Floor Four

Why is it that people never learn the first time around? Perhaps the first warning simply wasn't enough, or maybe the cognitive function of the recipient just wasn't up to par. Whatever the case, there is a fine line between noble determination and pitiful stupidity.

 When a child first attempts to touch fire, the resulting burn often serves as a fine lesson to that child; never to intentionally try touching the glowing, gaseous embodiment of heat for the remainder of their childhood. Yet when they become adults, they find themselves walking through the very flames of hell in pursuit of what they believe will make them happy.

 As a young teenager, I supposed it to make more sense for an adult to grow all the wiser to stay away from what was already learned to be danger. Yet at this point in my story, I found myself about to go back to the very place where I had almost lost my life to a flood of insects. Had I not learned my lesson, or had I a rebellious soul within me that would blatantly ignore the warnings? Was it the look in my father's eyes that convinced me, when he described to me his dreams of grandeur for this abandoned, twelve-story stack of brick and mortar?

 Truthfully, I believe it was none of these things. There was something up there; and that something wanted me to find it. I knew not what it was, nor did I feel even slightly comfortable with the subconscious feeling of magnetism toward a location filled with hyperreactive cockroaches and unceasing audible terrors; but the pull was irresistible.

 My father, Mr. Matis Gibeau, must have felt that same unrelenting vacuum that nearly forcefully drew us back to the higher floors of that hotel. He swore that on that day we would bring with us the bane of all insects: fire. Using materials from an assortment of objects from his bedroom and the fireplace, he crafted himself a torch.

 "There is no insect within my knowledge that will pass through flames to reach a man and his daughter. With this, we can repel the pests of the third floor and venture to the fourth." My father stated, his gaze burning through the walls of our house in the direction of the hotel.

 To our disappointment, the insatiable desire to know the truth behind the people who once stayed in L'Hôtel Hanté was not fulfilled by the pages of the journal we recovered. As it was before, information had only left us with more questions than in our previous endeavors.

 "The ruckus among these women is unbearable;" wrote the Dutch man, "they know not what they so angrily perceive in such difference. Yet is their indifference apparent!" Such was the manner of writing from this man. His way of speaking was challenging for us to grasp at times, but we were determined.

 "Supposedly," the man wrote on, "the owner of this hotel is some kind of wizarding lunatic according to one of them. To another, the man is a genius and a brilliant tycoon of a hotel owner. Finally, the third woman interjects with claims of the man being a perfidious scoundrel, unfaithful to his wife!"

 My father's expression was unchanging as he read the words aloud. He seemed to hyper-focus on the writings, as though the words were going to deliver some kind of satisfaction to a craving. Despite his eagerness to read it all aloud, I found that he would stop reading at times to skip over entire paragraphs or even pages of irrelevant information about the Dutch man's family or his personal opinions on the political matters of the time.

 "Returning to the matter of the owner of this hotel, I am starting to take the side that this man is indeed a madman." I was beginning to feel the same as my father; enthralled with the information at hand. "After having visited the other floors, I realize that this man's idea of a hotel is entirely skewed. The fourth floor is not a floor at all, rather a slather of dirt covered by a rug!" Those words raised my curiosity tenfold.

 "Papa, what do you think he means by that? Is the fourth floor filthy?" I asked my father as though he knew the answer.

"I haven't a clue, my daughter. But I do know that this must be some sort of figure of speech. This man has spoken in too many parables and deliberately figurative language for it not to mean something else." His reasoning made sense to me. We would have to find out upon our next ascension.

 Everything seemed normal upon our arrival at the hotel. It was in the same condition as it was when we left it last, save that the lobby was cleaner, and the counter was ripped up. After the news that the ever-talented Ducasse brothers had begun working for my father, he had managed to find a few other miscellaneous workers who could help replace the front desk and other counters within the lobby.

 "If we sustain any serious injuries while working here, suspicions will rise of the hotel being dangerous once more. We need to be careful to make it out unscathed this time." My father warned me. "Fortunately for us, Jon believed the fruit bat and infestation story. He has no belief whatsoever that the hotel may be haunted, and I'd like to keep it that way." He affirmed.

 Mr. Jon was never the superstitious type, nor did he ever even believe in the evil spirits mentioned in the Bible. He believed it was more likely to be some form of mental illness. Whatever his religious beliefs were, we were certainly glad he wasn't scared of the hotel's supernatural rumors.

 Speaking of supernatural, the feeling of discomfort was strong as we ascended to the second floor this time around. Although it was daytime and the sun was shining through the windows, I still felt the presence of something lurking around the corner.

 We had almost reached the stairs to the third floor when my father gestured for me to stay still. "Do you hear that?" He inquired of me, pointing upward toward the roof.

 I focused on listening to anything that might have sounded unusual. Surely enough, I could hear what sounded like bugs crawling on metal. It was a distinct sound, though quiet enough to not be noticeable if you weren't making a special effort to listen.

 "Is that the cockroaches on the third floor? But why does it sound metallic?" I questioned my father in reply.

 "No, look closer. Do you see the metal beams running through the ceiling?" He pointed to the thin, hollow, metal beams visibly attached to the ceiling. It ran through each room and down the hallways, occasionally leading out to the wall. "It's a ventilation system. These pipes lead outside to allow fresh air into the hotel. A brilliant move for when weather conditions are nice, but not so smart when it's storming. That's likely why we see so much mildew and filth everywhere."

 I could see the usefulness of allowing air flow into the hotel in providing a more comfortable environment for the customers. However, I did not see why this was important right now.

 "So… shall we keep moving, then?" I asked in my ignorant mind.

 "We will, but first I want you to take a look at them. What do you see different about these pipes and hollow beams?" He placed a hand on my shoulder and signaled for me to look again.

 As I observed the hollow rods of metal built into the ceiling, I noticed some oddly shaped holes in the metal. "They have dents and holes." I answered.

 "Correct. But no insects can eat through metal. This tells me that the holes are intentional." Father explained. "What do you think would happen if a cicada got in there and began making its usual sounds?"

 "I hate the sound of cicadas. They sound like they're scream…" My eyes went wide as I realized what I was saying. "They're screaming. The screaming. Cicadas! This entire time!?" I felt as though a bomb had been dropped on my brain!

 "Precisely. This place may not truly be haunted, dear Lyra. Although it does not disprove the voices we heard, it does tell us how the screeching noise was made. All it would take is for random homeless people staying here to make those voices while we couldn't see them for us to believe it was haunted." My father pointed out with a proud and relieved smile on his face. "I have a feeling we'll run into more bugs on the fourth floor, so let's keep this torch lit and remain quiet so as not to incite another tsunami of arthropods."

 I remained silent as we pressed on to the third floor once again. The spiders and cockroaches seemed to be minding their own business this time around and didn't want to get near the fire anyways. I still felt my heart drop every time one of them appeared to be traveling in my direction.

 Crossing the halls of the third floor wasn't so stressful now that we knew what would provoke the insects and weren't accompanied by Adeline and her little brother. Although it was still dirty and the tension of being watched by thousands of little eyes was heavy, we were able to make it to the next staircase without provoking any swarms.

 "Here we go. Are you ready, dear?" My father asked as he took my hand.

 "No, but I will go anyways and do my best." I answered, holding his hand tighter as we slowly climbed the stairs. I could think of no other response at the time because the emotions within my head were swirling as we approached the next floor. I could only imagine what lay in wait for us there.

 "Papa… how is this possible?" was my response to my first view of the fourth floor. It was a strange sight indeed. Only a few bedrooms existed on this level with only two hallways: one connecting the two staircases and one branching from the first, leading to a giant open room.

 "By the great city of Paris, he was being literal!" My father exclaimed in response to my question, kicking up a loose end in the carpet. To my surprise, there was literally a layer of dirt underneath the rug! Not just any dirt, but what looked like expertly treated gardening soil.

 "That explains… those." I remarked, pointing to the pumpkin patch with stumps that burst forth out of the carpet in various places around the room. This also explained why it reeked of rotting gourd. The vines from the patch extended into the halls and under the doors. The pumpkins themselves seemed to be in various conditions, dotting the floor. Some were just piles of molding mush, some only beginning to rot, while others looked pristine and excellent for pie-baking.

 The vines and leaves even grew up the walls, covering the windows and blocking out all but an occasional dim beam of the light through a crack. Somehow, this hotel always had a way of maintaining a dark, uneasy atmosphere, even if it required an indoor pumpkin patch to do so.

 "So this is why those women fought over what to think about the owner. He literally gave this floor its own indoor pumpkin patch. What an experience! This man was an ingenious and creative businessman, no doubt!" My father was awe-struck at the sight, observing the room as though it was a fine work of art.

 I failed to understand why this was a good investment. "Couldn't the space being used by the massive pumpkin patch have been used to make more bedrooms and invite more paying customers?" I ventured. My father didn't seem to agree, judging by the clear look of disappointment when he looked at me.

 "Lyra, my daughter. Surely, you must know that it is not always about the money, but the experience!" He exclaimed poetically, gesturing with his arm toward the mess of pumpkins, vines, and moldy remains. "This is not just for money, but rather to make the hotel memorable! Word of a hotel with an indoor pumpkin patch would go wild among the citizens of France! They could even use the pumpkins to make pumpkin pies to sell in the lobby! This is incredible, truly!"

 Clearly, I was not as impressed as he was.

 The air felt thick and heavy, and the stench of the rotting pumpkins was strong. I wondered why we hadn't moved on to the fifth floor already. Unfortunately, my father seemed to be obsessing with the idea of this pumpkin patch and had even begun to pick up the gourds that were in better condition.

 "Look at this, Lyra! Isn't this one beautiful? It's a wonder how these things have been growing without anyone to water them!" His remarks were met with a sarcastic silence from me. I crossed my arms and began walking toward the stairs to the fifth floor. The lack of scary things here was beginning to bore me.

 Of course, thinking that was possibly one of the worst mistakes of my life. I had hardly taken five steps when I felt something wrap around my ankle. Inevitably, I tripped and fell to the ground.

 "Are you okay, Lyra?" Father left the pumpkin he was holding and ran to my side to help me up.

Though I appreciated his kindness, I was so furious about whatever it was that tripped me that I had already stood back up and was about to stomp the non-existent daylight out of it.

 "I'm fine!" I yelled, looking around for what tripped me, though I saw nothing which only fueled my frustration more.

 "What did you trip on?" He inquired, looking the hallway where I had just fell.

 "I know there was something! I have no idea what, but unless this place is spreading the insanity of the spirits left behind to my own soul, I know that something grabbed my ankle and tripped me!" I vented, stomping down the hall toward the stairs.

 "Lyra, where are you going? We've yet to search for anymore journals or hints as to what happened here on this floor." My father had caught up to me and gently grabbed my shoulder.

 "Well, maybe if you'd…" I was going to shout my anxiety out at him, but alas; my complaining was rudely disrupted by the same something grabbing the same ankle!

 I looked down to catch what it was and saw only a flash of green slide under the nearest door. "Did you see that!?" I exclaimed to my father.

 He looked down at my feet, then at the door I was about to open. "I don't think I did… did I? Strange. I thought I had seen something just now, too, but I can't seem to recall what it was." He seemed to be genuinely confused. Perhaps he just wasn't paying enough attention?

 I opened the door to the room without the usual caution I would take in this place. I was done feeling scared of whatever supernatural forces were lurking about this floor. They had stooped so low as to play practical jokes on me! That wasn't funny!

 As I stomped into the room, all I could make out was the thick vines blocking out the window and a couple of small objects that I assumed were pumpkins. It wasn't until my father brought his torch in that I could see the disturbing sight within… one pumpkin and what looked like the skull of a dog with its spine still attached staring directly at me. Its lifeless, empty sockets seemed to see straight through me and replace all of my anger with a strangely somber kind of fear.

 "Papa!" I yelped, clinging to his side like a child. Of all the things to find in a hotel, the legless, ribless skeleton of a canine. The faded stench of death in the room suggested that it had died a long while ago.

 "It must have taken refuge in this place years ago. But why is it here on the fourth floor?" My father inquired aloud, taking a few steps forward for a closer look.

 As my father kneeled to the floor that he might inspect the scene, something in the room audibly shifted. To say that the fear I felt froze me where I stood would be an understatement of great magnitude. I knew exactly what had shifted, but I didn't want to acknowledge it. I couldn't believe it, no, I wouldn't believe it. Yet I had no choice but to believe it.

 "Lyra…" My father began, unable to finish his sentence.

 It shifted again.

 And again.

 And once more.

 Finally, it was facing us; its hollow eye sockets piercing us like spears. No longer were the supernatural threats merely sounds or less supernatural things like bugs… now they were physical and in motion.

 My father backed away from the motionless remnants of the dog and pointed the torch toward the terror that had slowly turned itself around.

 "Dissipate." It hissed its command.

 "Papa…" I began. I couldn't finish.

 Before I could mutter out what I saw, my father took my arm and dashed out the door. I could feel the horror emanating from him, making my own fear take over.

 "Dissipate!" It screamed in its hoarse voice, following behind us with every other thing like it residing on that floor.

 Of everything that could kill us in that hotel… now it was the pumpkins. This particular one had a grueling face of agony carved into it, somewhat rotten with what I thought looked like long, curved horns sticking out of its head.

 Before we knew it, vines were grabbing at our legs and every nearby pumpkin with similar carvings began moving on their own in our direction.

 "Papa!" I screamed when two pumpkins with bone-white teeth sticking out of their jagged mouths pounced; one toward his leg and the other directly for his face. He swung his right foot straight into the first pumpkin, sending it flying into a wall and exploding into chunks that splattered orange goop all over the floor and walls. The next he stopped with his torch, though that action resulted in the mad pumpkin biting into it and catching on fire.

 The fire melted away at the pumpkin's outer shell, making its appearance even more terrifying. My father shook the torch in an attempt to fling the pumpkin away, but soon just tossed the torch toward the other pumpkins instead.

 Without saying another word, we continued our mad dash toward the nearest staircase.

 "Sinners!" Shouted an ominously low and masculine voice from the pumpkins behind us. "Monsters! Be gone!" Screamed another, sounding like a severely distressed mother. The emotion behind its voice struck me for just a moment.

 I turned back for just half of a second to make sure none were too close to our tails, only to find that they were all suddenly gone. Only the chunks and gooey remains of the one my father had punted were left in sight. No pumpkins, no torch, and no fire.

 "Where did they go?" I wondered out loud, stopping our mad dash only feet away from the door to the staircase.

 My father was pulling at the door, unable to get it open. "I don't know, but I almost don't want to know either." He commented, fear still causing his voice to shake.

 As I reached out to the door to help him open it, I heard a voice more clearly than anything else I had ever heard from the supernatural beings of this place…

 "Depart from hence… or suffer as I have."

 It wasn't a harsh voice, nor was it aggressive. Rather, it sounded… sad. Like it was warning me. I asked my father if he heard it, but he said he hadn't heard anything since the pumpkins called us sinners and demanded that I help open the door.

 Upon inspecting the door, I realized that the same dimly glowing light I had seen before on the second floor was now here as well. I wondered if it was the same spirit as before. It didn't seem threatening, rather it sent chills of curiosity down my spine. It made me want to follow it.

 "DEPART FOREVERMORE!"  Another ghastly voice shouted, the same as the kind that had come from the pumpkins. I turned around, ready to punt any pumpkin like my father had, but was confronted with something far more unsettling.

 I witnessed the scattered bones lying within different rooms of the hallway gathering as though invisible men were bringing them together. Two large pumpkins rolled forth, where they were injected with the bones. First came two legs that inserted themselves into one of the pumpkins, then two hind legs that did the same in the other. To finish the monstrosity, the skull and spine we had found in the first room slithered out of the darkness and pushed through the two pumpkins, connecting them as a body: its skull lifting itself up at the front.

 After witnessing the formation of this skeletal pumpkin dog, my father decided to stop pulling and start bashing. He shouted in pain as he crashed into the door, forcing it open where the light on the other side had disappeared.

 We quickly realized that this wasn't the stairway down, but rather upward. There was, however, no possibility within the universe that we were turning back now. Not with the rattling bones and eerie canine screams of agony sounding out behind us.

 My father slammed the door behind us. We heard the boney beast crash into the door and begin scratching away desperately at it. It didn't take long for us to climb those stairs. Not at all.

 With no clue what lay ahead of us on the next floor and no way of turning back to the first floor, we both knew that we would have to find another way out.

 Our speechlessness was amplified by our breathlessness and we shut the second door at the top of the staircase, locking it behind us.

 We had already known before, but we then comprehended with greater tenacity the terror that we had involved ourselves in. The place known by no other name than… L'Hôtel Hanté.