The Hill Top Hotel

Steve ends up at the dismal Hill Top Hotel, because of car trouble. Was it all a dream, or did he hear shrill screams, as the hall became enguffed in a relentless fire.

     The car slowed to a crawl, stopped and a large plume of white steam erupted from underneath the hood.  Frowning, Steve tightly gripped the steering wheel, restarted the car, and parked in the grassy shoulder along the road. After sitting a few minutes, he turned the headlights off, grabbed the flashlight

from the glove box, crawled out of the car, and raised the hood. The radiator hissed, as though it was a rattlesnake, ready to strike at any moment. Steve leaned over, shining the flashlight on the hissing radiator, noticing the gapping hole.

      Steve thought that he heard a rumble of thunder in the distance; rising up, he caught a glimpse of lightning streaking across the western sky. The oncoming storm was about an hour away.

      “Great! Now rain” he thought to himself. Steve closed the hood, realizing that he had two alternatives. Either to sleep in the back seat of the car, or to walk a short distance down the darkened road, hoping to find lodging for the night.  He preferred to walk down the road, instead of trying to cram his six foot five inch frame in the back seat of the car. 

      With the aid of the flashlight, Steve walked to the rear of the car. He opened the trunk, retrieved his suitcase, and slammed the trunk shut.  After checking the car doors, making sure that they were locked, he stated on his way.

      If he didn’t find lodging shortly, he would head back to the car, hopefully before it rained.  Using the flashlight beam to guide his way, Steve walked down the road for about a quarter of a mile, and noticed a faintly lit sign about fifty feet up, on the left side of the road. Nearing the sign, he read Hill Top Hotel, Turn Here.  Hoping that they would have a room, for the night he started down the narrow dirt road, getting a glimpse of a building, in the distance, through the flashes of lightning.

       As he neared the building, the lightning became more frequent, and brighter, revealing an eerie dilapidated building.  Grass grew between the cracks of a crumbling walk that lead to the porch.  Feeling the first drops of rain, Steve realized that the storm was now overhead. He raced up the small flight of steps leading to the porch, trying not to trip over the rickety wicker furniture that was in his way.  Pulling open the door, he entered.

     The lobby smelled of old cigar smoke and stale beer. Although poorly lit, the lobby was in shambles.                      Newspapers and magazines were strewn about.  Coffee cups, some half full of yesterday’s coffee, and soda bottles sat on the end tables next to miss-matched worn chairs.  The dull glass chandelier was covered with cobwebs, some dangling down almost touching the large desk that sat in the middle of the lobby.

    Off in the right far corner of the lobby, a short, stocky baldheaded man, in a white t-shirt and jeans was placing buckets in various locations, catching the dripping water from the ceiling.  “Probably the

janitor” Steve thought as he walked up to the desk. He rang the bell, waited and began to tap the desk with his fingers, then rang the bell again.

     “Mr. I will be there shortly, can’t you see that I am busy.  That‘s what’s wrong with you city folk, always in a hurry. Like I said I’ll be right there. “ 

     The baldheaded man dropped the last bucket which clanged as it hit the floor and shuffled his feet, as though his legs were chained together, as he approached the rear of the desk.

       Steve noticed that the baldheaded man was ill kept, his white t-shirt was covered with various stains, and he had a mouthful of chewing tobacco. He watched as the man, behind the desk, picked up a paper cup and spat into it.

    “I’m the manager, the registration clerk, and the janitor, all rolled in one.” the baldheaded man stated.

     “ I need your full name, address, and how long you plan to stay. I don’t take credit cards, or checks, cash only. Cost is fifty dollars a night, no exceptions.”

       Steve thought that fifty dollars was way too much because of the hotel’s run down condition. However, beggars can’t be choosers, and sleeping in the hotel was far much better than in the car.

   “Stephen Griffin, 2012 Atlantic Dr. Pleasant City, California.  I’m only spending the night, my car broke down.  Large hole in the radiator.  Any towing companies in this area?”

     “Yep, the Storer Brother’s, that is if sober.  Have to call them in the morning they won’t tow at night, like to party instead. That will be fifty dollars and no exceptions.”

      Steve handed the hotel clerk fifty dollars and picked up a book of matches next to the desk,  Even though, he did not smoke, the matches would come in handy, helping him to remember the name of this dump, so that he could warn his friends never to stop here.

     “Here’s your key, Mr. Griffin, and your receipt. You’re in room twenty-three, fifth room down and to the left. Elevator does not work; you will have to take the stairs. Have a pleasant night.”

     Steve took the key and proceeded up the stairway.  As he climbed the creaking stairs, he was followed by long shadows that seemed to glide up the wall, as though someone orsomething was walking behind him.  He turned, looked and no one was there.  As he proceeded up the stairway, the stairs creaked louder as he got closer to the second floor landing.  He could hear someone playing their radio, however the words to the song were muffled.

    Finally reaching room 23, he inserted the key, entered and turned on the overhead light. The room smelled damp and musty. The carpet looked as though it had not been vacuumed for weeks, covered with minute pieces of paper, lint and what resembled dog or car hair.

  The walls were water stained; either from a careless guest that flooded the bathroom above,, or a broken water pipe and the windows covered by mismatched torn curtains.  The only pieces of furniture in the room, was an old scarred dresser, a blue chair bleeding stuffing, and the bed. The bed appeared to be haphazardly made, and he wondered if the bedding had actually been changed.  Steve thought “First thing, before crawling in to that bed, was to check for bed bugs, or any other crawling insects.”  

    Steve pushed the suitcase under the bed, and hung his coat on the rack next to the door. He yawned, and checked the time; it was half past midnight.  He checked the bed for bedbugs or any creature that crawled, quickly undressed and climbed between the covers.  He had placed his removed clothes, across the end of the bed, anticipating that he may have to leave in a hurry.

       He started to nod off, when suddenly he was aroused by shrill screams and the strong stench of smoke.  He jumped out of bed and ran to the door, quietly opening it.  The screams had stopped, and the odor of smoke had disappeared., the hall was clear.  Steve closed the door, and crawled back into bed, “must have been a nightmare” he thought.

       He drifted off again, and was awakened by shrill screams once more, the strong odor of smoke and orange flickering light, from flames, emerged under the door. The smell began to get stronger, and Steve knew that he did not want to take any chances believing it to be another nightmare. He quickly dressed, grabbed his coat, and fled out the door, forgetting the suitcase under the bed. 

     As he entered the hallway, he could feel the heat of the relentless flames; the smoke was getting thicker making breathing difficult.   He felt a large falling beam hit his head, knocking him to the floor; he crawled a few feet and then passed out.

     Bight light hit him squarely in the eyes, he moaned and heard a voice talking to him, yet not quite understanding what was being said.  His head hurt, however his vision was starting to clear.  He sat up, noticing that the sun was shinning, and realized that he had been lying in the grass next to the road. His coat, and clothes were soaked and splattered in mud.

      The hotel had disappeared, swallowed up by the ground on which it stood.  All that remained was an over grown field full of brush and weeds.

       Steve looked in direction of the voice, he saw a young blonde-haired woman, dressed in a bright blue jogging suit, accompanied by a dark-haired young man, dressed in black.

       “Hi, my name is Jenny and this is my husband Paul. We were jogging when we found you.  Is that your car about a quarter mile down the road? Are you ok? You had a nasty fall, and must have hit your head on a rock and crawled to the roadside before passing out.”

    “I don’t remember falling at all. I remember being in the old Hill Top hotel and being awakened by shrill screams and smelling a strong smoky odor.   I went into the hall that was engulfed in flames, was hit on the head by a falling beam, and must have blacked out.” Steve glanced over towards the narrow path, once a road, and noticed where he had slid in the mud.

    “Mister, the Hill Top Hotel burned down over twenty years ago, killing about a dozen or so people. The fire started through faulty wiring. So you couldn’t have stayed there” Paul said.

    Steve reached into his pocket and pulled out a receipt from the Hill Top Hotel, and the book of matches. The receipt was dated 12:15 am, Aug 1^st, 2009.

    “I believe today’s date is August first, can you explain this. The hotel clerk gave me this receipt, and I picked up the matches, showing the name of the hotel off the desk, before going upstairs to my room.” replied Steve.

     “ Walk up the narrow path with me, so that I can get my suitcase if it still exists ;I forgot to grab it from under the bed, when I fled the room, and please don’t call me mister. Call me Steve.”

       Jenny and Paul stared at each other, Paul spoke up. “Yes we will accompany you to the site, however don’t count on your suitcase being there. You probably had it with you, and when you fell, and blacked out; someone probably grabbed it and ran.”

    The three started up the path. Paul and Jenny stopped as Steve shot over the exact spot where the Hill Top Hotel once stood.  He reached into the brush and pulled up a slightly scorched suitcase, and carried it over to Jenny and Paul.

    “This is my suitcase; although slightly scorched, my initials are on the handle. As you can see I did stay at the Hill Top Hotel. How this was possible, I don’t know.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Author's Note

Just begining to write fiction, usually write non-fiction but wanted to try my hand at fiction.

Reviews

[Samuel Dickens]

This is a very good effort, Mary. It needs a little editing for punctuation and a few typos, but it's quite good. A proper, old-fashioned ghost story, suitable for campfires or spooky, candle-lit evenings.