not back together, if that's what you're wondering. She dropped her phone in her jacket pocket and snatched a packet of tea from the shelf. She clutched it in her fist. Is that why he left so quickly last night? Because of the phonecall from her ex?

Nah, Jack wouldn't be so immature. He wouldn't leave her there without a lift just because of that. And he shouldn't be bothered anyway. He wouldn't, would he? He wasn't interested in her like that.

She flung the tea into her basket and looked around. What to eat for tea? She headed to the damaged goods shelf and browsed it. Some crushed packs of noodles, five pence each. A few dented cans of soup. Excellent. I'm getting tired of cream of chicken soup though. It's always on this shelf. Is chicken soup more delicate than other types of soup?

She paid for her shopping and headed home. The flat was cold. Cracker had pissed on the floor again.

When do I get a fucking break? She threw the carrier bags at the counter and sat down on the sofa, unlacing her boots with vicious yanks. She could feel it building up inside her. Tears welled at the corners of her eyes. Fuck it. Just fuck it. And she just let it rush out.

She sat with her head cupped in her hands, sobbing great heaving sighs. She felt the tears run down her wrists and soak into her sleeves. Damn it, snot was dripping from her nose. This is pathetic.

Still crying, she mopped up the cat piss and sprayed the aerosol until her lungs burned. She warmed up a bowl of soup and dragged her duvet from her bed. The cats snuggled up beside her on the sofa as she put on another film.

Nicky hugged King Prawn to her chest, barely able to see the film through the veil of tears. She brushed them softly from where they dropped onto King's fur and he began licking her face. At that she chuckled.

Why the fuck did Jon have to come back? Now, of all times? When his life sounded like it was going perfectly, and hers couldn't have turned into a bigger pile of shit. And what was he even looking for? He'd taken all his stuff with him, except for a backpack of stuff he said he didn't need.

There wasn't even anything much in there, she remembered. She'd looked once. A few pairs of socks? Was that worth the drive up from London? What about a scruffy pencil case he'd had since they were at college together? Surely of vital use in a busy London office. If she didn't know him better, she'd think he might actually be coming to see her.

She froze, fingers curled in King's fur. What if that was it?

No. Don't be so naive.

Maybe... maybe he missed her. Was that worth the journey up here?

Well, its tough luck, isn't it? He made his choice. Jon wanted to live down there. He was bored of life here. He called it the arse end of nowhere, a dead-end place. He said it was a place to come from, not to go to.

And anyway, it's not like you miss him, is it? As soon as she thought it, Nicky knew it was a lie. Of course I fucking miss him!

There had been a time in her life when Jon was her entire world. She revolved around him. They were together for... five years, was it? They'd started out fairly young, she knew. And then they'd gotten this flat together. She worked her arse off in a series of crappy nowhere jobs while he studied at university. Within six months of his graduation, he was offered a job in London. And that was the death sentence for their relationship.

Tears again. She screwed up her face, trembling beneath the covers. She remembered the day he'd told her. He said he'd always assumed that she would come with him, that they would carry on the same down there. Which you might have done, admittedly. But then he said something else.

"It's not like you have anything keeping you here."

The nerve. Bloody bastard.

And then he said he was going with or without her. He left. She cried. He called. She shouted at him.

What hurt most of all was that he expected her to follow him, but he wouldn't have stayed for her.

No, he wouldn't even consider turning down that job for me. I wouldn't have made him, but he didn't even think about it.

She curled up under the duvet and cried until her eyes were sore. The sofa smelled funny, the TV was flickering and she'd forgotten to buy a new light bulb. It was all a pile of shit.

She woke up a little later, completely disorientated. She’d fallen asleep on the sofa with her neck at a funny angle. Beneath the folds of duvet, her mobile was ringing.

"Hello?"

"Is this Nicole Saddler?"

"Yes?"

"My name's Maggie Kemp," said the woman, smartly. "I'm the manager at the Towerette Hotel near Leyton and we've received your application for the cleaning position here."

"Oh yes?" Fucking great. Another rejection. You failure. Can't even get a job cleaning toilets.

"Yes," the woman continued. "We'd like to offer you the job."

"Wait, what?"

"We'd like you to work here?" She sounded confused now. "You do remember applying, don't you?"

“Oh, yes,” Nicky said. She sat up, shoving one of the cats off her stomach. She actually didn’t remember. Applying for jobs had become something she did on auto-pilot. All job vacancies started to look the same after the first few hundred.

“Well, if you come along on Friday, you can meet everyone and we can talk about everything.” The woman paused. “An informal interview, if you like.”

“Sounds great.” It didn’t really. Cleaning jobs. Urgh. Hard work, low pay, miserable hours.

“At this stage, we can be flexible with your hours, but it’s still six hours a day, seven days a week, minimum wage.”

It truly was better than nothing, and she did need the money. She told the woman she would be there on Friday morning to meet the rest of the staff and to learn more about her job. She would start work the following Monday.

She put the phone down feeling a lot more positive. No, the job wasn’t the answer to all her problems, but the money would tide her over for the time being. It could definitely be called a bonus that she would be working in the Towerette. She always admired it whenever she passed by.

The thought of Jon’s return brought a frown to her face. It was a dark blot on an already grey horizon, but she’d just have to deal with it the best she could when the time came.

-x-

[Rocket Rabbit]

There you go. Another looooong one. :]

This is coming along rather nicely, I do believe.

Enjoys!

[Chinaren]

Ooh, that is a long one!  I'll catch up to it a bit later, when I have a bit more time.  Don't want to get behind on this or I'll never keep up! 

[Angel]

Awww, I really wanted to give her hug there...

That was really Robbit. Looking forward to seeing how Nicky gets on at the Hotel xD

[Chinaren]

...and caught up! 

Nicely written Robbit, and now the plot starts to thicken.  Mind you, seven days a week! Really? Harsh dude.

[Silme]

I'm about halfway through nicely caught up on this one and I'm looking forward to future chapters.  I work in an old Inn out in the middle of nowhere that used to be a wool/grist mill at the turn of the century.  Working overnights and reading this story has done wonderfully fun things to my brain/imagination.  In terms of the title, I agree with Chinaren that Bleed works rather well; but I'll also give another name a shot if your still intersted in changing names. 

[Rocket Rabbit]

Chapter 6: Into Darkness Thrust


Ewan rapped the end of his walking cane upon the floor between his feet. The dining chair in which he sat creaked pleasantly as he fidgeted, a little frown upon his face. He'd barely slept last night and what little sleep he'd managed had been restless and disrupted.

He couldn't settle and he couldn't fathom the reason why. It was like the feeling he had about Grace's room. There was something not quite right, but it was invisible to the naked eye. He thought about asking Kate, but she could be elusive about things like that. The spirits didn't like to give the game away, he'd learned.

Last night, he'd waited at the top of the stairs for Seth. For at least ten minutes, he stood there in the darkness, breathless and anxious for his nephew's safety. When Seth had finally returned, his look was closed and sullen. All Ewan knew about the disturbance was that it was a visitor from earlier who had become lost. This story did nothing to alleviate his unease.

Now he waited in the dining room. A cold plate of Dafydd's best eggs lay untouched on the table before him, and around him, the chatter of the guests enjoying their breakfasts faded into background noise. Ewan could hear the clock in the hall begin to chime the hour as Seth strode into the dining room.

"Seth," Ewan called. He leaned on the table and struggled to his feet, but Seth marched on past him.

"Not now, Ewan. I've got to give Grace her breakfast."

"I just wanted to have a word about last night." Ewan did his best to keep up with his nephew. Shuffle, shuffle, click. Shuffle, shuffle, click. Seth continued to ignore him, however and disappeared into the kitchen before Ewan had even made it halfway across the room.

Ewan sighed softly, disappointed. He limped over to the piano near the window and leaned on it, trying to catch his breath. He realised he probably ought to book another appointment with Dr. Bruce sometime soon.

The piano was a beautiful instrument, he thought. Sarah used to love playing. She loved Chopin. He remembered the way her fingers danced across the keys and the way her face used to light up when she played. He ran his hand across the dark glossy wood and smiled. There was a thin layer of dust; his fingers left a track across the surface. Such a shame, he thought, that the piano was never played anymore. He'd hoped once that Grace might learn it, but of course the girl wasn’t up to anything much these days.

"I don't think the cleaners have touched it for a few weeks." Seth stood nearby, Grace's breakfast tray in his hands. The cutlery rattled against the china.

"Oh, yes," Ewan replied mildly. "I thought as much."

"Maggie says she's had some applicants now, though." Seth sniffed and looked down at the bowl of porridge. "They're coming tomorrow for a few hours. Start on Monday."

"Excellent." Ewan tried to inject some enthusiasm into his voice.

"I'll ask them to do the dining room first. And I've been looking for someone to tune it." He nodded to the piano. "Know anyone?"

Ewan smiled. "Why, I believe I do. I'll call him this afternoon."

"Good." Seth nodded, still watching his tray carefully. Without another word, he strode off. He stopped for a moment beneath the Bleed archway, looking sideways at the stonework, and then Ewan watched him head for the stairs and vanish from sight.

Slowly, Ewan approached the Bleed for himself. Seth had been showing more interest than usual in it, he wondered. It wasn't like Seth to linger here. His mistrust of all things mystical was hardly a secret to Ewan.

He came to a slow stop beneath the pristine archway, balanced on his cane and reached out for the stone. It was nothing more than coincidence that the anomaly had opened itself in this spot. The archway itself was just an archway. It at least made it easy to define where the Bleed was.

The marble was cool and smooth, as always, but there was something odd about it. A hot undertone to the cold surface, like something beneath was stirring, alive. He felt heat seeping up through the stone and into his hand. It was rather pleasant, soothing like a hot bath.

A freezing dark of panic sheared down his back and Ewan snapped his hand away. What on earth? He stared at his palm dully, trying to understand. The clock nearby ticked steadily, echoing across the drafty hall. Ewan felt a prickling on the nape of his neck.

There was a crash behind him, and a scream. Ewan spun around. Sheets of paper tumbled through the air around the front desk. Maggie cowered against the wall, a look of shock on her face.

“What happened?” Ewan moved towards her as quickly as his legs would carry him. She turned her pale face toward him, her mouth still open. He navigated his way around the desk and looked about.

The papers were scattered all across the floor in a rough crescent shape. Maggie stared at them, still aghast. “The paper pile just exploded!” she said in horror. “Just up and…” She gestured helplessly at the mess.

“Are you okay?” He patted her gently on the shoulder, and she nodded.

“Yes, of course…” She put her hand to her chest and breathed deeply. “Just a bit of a shock, that’s all.”

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen anything like that happen,” Ewan said.

Maggie sighed. “I had some files rearrange themselves in the night last week, but nothing so…”

“Violent?” offered Ewan. Maggie nodded. She stepped around the desk and began picking up the sheets, stacking them under one arm. Finally she dumped them all back on the desk.

“I think I might go have a cup of tea now,” she said, still a little shakily. “You don’t mind me taking a break?”

“No, no,” Ewan said. He smiled. “Take all the time you need, my dear.”

Maggie stalked off, her high heels clipping on the stone. Ewan prodded suspiciously at the papers and eased himself into the swivel chair.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen random activity like that. Things moving around were only to be expected with the Bleed so close – random outbursts of psychic energy and all that. Still, this was unusually violent. He’d seen objects move, but never thrown with such vigour.

Definitely something to ask Rabbala about, and Kate too. He idly tapped out a rhythm on the desk, staring towards the marble arch. Truly unsettling.

-x-

Rabbala's company was soothing as always. Ewan relaxed in the armchair opposite his ethereal friend and sipped some tea. The demon was reclining in his chair, apparently dozing. He hadn't moved when Ewan entered the room, but Ewan could hear the steady hiss and rattle of his breathing.

"Something unsettles you, friend?" Rabbala said finally.

Ewan sipped his tea again, considering his reply. Rabbala was fairly open to the ridiculous and Ewan seriously doubted that his friend would do anything other than take him seriously. Still, it helped to think these things through.

"I just can't put my finger on it," he said, after a long pause. "There's something a bit... wrong with everything lately." He looked glumly at his tea. "Even this tastes funny," he said, frowning.

Rabbala leaned forward, slowly. After a moment, he reached up towards his heavy cowl. His long sleeve slipped back to reveal delicate wrists, bony and wrapped in almost translucent grey skin. Even after all these years, Ewan was still a little fascinated by his friend, the demon Rabbala. He grinned as Rabbala tugged his hood back.

"I sense it also," he said. He lifted his head, looking like he was sniffing the air. "Something is different. I can taste it."

"Really?" Ewan felt surprised. Rabbala had a great many talents, but natural intuition was not usually among them.

"I can’t decide what it is though.”

“Oh.” Ewan tried to mask his disappointment. He thought for a second there that Rabbala might be able to crack this little mystery right there and then.

“Well, what can you tell?” he asked.

Rabbala cocked his elongated skull on one side and ran his delicate fingers down his cheek. He rattled a sigh and looked at Ewan with large, silvery eyes. He looked troubled.

“Something out there,” he gestured vaguely, “has its eye set upon this place.”

They sat in silence for a little while, each attending to their own thoughts. Ewan eyed his companion; Rabbala did seem uncharacteristically troubled. He watched his friend pull his cowl back down over his face.

The electric lamp on the table flickered. Ewan glanced at it, before turning his attention back to Rabbala. His friend was tensed in his seat, clutching the armrests like he was on a rollercoaster.

"Rabbala?"

There came a hissing from deep beneath the demon's hood. The wooden armrests began to creak and Ewan saw Rabbala's knuckle bones pressing against his papery skin.

The lamp on the table flickered again. Ewan realised what was causing his friend's discomfort. The lightbulb was glowing brighter. He could hear the bulb humming from here.

"What on earth?" He glanced over his shoulder at the light near the door. That too was flickering. He turned back to Rabbala, his mouth opening to say something.

The room burned brilliant white for a split second. Rabbala shrieked. The sound sliced through the air and Ewan slammed his hands over his ears.

He heard a crash and a thump before the room was plunged into absolute darkness.

He sat there, shocked. The sound of Rabbala's fearful cry still echoed in his ears and he could hear the sound of his friend whimpering.

"Rabbala?" Of course, the light! The demon was extremely photosensitive. "Speak to me, Rabbala."

Shapes began to appear in the gloom as his eyes began to adjust. The table loomed before him, and the form of Rabbala's armchair. He squinted. It looked empty. "Where are you?"

He heard a pitiful hiss from near his feet and looked down. A long dark shape stirred beneath the table. Rabbala rose up, slowly. His hood had fallen back when he dove from his seat and Ewan saw his inhuman skull silhouetted in the dusk light from the crack in the curtains.

Ewan heard footsteps pounding up the hall. They didn't approach Rabbala's room. Of course, the first thing Seth would do if the power went out would be to go check on Grace.

He remembered seeing a box of matches on the shelf near the door. Rabbala seemed to be in shock, so Ewan shuffled to his feet to try and find them. He navigated past pieces of furniture in the half light and groped blindly until he felt his hand close upon the little box.

When he struck the first match, he saw Rabbala standing hunched near the table. The demon was carefully readjusting his clothes. Even from here, Ewan could see his friend was trembling terribly and deeply shocked. He lit a candle and went back to the table.

"How are you, friend?"

Rabbala gave a spitting sound that Ewan recognised as a sign of disgust. "Do you feel it?"

"Feel what?"

The same sound again. There was a creaking as the demon sat back down in his chair. "Something out there has its eye upon this place."

Oh, that.

Footsteps thudded up the corridor outside and there came a knocking. "Hello?" It was Seth's voice, fraught with anxiety.

"Come in, boy," rattled Rabbala.

Seth's face was taut and troubled, and he cast quick glances all about the little room, taking in the flickering candle at the table.

"Are you two okay?" he said.

Ewan nodded. "Rabbala had a bit of a fright," he said, trying to keep a light hearted tone. He felt as nervous as Seth looked. "I think we're both fine, though. Grace?"

"She's alright, I just checked. Do you know what happened?"

Ewan opened his mouth to reply, but Rabbala beat him to it.

"Something is trying to come through the Bleed."

Shocked, Ewan turned back to his friend, his jaw dropping. "What?"

"It was a burst of energy that spread like a wave through the hotel, looking for any outlet," Rabbala continued quietly. "Something presses against the barrier from the other side."

"Oh, nonsense, Rabbala. The thing’s been quiet for years now.”

"It is the only explanation that satisfies," hissed the demon, wearily.

Seth furrowed his brow, a dark look upon his face. "Then why doesn't it just come through, like you did? Like the others used to?"

Rabbala gave another death rattle. "Only the Bleed itself knows. I believe it is trying to hold this thing back."

Ewan gaped at the demon. "Do you mean to say that the Bleed is sentient? Self aware?"

"To an extent."

“Are you mad? A door can’t be sentient.” Ewan rapped his cane on the floor. “A door can’t make conscious decisions about whom or what can or cannot pass through it. Why should that portal be any different?”

“The portal is vastly different. Do not underestimate it.”

His friend’s tone took on a cold, distant tone, and Ewan frowned. He huffed and flustered. Rabbala had spent too much time in dark rooms with damn incense sticks addling his brain. The notion was utter nonsense.

Seth looked at them both. He opened and closed his mouth two or three times, like a goldfish, before he finally spoke.

"There was something about last night, Ewan," he said quietly. Ewan looked up at him. The intruder in the hall. Of course Seth had kept the whole story from him.

"What about it, then?"

"It was a man, a leftover from the ghost tour," Seth said. He sat down on the edge of a spare seat and leaned forward. "I found him near the dining room, close to the archway."

"And?"

"Well, I'd seen him there before, when the group first arrived." Seth looked positively distraught now. He swallowed shakily before continuing. "He stood beneath the archway alone, while the group left him behind. He was touching it, feeling it. Like he knew what it was."

Ewan stared across at Rabbala. "Do you think it's important?"

The demon seemed to shrug. "Who can say? It may be coincidence, but we should not take the chance. Be wary."

"Yes... yes, of course," Ewan said. From the corner of his eye, he saw Seth nodding in agreement.

"There are not many texts detailing the Bleeds themselves," Rabbala said, standing up. He reached down to the table and plucked up the candle. Barely making a sound, he moved away, taking the light with him until Ewan and Seth were left in darkness. "I have most of them here."

Ewan knew the books he talked about, having studied them extensively when the Bleed first caught his attention. They were thick and dusty and difficult to read. Most of their contents were meandering tales about strange occurrences caused by other Bleeds, but there still was some useful information in there.

Rabbala returned to the table with a small pile of books clutched beneath one arm and settled back in his chair.

“Perhaps it would be helpful if you talked with your spirits,” Rabbala said, flicking idly through one of the books.

This certainly was a strange day of unnerving surprises. “You don’t trust Kate. In fact, you’ve even told me expressly that I shouldn’t speak with her sort.”

Rabbala’s cowl turned towards him, and Ewan could see the pearly sheen of his friend’s wide eyes glimmering in the shadow.

“She may make more sense of this than I,” he said slowly. “Her eyesight is keener than mine, even I must admit. I do not like her, but I’m willing to put faith in her at this time.”

-x-

[NicTei]

Great chapter, Robbit.  Rabbala has to be my favorite character so far. :3