Cracking

I think it goes without saying that I was not pleased when I heard our branch was being downsized. As it turns out despite my doubts, I was a “transfer to the Manchester branch person” and not a “severance package person”. I figured it would be a difficult transition, but I had no idea. Money was tight so it wasn’t as though I could just immediately get an apartment in Manchester, I thought it best sleep to in a hotel for a week or two. After some searching, I landed on the Jackson Hotel, a quaint little place. It was cheap but appeared neatly kept on their website, also it was no more than five minutes’ drive from my new workplace. At first it all seemed a bit too good to be true.

I pulled up to the hotel and squeezed my car in the tight parking lot immediately adjacent to the sweet, little building. The hotel was situated on a long suburban road between shoddy office buildings and shops, most of which had different, equally vomit inducing puns for names. In-particular I remember a coy, rarely visited fish and chips shop named ‘The Codfather’.

I pulled my luggage out the boot and hauled it through the two squeaking doors round the front of the place. My nose was immediately met with a noticeably musty odour as I entered. From scent alone you could tell this place didn’t get too many visitors. Before me was a small lobby, old furniture had been dotted around the walls which were plastered with a vile, cream wallpaper, strands of which were drooping down from where it met the roof. At that point it was evident that the pictures on the website were deceiving, they must’ve been taken twenty or so years ago. The place was old. So old the walls were trembling under the weight of themselves.

After surveying the entrance, I approached the old woman behind the front desk. She sat there brooding, absently sipping on a petit, china cup filled to the top with tea which dripped like tears down the side. A nametag reading ‘Mary’ hung loosely of her worn red sweater. She looked nice enough but after trying to get my room key from her it was clear her heart wasn’t in it anymore, I don’t blame her. She replied to my requests with a series of grunts and hushed tones mixed in the with the occasional clearing of her throat. I could take a hint. After getting my room key I didn’t bother her with any more chatter and instead made my way down the long hallway she had indicated to. The faint sight of a figure became clearer as I neared my room, an older man pushing a cart stuffed with cleaning supplies, he stopped in front of room eighteen and began scrubbing the filthy white door.

I could see as I pushed my key through the rusted keyhole, he jerked his head upwards. He chuckled still facing the door he was cleaning. I ignored him and unlocked my room. Just as I was about to step inside, he stopped his raspy chuckling and addressed me directly. “Are you sure about that lad”. I turned. “Pardon”, I said confused, trying to seem as undisturbed as possible. “seventeen”, he chuckled. My room number. “I’m sorry who are you?” I asked, desperate for the man to stop being so cryptic. The man stood straight and looked at me, or well, at first glance it might appear that way, but there was something off about his gaze. It almost appeared as though he was looking just past my eyeline and into the open room. “Eddie,” he croaked, pointing at his name tag. “been cleaning this place for years, seen a lot of people come in and out and”, he stopped abruptly and turned his gaze to the floor, a sly smirk crept across his wrinkled face. “seventeen”, he began chuckling again as he turned and resumed his cleaning. I was thoroughly creeped out.

Finally, I entered the room and pushed the door closed behind me. To my surprise the musty smell of the hallway was gone, instead my nose was met with a warm, flowery scent, and it didn’t appear to be as unkempt as the rest of the place. Up until that point the Jackson Hotel had not given me the best first impression so you can imagine my astonishment when my room was in such, dare I say, pleasant condition. The carpet was a fluffy light red which contrasted beautifully with the almost milky white walls. pushed up against the wall was a large king bed, the black sheets had been pulled over it perfectly. Before I even unpacked, I lay on the bed over top of the quilt like a child, my head sank into the pillows. The slight elevation the pillows gave me, allowed me to see the rest of the room before me, a small, carpeted gap separated a large, modern television from the wooden décor of the bed. And to the right of that, beside an unblemished window, facing me as I lay there was a heavy looking brown door. I climbed out of the bed and pulled it open by its curved metal handle.

Behind was a blue tinted bathroom, floored with white tiles and walls painted with the colour of the sea. It was strangely long for a bathroom, I noted. Huge gaps were between the scarcely placed facilities. And at the end of the hallway-like room, a large bathtub, rusted at the seams. A creamy, opaque shower curtain hung scrunched up at the bottom and hid the vague silhouette of a tap behind it. There was an uneasiness about it. I shut the door.

Work had given me a few days off to settle into the city before the merger, so I spent the rest of that day exploring the city, I wandered aimlessly down those bustling streets until the sky turned orange as the sun dipped over the rows of old houses and shops. Before it turned dark, I returned to the hotel, once again I passed Mary, still ruminating behind her worn desk, cup of tea in hand. Thankfully, I didn’t come across Eddie the cleaning man on my long trip down the hallway, the unnerving aroma he gave off was all to cliché for me.

Growing weary, I found myself once again sinking into the bed of room 17. Laying on my side, tucked under the covers, I closed my eyes and sighed. The room was nice, but I wasn’t too sure about the place in general, or the people for that matter. ‘it doesn’t matter all that much though’, I thought, I found peace in the idea that I’d be out of there soon enough, if nothing else. I figured sleep was one of the few luxuries I could afford, and I sure as hell wasn’t gonna let some creepy old hotel take that from me.

And eventually I did. Fall asleep, I mean. It took a few tosses and turns but eventually I nodded off, the floor of the room above me creaking and churning all the while. But just as I slipped past the thin veil of sleep, above the groans and rasps of the old building, I could’ve sworn I heard the slow, muffled whimpering of a baby.

My first day at the Jackson Hotel was admittedly uneventful but looking back I think it may have been the most significant. That was the day my fate was sealed. The day I was chosen by whatever lurked in that accursed room.

By the time I woke up the following morning I was ready for another day of exploring the city. I threw on my shoes and outdoor clothes and exited my room into the muck and grime of that unkempt hallway which seemed to twist and turn the longer I stared down its vacant length. Well, it wasn’t completely vacant. Behind me I just about heard the scrubbing of stale flannels against parched wood. I turned. There he was again. Eddie the cleaning man. I was almost mesmerised by the monotony of his technique; all he did was drag the flannel in a perfect circle around the door. ‘peculiar’ I thought, but before I could look away, he turned his head to the side to face me, giving me a knowing nod. I shot one back as too not be rude before I turned and went on my way.

Once again, I walked the squalid streets of Manchester beneath a grey sky, but that day the avenues of the city felt lonelier than they had the day before. Don’t be mistaken though, there was no shortage of people. Not by any means. Just as they had been the previous day, legions of miserable pedestrians marched down the streets as if on their way to a funeral, that was nothing new. But what was new, however, was the air of dread that loomed over the filth-ridden roads.

Damp vapours of mist and cloud had sunk to the concrete and in the spaces between the wandering citizens, a chilled breeze swept through. Whispering. During my inane walk I passed by a restaurant. Its windows were surprising well kept, they looked as though they were polished down to every grain of sand. I stared through them. A few couples sat, chewing monotonously on whatever three course disappointment they had been served, but otherwise the place was empty. As I stared through the smooth glass, I began to notice my half-hunched reflection. I moved closer to it. My brows were in a perpetual frown which I otherwise would not have realised, and my head was tilted slightly downwards as if it were weighing on my neck. I squinted and peered closer, looking back into my sunken eyes, ringed in black and bloodshot. I continued to ogle, confused at my own reflection, besides I felt very well rested when I woke up that morning. Maybe I didn’t sleep as well as I thought. I had enough of the outdoors. I turned back the way I came and trudged toward to the hotel.

Mesmerised by the satisfying crunch of autumn leaves underfoot, my head snapped down as I felt my foot sinking into a pile of dog shit hidden between the leaves. I stumbled back to the old hotel a few blocks away, my shoeless right foot throbbing as went. The foul stench of the shoe I was now holding attacked my nostrils while I shambled into the lobby. I pushed through the toilet doors opposite to Mary’s desk, where she still sat, barley looking up from her tea as I did.

I wrapped a strand of toilet paper around my hand and began scrubbing the filth covered boot below a running tap. Over the sounds of scrubbing and trickling water I heard the door creek open. Eddie shambled through the it, spray and cloth in hand, I looked back down and continued to scrub but I couldn’t help but notice, in the rim of my peripheral, his hunched frame facing me.

“Too scared to do that in your own room?” he inquired judiciously, almost whispering in his harsh, gruff voice. “excuse me?” I looked up; my shoe now completely cleaned. I slipped it on, ignoring the water that seeped into my sock. I wanted to leave as soon as I could. “sorry for my prodding but I couldn’t help but wonder why you’re in hear and not in your room is all.” I looked at him puzzlingly. “why did you ask if I was scared?” I didn’t expect I clear answer from the man, but I just had to ask. He looked down as I asked him and began cleaning a stall door. “well its an old hotel, even older than me,” he chuckled, “been lots of guests over the years. Who knows, perhaps some of them never left.”

I didn’t say anything, instead I just stared at him, trying to figure out whether he was joking or not. In my silence he turned to look at me as well. He smirked. “not the loquacious type eh. Loosen up kid I’m just pulling your leg.” I figured as much. Not saying so much as goodbye, I left.

Back in my room I slipped under the covers and turned the tv on. I could see through the window it was only just turning dark but for whatever reason, my eyelids felt heavy and my head felt dazed, like when you wake up from a nap and your mouth is dry and funny tasting and all you want to do is go back to sleep. I turned in my bed and reached for the tv remote laying on the nightstand. But as I did, over the sound of the blaring television, I heard something. It was sharp and sudden, yet I just barely heard it, I snatched the remote up and cranked the volume down to zero as I sat up in the bed. I waited to see if it would happen again. Suddenly the silence was broken the by same sound, a brief, strident cracking sound, like the sound of someone snapping a chicken bone. Directly on the left side of the bed.

Unmoving I stared at the empty carpet beside where I lay before I heard it again, this time from the opposite side of the room. My eyes darted to the right side of my bed. It sounded low to the ground as if whatever was making the sound was lying down or crawling maybe. It was an intensely guttural noise which smacked off the walls each time.

Thinking it was over I slumped back down in the bed. Try as I might, I couldn’t quite rationalise it, my room was on the ground floor, so it wasn’t as though it was coming from a room below mine. Perhaps there was a basement I wasn’t aware of, that was it I figured. Just some maintenance in a basement. The room remained quiet as I slowly fell asleep.

My dry eyes snapped open as if a loud crash had woken me, yet I heard nothing of the sort. I pushed backwards and sat up in the bed as cold droplets of sweat trickled from my brow. There was an uneasiness about the room. I peered over to the window, it was still dark outside, I couldn’t have slept for long. Nothing but the pale moon and a flickering lamppost lit the squalid streets outside. My gaze was so absorbed by the view of the blackened window that it took me a few moments to notice the bathroom door, halfway open, and from behind it I could thinly make out the muffled sound of a woman sobbing.

Unhurriedly, I climbed out of bed. The soft, crimson carpet tickled my bare feet as I crept toward the door. As I approached the sobbing slowly turned to anguished cries. I placed my trembling hand on the door, and I could feel the woman’s wailing blowing against the wood. I pushed it open. Silence fell on the room. But the absence of noise somehow made it worse. The heavy door creaked open to reveal what lurked behind it, the same white room. Polished tiles and walls the colour of the sea sprawled across the stretched room. I nearly missed it at first glance. I squinted and turned my gaze to the end of the hallway-like bathroom where the tub sat, the opaque shower curtain pulled halfway to the end, and beyond the thin, white plastic I could barley make out the vague silhouette of a woman, laying silently in the tub.

“Hello” I whimpered. “I think you have the wrong room”, my voiced sounded ill and stupid in my ears as I spoke. My words lingered in the room for a moment. Suddenly, the sound of disturbed water and dripping filled the room as the woman climbed to her feet behind the curtain. I tried to squeeze out something else, but my jaw was almost paralysed by the absolute terror I felt as a wet, skinny hand pulled the curtain back. The woman’s wicked details were now clear. She stepped out of the bath; her feet smacked the tiled floor as she did.

Her face was blue and sunken, loose, damp strands of skin hung off her long neck. Her haunting figure lurked toward me. She was completely unclothed, her tall body was slender, gaunt to the point of emaciation. Her dripping skin pulled tightly over her bones. Her eyes were pushed back deep into their sockets, her complexion the hollow cry of death. Clumps of black hair drooped over her naked shoulders like seaweed. What lips she had were purple and bloated, water dripped from her gaping mouth. She had the expression of terror. Her jaw hung low as if she were screaming but the only sounds to leave her mouth were deep gargles over a thin, accursed moan.

I turned and bolted for the door as she shambled nearer and nearer to me. My hand clutched the door handle, by try as I might it wouldn’t budge. I slammed and screamed against the wood as the wet slaps of feet against tiles behind me turned to the rustling of carpet. “help”, I cried more times than I care to remember, and over my anguished wails a cracking, snapping sound began to start up again. Just as I felt cold breath on the back of my neck the door finally swung open and I tumbled out of the room, kicking the door shut behind me as I caught one last glimpse of the dead woman far too close to the door. But that wasn’t all. As the door slammed shut, I saw something else. Behind the shambling ghoul a smaller figure flailed in the corner, it didn’t look dissimilar from a baby.

I clawed against the hallway walls and climbed to my feet before I sprinted down the twisting hall. I was so caught up in adrenaline that as I reached the end, I didn’t notice the plastic cart of cleaning supplies being pushed around the corner into the lobby. I crashed into it, falling to the ground amidst a wave of sprays and cloth. “what’re you doing boy” a familiar croaky, voice shouted. Eddie. I shot to my feet panting, pointing down the empty hallway, “the woman” I whimpered. Eddie looked at me, a puzzled expression on his face, before turning to the follow my finger down the hallway. “there’s nothing there boy, I just been down there.” “No no no,” I protested. “In my room, there was a woman in my room.” He continued to ogle at me confused, then I remember our conversation in the toilet. “who the hell is she, I know you know,” I shouted, still out of breath.

His expression changed as I said it. “you owe me that much after what I just saw.” Eddie looked down as if disappointed in himself. “Ye, I suppose your right.” He said. He leaned against the wall and began.

“It’s rather a sad tale really. See, years ago, before even I worked here there lived a girl. Young and innocent she was, used to live right down the road in fact, Lucy her name was. As girls her age often do, she took interest in a boy, a handsome young chap. Eventually, to her delight, Lucy and this boy started to hit it off, so they say. But the boy’s intentions did not exactly align with hers, unfortunately. So, as you can imagine, one thing led to another and one day Lucy woke up pregnant. This didn’t exactly sit well with her family. Her father, the mean neglectful man he was, kicked her and her new-born out the house after the birth. In her desperation she turned once again to the young boy who had knocked her up, but he was not willing to help either. She finally managed to scrounge up enough money to stay here for a few days. Into your room, number seventeen. Once in the room, figuring herself not capable of caring for the boy, snapped the child’s neck beside the bed before drowning herself in the bath. After a few days’ residents started reporting an awful smell coming from seventeen. Some unfortunate staff member found the two bodies and called the police who promptly moved them out. Now residents report seeing a spectre in the room with them, some even run out in the middle of the night, like you.”

As if I even need to say it, I didn’t return to room seventeen that night. I thanked Eddie and called a co-worker asking if I could stay at his for the night. He let me; god bless him. Once at his house he fixed me up with some outdoor clothes so I could go back for my things in the morning.

It wasn’t easy returning to that hotel, much less that room. I tried looking for Eddie to go in with me in the morning, juvenile I know but I think my reasoning is logical, I couldn’t find him though. So, in the warm light of the next day I entered the accused room alone once again. Luckily for me, my repacking went without incident. I think the spirit probably figured she had exhausted all my terror the previous night. I hauled my clumsily packed luggage to the front desk to check out. Just as before Mary sat solemnly behind the desk. When I told her I was checking out she scoffed. “you’ve booked a week,” she said. “I’d still like to check out please” I confirmed. An expression of brash realisation crossed her face. “saw him did ya?” she smirked. I was confused. “Who?” I inquired. “ohh well, lots of guests who stay in room seventeen say they see the ghost of a man swinging by a noose at the foot of the bed, the hangman we call him.”

“No”, I croaked, “I was told that a girl haunts that room, Lucy, she drowned herself in the bathtub apparently.” I responded, puzzled. “is that who you saw?” Mary asked. I nodded, frightened to her what she might say next. She looked down. “Well that is new”, she said surprised. “A girl called Lucy did die in that room, but no one reports seeing her. Everyone who stays in that room says they saw the man who killed her. Story goes that, the girl killed her baby as she knew deep down, she couldn’t care for him, then, later that same day the father came to the room to check on her and the child. After seeing the boy’s dead body, he killed the girl in a blind rage. Drowned her in the bath before hanging himself out of guilt at the foot of the bed. Eddie his name was.”

I couldn’t tell you how fast my heart raced after those words left her mouth.

Once at a safe distance away from that wretched place I rang my mother. After a long negotiation she agreed to lend me some money for an apartment in the city and you can be damn sure I checked the place wasn’t haunted before moving in. It wasn’t. I could finally settle down, I thought. But true stories seldom have such conclusive endings.

I think my story by itself is interesting enough to share without the need of a moral or a lesson. I suppose if you really want to attach a message to this story, I imagine it would be, never go in room seventeen at the Jackson hotel. But if that was all it was, if that’s all my story means then, I would probably just leave it as an anecdote, an icebreaker, a bad story to make me interesting at parties. But the reason I’m telling this story, the real reason, is because last night, just as I was on the verge of sleep, I heard something. A sound. Not a cracking sound though, nor the sobbing of a woman, but instead the slow, monotonous swinging of a rope, at the foot of my bed.