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The Freemont Hotel

By Matthew Puzycki

By Matthew PuzyckiPublished 2 years ago 7 min read
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Agatha scrolled through the different items on her list, and briefly skimmed the descriptions, hoping to find something of note. She let out a sigh and took a deep sip from the glass of red wine that teetered beside her laptop.

Weren’t there any good haunts in New Hampshire?

She traveled regularly for her job and one of her favorite hobbies was searching for haunted places in the area to write about for her blog. She loved the idea of the paranormal, but the closest she had gotten so far were two dead rats in her Pennsylvania hotel room.

As her eyes grew tired, she settled on the Freemont Hotel in Litteton. Apparently, it was burnt down in the earlier 1800s by a man who had escaped from a nearby asylum. His plans to take people with him were thwarted by two sisters playing hide n go seek in the hallways. They warned the guests, but the man ended up being the only one stuck inside, choosing to burn to death in the lobby when he could have easily escaped with the rest of them.

“Promising enough,” she said to herself. A quick search told her it was thirty minutes away from her conference, so she purchased a room for two evenings, closed her laptop and went to bed after taking a final sip of her wine.

A few days later, she made her way to the Freemont Hotel. It was a brisk fall day, and she enjoyed the view of brown and orange foliage on the way up. Her conference wasn’t until the next day, but she planned to get a good night sleep in her room, hoping she would experience the creepy sounds and haunting chills that she had read about online. She was hopeful, but skeptical, having visited dozens of similar locations over the years.

The Freemont Hotel shared its parking lot with a quaint cheese shop located next door. Beyond both buildings, there was a murky swamp in the distance that gradually rose into the horizon. Even when she squinted, she couldn’t identify the spot where the grey waters met the foggy skies.

She grabbed her notebook and scribbled down details of the different aromas that danced around her nose as she exited the car; she liked to set the scene perfectly for her blogs.

As she approached the two-story building, she noticed the first ‘e’ in Freemont was barely in place. The wooden sign was old and decaying, littered with holes and loose nails. As she approached the entrance, an uneven screen door resting above an orange welcome mat, she was hit with an unpleasant stench that reminded her of great grandmother’s house. She was a nice woman but fit the description of a crazy cat lady.

She wafted the scent away and pushed her orange hair behind her face before entering the hotel. She noticed a stained rug plopped down over a dusty wooden floor. The front desk was a wooden bar in the back corner of the room. A woman with long black hair that fell towards the ground was currently bent down low, reaching for a bottle of gin.

“Excuse me.”

The woman didn’t budge, so Agatha approached her quietly, hoping not to startle her.

“Excuse me,”

The person turned slowly, revealing that he was actually an older man.

“Uh huh?”

He fit the part of a creepy hotel clerk. His eyes were dark, and his hair covered most of his features.

“I’m here for—“

“—You must be Agatha.”

“What gave me away?”

“We only have three reservations tonight, and you don’t look like a Buck or Tim.”

“Quite the detective,” said Agatha, smiling at him. His countenance stayed cold.

He turned back towards the wall and grabbed a brass key. He handed it to her lazily. “Room 214, take the stairs up and it’s the third room on the right. Don’t try the elevator. It’s been broken longer than it’s been in use.”

He started pouring himself a glass of gin, and she tried not to stare long, making mental notes of his features before hurrying up to her room.

The stench in the second-floor hallway was worse than the lobby, and a streak of brown on the wall beside her room made her question her life decisions. She was glad she hadn’t brought her daughter along for this scare … it was no place for a fifteen-year-old., although she might have felt better with someone by her side.

Her room could have been worse. The bedframe looked like it was from the 1800s but the mattress itself might have been purchased in the last decade and she couldn’t detect any signs of bed bugs … which would have been a dealbreaker.

She kept her bag on a rocking chair beside her bed, deciding she would only take out things when she needed them. After glancing at the hair covered tiles in the bathroom, she passed on a shower, locked the doors, changed into her pajamas and snuck beneath the covers, taking note of what she’d seen so far.

Before she knew it, she had slipped into a deep, peaceful sleep that was perturbed by the loudest, and most blood curdling scream she’d ever heard.

Agatha opened her eyes and saw two similar eyes staring straight at her from an adjacent bed. The woman kept screaming and screaming, but Agatha was frozen still; the eyes looked familiar.

“Those are my eyes,” she whispered.

The woman stopped screaming now and stared at Agatha, “Mom?”

Agatha realized why the eyes looked so familiar; they belonged to her daughter Martha, except she was older now.

“But you’re … you’re only fifteen.”

“Mom … you’ve been … you’ve been gone for twenty years.”

“What do you mean?”

“Mom … you’ve been … the night you went to the Freemont Hotel … you never came home. It’s been twenty years and I finally worked up the courage to come visit myself.”

“What do you mean, I’ve been gone?”

“Mom, you’re bleeding.”

Agatha looked down at her chest and saw a red stain filling up her shift. Twenty years?

“I am so sorry mom. I love you, but I can’t do this,” said Martha, fumbling out of the bed and running to the door.

They were both startled to see there was a man standing in the doorway, the hotel clerk. Martha fell to the ground, trembling.

“What is going on in here?”

“I … thought … I … saw a ghost,” said Martha, pushing herself up to her feet and continuing towards the door.

The hotel clerk grabbed her by the throat and lifted her into the air.

“You’re not going anywhere,” said the Clerk.

Agatha ran over to help her daughter, but her hands went straight through the clerk’s body.

“Who are you,” she whispered.

He grinned at her, displaying broken rotten teeth, and brought both his hands up to his face, pushing his hair aside to reveal the burnt flesh that made up his scalp and neck. She realized now that he was the man from the article, the one who had burnt down the hotel, but it wasn’t his face that startled him, it was Martha; when he let go, she was still floating in the air.

Agatha tried to help her down, but her hands went straight through her daughter’s legs, and she fell into the wall.

“Must we go through this every night … it’s been over fifty years?”

“Over fifty years since what?” said Agatha.

“Over fifty years since you both died. You keep reliving the day of your death, but this would be so much easier if you let go.”

His head jolted to the hallway and there was a bell coming from the lobby.

“Now compose yourselves, ladies, our guests have arrived.”

***

Agatha woke up in a pool of sweat and could instantly feel her heart beating strongly against her chest. She took a deep breath, relieved that it was just a dream.

“Everything okay, mom?”

She turned around and saw Martha, still a young and innocent child, sitting in the bed beside her.

“What are you doing here?”

“You brought me with you. Did you forget? You wanted me to see New Hampshire.”

As Agatha tried to sort out her memories, creaky footsteps approached their room. She took a deep breath as the doorhandle jiggled.

“Ready or not … here we come,” came the voice of two young girls as the door began to open.

supernatural
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About the Creator

Matthew Puzycki

Licensed Clinical Social worker and author. I have currently published one young adult novel on Amazon, entitled Forming the Javelin. I am also working on my second book, another YA about a secret psychic society. Thanks for the support!

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