Floor Seven

"Tell me, Lyra. What is the difference between a good and a bad memory?" The voice from within the light beneath the door questioned me. It had only been a couple of minutes since we had escaped the crawler of the sixth floor, or rather, were spared by it for some odd reason.

 I did not know how to answer the voice. I feared talking to it out loud, desiring that my father should have his moment of peace without stressing over the voice that spoke to me in my mind. As such, I simply thought about the answer I might give to the voice when the time came that I would feel comfortable disturbing my father.

 "I'm not sure why I feel so inclined to answer his question. I've just been through several near-death experiences, so why should I even try to answer?" I thought, supposing that this being was acting inconsiderately of me.

 "You will answer me because you value the lives at stake." The voice commanded, ringing in my mind louder than before. I was beginning to think it could hear my thoughts.

 "He's even more deranged than I had originally supposed him to be. Our lives have been at stake this entire time, that's not going to scare me." I thought once more, this time intentionally listening for him.

 "You seem to be mistaken on the definition of a 'near death experience'. Perhaps I should enlighten you…" His reply confirmed it. He was speaking to me through my mind, and he could indeed hear my thoughts.

 "Am I mistaken? Sir, I have yet to see your face. The only mistake I'm making is talking to a stranger." I snapped back, trying not to make the corresponding facial expressions. I did not fear him as I feared the monstrosities within this hotel.

 "My, you have quite the sharp tongue, don't you? First an imbecile, now a stranger. Like daggers to my heart, dear Lyra." The voice's sarcasm was almost as strong as my exasperation.

 "Was I wrong?" I quipped back. If this man was going to kill us, he would have done it already. Thinking back on it, there were multiple times we should have died but did not. Times such as being cornered by the giant face, being within reach of the crawler multiple times, and never even mind the combusting cockroaches that could have choked us by crawling down our throats and jamming our breathing! "If you were truly so offended, you'd have truly been out to kill us. You may scare me and my father, but I think you're just trying to hide something. A secret sin, perhaps?"

 The light flickered and grew somewhat brighter. The darkness around us seemed to get darker, my vision betraying me as the world around me became blurry. Before long, my other senses, like smell and hearing also weakened. It was as though nothing existed save me and the man in the light.

 "You call me an imbecile, yet you are the one clueless to the signs delivered." He mused. "For every floor you have traveled through so far, the truth has been revealed to you in one way or another. This curiosity that has entangled your very being… it has led you to me. I have the answers you desire." I could almost feel his words through the chills pulsating throughout my body.

 "Then what is it that you desire from me? Why imprint me with such strong, unnatural curiosity? Why lure me into this hotel? Do you wish to watch me and my father suffer?" I questioned the man despite my dizzied, senseless state.

 "As I said, I have the answers YOU desire. This curiosity is your own. Not a bit of it comes from me. I have done nothing but warn you and repel you." He kept speaking to me as though he were trying to protect me.

 "Not a bit? You mean you aren't the man that created this hotel and all the horrors inside? You expect me to believe that you aren't the one that lured me in with your shining light underneath the door just to get some sick pleasure from terrifying me!?" If I weren't frozen in a desensitized state, I would have been crying.

 "Lyra… you know only half of the horrors. With six floors cleared, you have six more before you and your father reach the top. Once you enter the door to the seventh floor, your chances of return will be no more. The monstrosities of the previous floors are minimal in comparison to what lies ahead. Leave now with what answers you have and seek not the history of this hell."

 Suddenly, my eyes were opened. Literally and metaphorically. I was brought back to my senses by my father, who was crying over me on the staircase.

 "Lyra, my dear! Oh, thank the Lord." He gasped in relief, holding me closely in his arm.

 "How long was I out?" I questioned him, gently lifting myself up.

 "For no longer than five minutes, but it was long enough to scare me. We were just sitting here on the steps when your eyes rolled backward, and you collapsed. I have been trying to wake you up since. You must have had a combat de puer strong enough to cause you to pass out."

 I quickly explained my visit with the voice within the light. He listened intently, as though I were sharing with him a prophecy from one of the biblical prophets. "This voice… it sounds like an unclean spirit trying desperately to hide the evidence of his sins. Was this man, perhaps, a doer of evil? If so, that would make this hotel the product of a villain. With that being the case, it would take a lot more effort to clear its name and turn it into someplace people would truly want to stay." Of course, Matis Gibeau; despite his open-mindedness, was still a businessman. Even now after almost dying, he was only focused on how to restore the hotel.

 "He said to me that he has all the answers I desire; that once we cross to the seventh floor, we will have no chance of returning. He sounded… real. Papa, I don't think he was threatening us… I think he was warning us. I don't think he has control over the other spirits of this hotel."

 He looked up at the door thoughtfully, taking several moments to consider his response. "Suppose we do turn around, right here and right now…" He began; his eyes fixed on the top of the stairs. "We would gain nothing but more anguish within. I would lose all the money I've already invested in this place, which matters little in comparison to the keeping of our lives. However, we both have investments of greater value than any monetary sacrifice."

 I tilted my head, thinking seriously about what he meant by that.

 "I have invested my very honor and reputation into this. If I turn back and give up on this hotel, I will have to disappoint my workers and leave them jobless. I will have to abandon my newly created dream of recreating this wonderful hotel design, and dishonor those who once ran this hotel by rejecting their hard work. That is a different kind of weight that would cause more pain to me than a dislocated arm and some cuts." His voice was focused and serious, his eyes shining with his "businessman spirit".

 "Papa…" I was going to add my own input, but he wasn't finished.

 "Then Lyra, you have put your heart not only into aiding me in achieving my dreams, but also into learning the stories of this hotel and connecting with the people of the past. You have already formed some kind of interpersonal connection with this spirit who we assume to be the previous owner. With such a valuable connection, you have the power to uncover the secrets behind this place that you especially have sought after. You can't tell me that you wouldn't end up returning anyways."

 It was true. I likely would come back, whether the hotel was under renovation by my father or not. My desire to see the man within the light and to learn more of the history behind this hotel was impossible to dismiss. I had no words to make any sort of counter to his argument.

 "The truth is, we can confirm nothing about the man speaking to me." I agreed. "He may be attempting to fool us into leaving so that we don't discover the truth…"

 "Precisely. In the end, he is but a spirit. He has no physical body to harm us with, and if he is truly warning us for our own safety, we will just have to prove to him that he has underestimated the knowledge and power of the Gibeau family!" He exclaimed dramatically, raising his one working arm into the air as was typical of Matis Gibeau.

 Once again, I could not argue with my father. I could feel a determination like his own boiling in my blood. It must have been one of the things I inherited from him. Either that, or I was very susceptible to his quirky personality.

 Having made up our minds, we walked slowly up the stairs toward the door to the seventh floor. We had no intentions of turning around halfway through, and I was sure that no amount of fear that this hotel could inflict upon us would convince my father to give up. Truthfully, I couldn't blame him. I felt the same way, after all.

 The door creaked loudly as we stepped onto the next floor. My heart was aflutter, and my stomach twisted in knots again as my brain was filled with dreadful thoughts of what horrible monster would be chasing us next. My legs still ached from all of the running we had already done, and I didn't know how much more of it I could take.

 To our surprise, the next floor had been smashed to oblivion. There were few standing walls and absolutely no windows whatsoever. The room was completely dark, except for an ominous blue light that rippled across the entire floor in much the same pattern that water would. In the dim blue waves of light, we could occasionally make out what walls were standing along with some disassembled furniture pieces strewn across the floor. Splinters were stuck in the wall, jutting out like spikes. There was no carpet, the floor instead was formed of formerly expensive wood material, now rotting with a faint smell of old liquor. Clearly, this was the bar at one point in time.

 The blue light felt almost tangible as it washed over me, as though it were a wave of fog or mist enchanted to create the eerily beautiful light show on display. Part of me wanted to bask in the light and lose myself in its steady flow, while the other created every possible negative outcome that I could comprehend and embedded it into my mind's eye. I wasn't sure whether to feel awe-struck or offput by the ocean of elegant water-like patterns that mildly illuminated the disrepair that was this level.

 I had thought to comment on this feeling to my father but found that my words halted within my throat. This floor was so very silent that the thought of disturbing the quiet forced dreadful feelings into my being. There were no spiders visible on the roof, nor was there the feeling of being watched; yet did I feel inclined to remain silent or else something awful would happen.

 Before long, I found my feet moving seemingly on their own. I had become allured to a painting hung neatly on what was left of one of the walls. It displayed a detailed likeness of a family of three. A father, a mother, and a little boy. All three were faceless, but dressed in a dignified manner, as though they were highly wealthy.

 As the daughter of a successful man like Matis Gibeau, I understood the need for such dress. My own dress was a deep red shade of maroon, a color not had much among the less fortunate. I had my father to thank for making enough money to support a very comfortable lifestyle, though we likely were not as wealthy as those people depicted in the painting.

 I rather enjoyed staring at the painting. Although the faceless figures sent chills down my spine, I felt more at ease observing a work of art than fighting off murderous pumpkins. I would gladly have done this over the rest of the things we had experienced in this hotel.

 After a few minutes of observing that painting, vivid visions played out in my mind. I saw the family, still faceless, eating at a finely crafted wooden dinner table covered in a royal red tablecloth. The silverware, as I recall, was imbued with designs pleasant to the eye, and the dishes were of no lesser quality. The family sat at that table quietly, never even looking up from their food to make conversation as Papa and I would when we sat at the dinner table together.

 It seemed to me that multiple days had passed along, and the father of the family was now dressed in clothing typical of a sailor. He walked out of their house, not even bothering to look at his son or wife. His faceless head was pointed straightforward, completely emotionless and emanating the essence of a cold-hearted man.

 That vision ended shortly after, returning me to my place standing beside my father. He seemed to be entranced with the painting, likely seeing many of the same things I was, though I could not tell. His eyes stared blankly, eventually stopping and looking around the room. He placed a hand on my shoulder and pointed over to another of the remaining walls. This one too had a painting hung on its remnants.

 The painting was of a ship sailing through the waters of Port-Louis. It was not large, nor was it small. The crew seemed to be of a moderate amount, perhaps even a little on the smaller side. At the head of the ship, directing it in the course that he desired, was the captain. As my mind entered back into its visionary state, I could tell that this captain was none other than the same father featured in the other painting.

 I could still see no faces, but rather colorful silhouettes of the captain and his crew. They seemed to be on a long voyage, drinking, eating, and making themselves merry as they traveled. The captain remained expressionless and did not take part in the recreational activities of the crewmates.

 A singular person would occasionally make their way to the captain, inviting him to come and join the festivities with outreached hands. They had no faces, yet their disappointment was apparent, nevertheless, when the captain turned them down.

 He instead sat in his quarters, counting his coins and occasionally barking orders at any who dared to disturb his desk time. He seemed to me the opposite of my father: cold, distracted, apathetic, and without any real passion. I felt disdain for the man just from the little I had seen of him.

 That vision too came to an end, following the same pattern as the last. This time, I led my father by his hand to the next painting, the strange blue light only adding to our fixation upon the hanging artwork. This next one displayed a mysterious figure in a gray, bloodstained cloak with a hood. His or her shady face was empty just like the rest, with no mouth, eyes, nor any other detailed depictions of facial features,

 I saw the shady figure walking slowly toward the bridge with several knives, two daggers, and a sword strapped to their body. They wore heavy sounding boots with chains and other metal adornments hanging from their cloak and trousers. Their footsteps were through puddles of blood, leaving red boot-prints everywhere they walked.

 Slowly but surely, the figure had marched menacingly to the captain's cabin, opening the door only to shut it behind them once they had entered. Murderous intent was nearly palpable from this being as they threateningly approached the captain.

 Giving the captain no time to react, they threw knives at him, sticking into the wall behind him as he narrowly dodged them. He ducked beneath any furniture he could run to, eventually reaching his sword hung up on the wall. He turned around with his sword drawn only for it to be too late. There was already a rusty cleaver pressed to his neck. Without any hesitation, the assassin sliced his throat open with a single stroke. He slowly collapsed to the floor, his empty face clearly looking up at the hooded figure as though to question their decision to assassinate him. His blood gushed out all over the floor, making a sight that turned my gut.

 The hooded mystery proceeded to draw out their sword, a rapier, no doubt. They kicked the man in the face before holding it up in the air, the blade pointed downward toward his head. Before my very eyes, the sword sank into the man's skull, red paint now covering the canvas of my mind. As I awoke from the vision, so too was the physical canvas painted completely red.

 As though the focus of the flow of this story had shifted from my visionary sense to my auditory senses, I could now hear the echoed gasps and sharp breaths of the dying crewmates upon the ship. I could feel the floor rocking back and forth, the alcohol-scented wood creaking as I continually changed my footing due to my sense of balance being thrown off. Their voices seemed distant and mystic, yet real and saturated with tones of pain.

 The air in the room grew denser and more humid. To breathe became more of a challenge as my lungs felt as though they were filling with water. My mind was tormented with visions from the point of view of the people thrown off the side of the ship; bloody holes in their chests and necks as their singular assailant disposed of them.

 The climate in the large room seemed to shift from dank to choking as the luminescent pattern of water dimmed. Darkness slowly crept in from the corners, creeping up on me in plain sight. I felt powerless, hopeless, and drained of life. Truly, there was no more fitting description for this feeling than that of drowning in despair.

 My legs weakened, and so did the rest of me. My arms, my neck, my very will to continue standing… it all ceased to support me. I could feel myself falling backward toward the floor. There was no panic, no overbearing fear, and no adrenaline-filled chase. This time, the darkness had taken hold of me from within and I could feel it dragging my consciousness down into the depths of a shadowy sea.

 As the feeling of hopeless darkness was just about to swallow me whole and trap my consciousness in its cold grasp, I called out to what little light I could see. I cried for help, though the pressurized water at the floor of this imprisoning ocean seemed to crush my lungs and block my throat. I summoned every fiber of myself; physical, mental, and spiritual, to reach out to anyone. My voice was blocked by the dense liquid around me, however, and even I failed to hear my own voice.

 Despite how death seemed to have finally laid its hands on me, I could not bring myself to panic. The intensity was not that of fear, rather a sinking prison of depression. The will to live was forcibly removed from me and I could remember no good reason to even try to swim back up to the surface. As far as I was concerned, I had already been pulled into my grave and the water pushing me down was the coffin in which I would remain for eternity.

 "Lyra, open your eyes! We aren't done here…" I could barely make out the voice as it quietly echoed through the pressure in my ears. I was sure that my father must have been trying to awaken me from my nightmare. He continued speaking, though I could not determine what was said.

 Eventually, it finally clicked: this was in fact a dream. Ethereally induced or not, I was within a dream, and it had no power to keep me pinned to the ocean floor. "You will be alright. Disperse the sea of despair and return to the waking world!" The voice was audible now. His voice gave me confidence that my attempts to break free from the prison were working!

 "That is correct... I am not dying! This is all but an illusory attempt to crush me!" I told myself, forcing images of the beach at sunset that my father and I would visit when I was younger. The joy of those moments seemed to send a beam of energetic luminescence from my chest all the way up to the surface of the ocean, dispelling the darkness in my way. The feeling of imprisonment left, and I could feel myself being lifted by someone. I was within his arms as he stood me back up on my feet, the faint warmth emanating from him having filled me with the hope I had lost. Everything slowly faded in transition from the dark waters to the dark room where I had laid for the duration of the vision.

 "Papa!" I shouted as I finally opened my eyes and regained enough strength to stand. I was free from the trance, but I could no longer see where my father had disappeared to.

 "Papa! Where are you!? Please, heed my call!" The depression and despair were then replaced by the awakening chaos of emotions that was my true mental state at that moment. I hadn't realized how safe I had felt with him until then. Now that his presence was removed from my detection, the overpowering panic of a child separated from its parents in a dark place began overtaking me.

 I screamed his name at the top of my lungs, tears crawling down my face. This was the most powerful fear I had faced yet, and I could feel myself slipping once again, this time into a spiraling whirlwind of anxiety. My heart quickened to a greater pace than it had reached when I was being chased by the giant face of the fifth floor. My breathing seemed to match the pace of heartbeat.

 I realized then and there that my greatest fear was not hyperreactive insects, nor skeletal pumpkin dogs, nor a crawling, maniacal corpse. My greatest fear was to be alone.

 "Breathe." The voiceless words entered my head. There was no tone, no accent, and no emotion. Just words that made the logical side of my brain kick back into effect.

 I fell on my knees and attempted to slow my breathing, the combat de puer had begun to lose its power over me as I repeatedly reassured myself that I could find him. He was not gone forever.

 Before I had even finished soothing my mind, I used what strength I had to get up and begin the search. The enigmatic illumination that previously engulfed this floor was gone, making it completely dark. Without any windows on this floor, sight was a distant memory of the past.

 Struggling to keep myself together, I walked around, my steps light and frequent as I fought the urge to break out running. I kept my hands outstretched to avoid crashing into a wall, feeling nothing but cold air. I called out to my father multiple times as I walked yet received nothing in return.

 Finally, I could not stand being alone anymore. I needed someone, and there was only one other presence here that I could possibly trust. "Mister ghost!" I yelled, unaware of his name. "I know you can hear me! I need to talk to you!" There was silence for a moment, but before long I saw the light once more. It shone faintly beneath a door at the end of the hall, but it was enough that I could see where the door was.

 "YOU need to talk to ME? What a surprise. I thought I was an 'imbecile' in your mind." Said the voice in return. Never had I been uplifted by that voice, but now he was saving my life.

 I walked toward the door, feeling a little bit of relief to have someone nearby, even if he lacked a physical body. "Perhaps." I sighed. "But I must ask… since you seem to know everything about this hotel… please, tell me where my father is." I was hesitant to ask him, fearing he would become angry and curse me, though the response I received surprised me.

 "Finally, you have gifted me with some trust. It appears we are beginning to make progress. Come to the door. It is unlocked, and I will guide you to your father." he answered with sincerity in his voice. He was so sincere, in fact, it felt too good to be true.

 I debated on how much I truly trusted the man. After all, he had yet to manifest himself to me, even in an ethereal form. "I can sense your suspicions. I would advise you consider your only other option of remaining alone in the darkness." … I hated to admit it, but he was right.

 "Very well. If you value my trust so much, then do not break it here and now as I approach the door." I warned him, trying my best to include some sass in my tone, though the shakiness of my voice and the tears still dripping from my eyes betrayed it.

 I stepped hesitantly to the door, wondering if I was truly going to finally see the ghostly man on the other side of the door or if he was lying to lure me into a trap. I had no choice, truly. If it was a trap, I would have to find a way out just as my father and I had on all the other floors.

 "Right this way, milady." His tone was surprisingly gentle and smooth. He sounded like he could be a true gentleman, even if he was a lunatic as the women in the journal claimed he was. The door opened on its own as I stepped toward it, inviting me in.

 I stopped at the doorway, once again debating whether this was a trap or honesty. I could not see the stairs, because the light coming from him was too dim. The mostly open door would have had enough of a gap behind it to hide a ghost for sure. Why would he need to hide behind the door if he desired my trust?

 "Thank you, sir." I responded slowly. If he truly wanted my trust, a smart man such as himself would also want to trust me. I decided to walk through the doorway, taking his word.

 The door shut behind me as I stepped onto the first step, though there was no one behind the door and the only light there now came from underneath the door at the top of the stairs.

 It was silent for a few seconds. I knew not how to respond to it either. This was becoming strangely awkward, standing there in the dark, waiting for him to say something. Did my unexpectedly polite response throw him off that much?

 "Boo." whispered the man's voice in my ear. I jumped right out of my skin, almost falling forward onto the stairs in front of me. This was not in his usual way of speaking to me in my mind, rather it was a real voice with breath that I could feel on my neck!

 I turned around to see him, but he was not there. I reached a hand outward to feel if he was there and still felt nothing. A deranged laugh sounded from behind the door at the top of the stairs, matching the voice that had just whispered behind me.

 "I trusted you!" I shouted at him, the tears beginning to well up in my eyes once more.

 "And your trust was not misplaced. Walk up the stairs." The man said with his physical voice from behind the door. If he decided to prank me again, I was going to barge through that door and kill him myself if he wasn't already dead like everything else here!

 "Such an immature imbecile!" I thought as I stomped up those stairs.

 "I heard that!" He laughed from behind the door, still hysteric from his success in such a petty scare.

 Lying at the top of the stairs was the figure of a man passed out, leaning against the door. As I approached the man, I knew immediately that it was my father. It was difficult to see his facial features, but I knew his appearance better than anyone else on the planet.

 "I'm impressed… you weren't lying. Looks like I won't have to exorcise you after all." I said to the man behind the door.

The man laughed even harder. It took him nearly half of a minute to calm down, and I was tempted to open the door while he was in his laughing fit. However, it was apparent that he did not want me to see him. He had earned my trust, mostly, and I wasn't going to break his.

 "You are a special woman, Lyra. As I told you before, there is no turning back, now. Your father is alive and will likely awaken from his own trance soon with your help." He assured me, sounding genuinely happy. His voice soon took a turn for the dark, though. "That being said, he will not live long past the next few floors." He sounded grim, but not threatening. It was that moment which confirmed to me that those haunting creatures roaming the floors of this hotel were not under his control, and somehow, that was more terrifying to me.

 "Take utmost caution, my friend. There is good reason that the people of this city have named my home… L'Hôtel Hanté."