Floor Nine

"Trust." A concept that makes human life possible. Humans are indeed creatures so socially involved with one another that they require relationships to survive. A lack of connection with other human beings leads not to physical decay, but a slow emotional deterioration which can eventually lead to death in some cases.

 The ironic thing is that these very same relationships needed for humankind to avoid falling into potentially fatal depression can also cause the very same thing. When the nature of the relationship at hand is one of fighting, disagreements, and emotional imbalance, the result is often more harmful than if the relationship never existed at all. Thus, anxiety and introverted tendencies are employed as means of defense against this.

 And so human social life is a matter of risk-taking. Each time a relationship is formed, those two people place their trust in one another and if the relationship is romantic, they place their hearts or even their lives at risk. The rewards are better than anything else in this life, but as is the same with the nature of gambling; the consequences are equally negative as the rewards are positive.

 There is a common understanding among people that what you give is what you receive. To receive good, you must give good to others. This saying, however, is not entirely true. For you see, some give their all and receive nothing but betrayal and heartbreak in return. Some even take away from others and receive more in return. Such is the imbalance of an imperfect world like ours, and why each social connection is a gamble.

 It is this imperfect world full of heartbreak, betrayal, and iniquity that creates monsters; not of the darkness within, but of external wounds that infect the mind and spirit with cold, unrelenting hatred.

Making my way slowly up the stairs with my father right in front of me, I kept placing my hand defensively around my neck. The horrid scene I witnessed within the vision left me with yet another thing to be anxious about. I had the thought to start wearing a spiky band around my neck to protect it after all this was over, but I was sure that I would be judged harshly for such an odd thing. Either that or I would start a new fashion trend among the dark and traumatized.

 My father waited until the bootsteps sounded distant to slowly open the door to the ninth floor. He peeked in cautiously, checking around the hall before taking me by the hand and leading me out of the stairway. This room was set up in the same structural manner as the fourth floor. It had one main hall with one branching off into a massive room. This time, however, the massive room was not a pumpkin patch. Instead, it was a boldly decorated ballroom with dust and cobwebs covering the once elegant walls.

 I wondered why a hotel would need a ballroom, and truthfully, I wondered even more if this place could even truly be considered a hotel anymore with all of the creative liberties the creator took in designing it.

 There were streams of white, purple, and gold ribbon strewn across the walls, tables off to the sides covered by silk tablecloths stained with wine… or blood. The floor was a marble-like tile with the occasional crack in it, and there was a stage big enough for a group of musicians to symphonize the atmosphere.

 The sound of our footsteps was amplified, echoing as they tapped onto the solid floor. The room seemed to be shaped in a way that would carry the sound from the stage to the outskirts of the ballroom. "I would say let's test it, but the last time someone in our group made a loud sound it summoned an army of cafards." My father commented after bringing the room's acoustics to my attention.

 This place had all the typical elegant décor of ballroom, yet it lacked something. It wasn't the tables, the banners, the ribbons, nor the curtains on the stage. It wasn't the chairs, the chandelier, nor the lamps on the walls either. I thought for several minutes about what this place seemed to be missing, after which an answer came far too clearly to my head.

 "Music." Said a voice from the stage. I immediately looked up to the stage but saw no one there. I took a step closer to my father, preparing for the worst my brain could imagine. Shockingly, nothing bad happened. Rather, classical ball music began playing from somewhere, though I could not see any instruments nor an automatic record player anywhere.

 "Lights!" The masculine voice was now clearer, echoing over the sound of the music. As if to obey the voice's command, the lamps on the walls began to light themselves one by one in an orderly fashion around the room until they had all been lit. As the finishing touch the elegant but mystifying display, the chandelier too was set alight. I could now clearly see the room for what it truly was… pleasantly cleaner than I imagined.

 "All couples, please step forward to the center of the room as the night begins." The voice echoed from the stage once more, yet I could still see no one.

 The flames upon the lamps and chandelier all dimmed, lighting the room in a way that was somehow both romantic and sinister simultaneously. I heard footsteps walk by me toward the center of the floor with no bodies to accompany them. I looked around frantically, daring not to take a step lest I end up crashing into an invisible couple. Anxiety filled me as the footsteps surrounded me, the clacking of heels and other fancy shoes seeming to pierce my eardrums with each step.

 "Papa!" I screamed with hands over my ears. The sound of indistinct chatter echoed throughout the room, making me feel crowded and insecure with no one physically there.

 "Lyra! Move to a different part of the room!" I couldn't tell where his voice was coming from because of how it echoed from multiple directions, but I immediately obeyed, bumping into something invisible to me as I ran toward the outside circle of the room.

 Once I reached a table, I quickly sat down in one of the chairs and attempted to soothe my pounding heart as I searched around the room for my father. It seemed to me as I calmed down that the once invisible noisy ballroom dancers were now appearing as subtly glowing silhouettes of people. They danced around the ballroom elegantly, creating an ominous sense of strangely organized balance.

 Since I could see what was making the sounds and I had placed myself away from the crowded area, I could finally breathe again. The ghastly silhouettes were dressed well for the ball, judging by the shape of their figures. I could not see any details and they were for the most part just colorless personages of no significance.

 My eyes widened as I spotted my father dancing with what looked to be a real woman. He seemed to be engaged in a deep conversation with her as well! Her long brown hair reached down nearly to her waist and covered her face. I could not see any of her skin, as it was all covered by elongated gloves, a poofy, frilly dress, and other accessories. She appeared to be quite wealthy.

 "Greetings." A familiar voice spoke gently but confidently behind me. I recognized immediately as the voice of the man hiding in the light. Had he finally decided to show himself?

 Eagerly anticipating the chance to see him, I quickly turned around and looked up. To my surprise, the man that stood before me was nothing like what I had imagined. Surely, this could not have been the same man!

 He was tall, easily above six feet with dark brown hair, longer than most men would have though not so long as to appear feminine, rather it appeared to be well-groomed and combed like an aristocrat. He wore a simple black tuxedo with a maroon bow tie that matched the color of my dress. His eyes were a strange color… I could not tell if they were brown, green, or a combination of the two.

 The most shocking thing about his appearance, however, was the youth of his facial features. He appeared to be no older than twenty years of age. Was this an illusion he had conjured to appear more approachable to me, or was this the true form of his soul? It was undeniably a physical body, though something felt off.

 "You…" I gasped in surprise. I had no other words.

 "Good evening, Lyra." He said again, his voice sending shivers down my spine in a way that was simultaneously exciting and terrifying. "I know without any smidgeon of a doubt that you are curious what is happening here. Please, take my hand and join me on the floor. I will explain." He offered me his hand, his long arms extending down to my level as I stared at him from the chair I sat in.

 "I… I don't know how to dance." I lied, looking away from him and out to the center of the room where my father still danced with the mysterious woman. He had taught me how to dance many times, hoping that I might attend a ball and attract a husband, but I always had a combat de puer just before we would depart for the ball, forcing me to stay home.

 "Your skill in lying is a stark contrast to your intelligence. You are an educated daughter of a rich man. A man such as him would not allow his daughter to refuse learning to dance." His words were on point.

 "You've caught me." I sighed, continuing to watch my father. I should have been more anxious, but something about the music and the lighting was beginning to soothe me in a strange way.

 I heard him take a step closer as he took my hand in his, waiting for me to stand up and join him. His hands were warm, making me wonder if he was truly dead or not. He had a patient, understanding look on his face that made me feel safe around him, unlike everything else in this hotel.

 "Join me and I will make known to you the details behind the visions you've seen." He promised to me, holding onto my hand as I stood up and followed him back to the center of the floor. His grasp was firm, but not tight. Gentle, but not weak.

 "Well, you've offered me the very thing I came here for: answers. Please, enlighten me." I said, looking up at his face. He gazed back at me, his face well over a foot above my own. I had to stand up very straight and stretch my arms to place my hand on his shoulder as we danced.

 His face was somber as he began to speak, locking eye contact with me. The world around us seemed to cease existing, my focus unable to move away from the words he was about to vocalize.

 "Let us begin with the woman you see dancing with your father." His voice directed my attention over to my father once again. It was as though he had control over me, yet were my movements of my own will.

 "She is a wandering soul. Her body has deteriorated, yet she continues to wander this floor in wait for the love of her life to return to her." As she spoke, my father and the woman turned enough for me to be able to see her face… or rather the lack thereof. What I saw there was merely a skeleton dressed in fancy clothing with a wig.

 "… Is she the woman in the vision, then? But… I thought she was in the library and had blonde hair." I looked back to the man that had taken me to the dance floor, tilting my head in confusion.

"You are adorable in your confusion." He smiled. "The woman you saw on the previous floor was not the same woman you saw in the vision. This woman who dances with your father, she has been awaiting the return of her husband from the sea. Your father may not look exactly like him, but his appearance is close enough that what existing memory within her soul reminds her of the man she yearns for."

 I looked back at the dead woman. Despite the dry skull that was her head, I could practically feel the loneliness emanating from her face. Was that why my father was humoring her for a dance?

 "Who is she?" I asked, looking back at him. He hesitated for a moment, looking to be processing how to answer.

 "She is the mother of this hotel. When the father would leave this place to appease his first career as a sailor captain, she would take the responsibility of caring for their child."

 "The son depicted in the painting?" I questioned him, making sure to confirm the details.

 "Yes. The hotel." He answered, looking me straight in the eyes as he spoke.

 "Excusez-moi?"

 "The child is the hotel, and the hotel is the child." I could scarcely tell if he was trying to give me answers, or if he was trying to confuse me more because I was "adorable in my confusion".

 "Regardless of that, aren't you the owner of this hotel?"

 He smiled and let out a small "humph" as though I had asked the question that he had been waiting for me to ask. "I am not the owner depicted in the vision." He stated. "But I am the owner."

 "So, you're the one that sold this hotel to my father?"

 "No, that was the man that stole and neglected this place."

 "Then you aren't the owner?"

 "No, I am."

 "Then why does my father legally own this hotel?"

 "Because he bought it from the man who stole it."

 "And that's not you?"

 "Correct."

 "But you are the owner?"

 "Also correct."

 That was all so very befuddling. What did he even mean by "owner of this hotel"?

 "I am not important to the history you seek to unveil except in the way that I have the answers you seek." He redirected my focus. "I only have time for one more question before I must leave you again, my friend. Please, ask carefully."

 Just one more question!? I hardly found that fair. Just what was so important that he would have to leave me after this one dance! I was sure that that wasn't proper etiquette for a ballroom date! Of course, I wasn't going to ask him that and risk having him tell me that I had used my one question on something so trivial.

 I thought for a minute about what to ask him. If he truly had all the history behind this hotel, perhaps I could just ask him to explain the entire history.

 "Do not bother asking for the entire history of the hotel, I'm afraid that would take several days to explain and neither of us have that long to remain here." He corrected me. I forgot he could hear my thoughts.

 "Who is the original owner of the hotel?" I spontaneously asked. Even if he didn't give me a detailed answer, I could likely find a way to research him one way or another.

 "The original owner of this hotel… the man whose mind was far beyond the stereotypical businessman." He began. "He was a creative man with big dreams and an even bigger ego. He was wealthy, powerful, and did what he pleased."

 As I listened to his explanation, I wondered why this woman loved him so. Especially since I already knew from other sources that he was a disloyal scoundrel.

 "I remember not his name, and truthfully, I refuse to remember it because of the many sins he committed. But I do know this: he was a strict, harsh father. Yet was he a kind, loving man to his wife except in terms of loyalty."

 "So, he was a cheater, after all." I commented.

 "Yes. An often drunken sailor, he would rise early in the morning to meet with the daughters of other wealthy sinners. Then at night, he would return to his wife who had been running the hotel for him. She could never tell when he was out at sea and when he was out 'doing business'." He gripped my hand a little tighter, as though it was painful for him to speak. "He made this hotel specifically to attract wealthy people to Port-Louis, thus giving him more connections, more money, and more people he could deceive."

 He looked over at my father and back at me with a very serious look in his eyes. "This place is nothing but the product of a sinner. It is unworthy of a man like your father." He stated firmly with so much conviction it was hard to respond.

 I could say nothing, yet I could not look away from his eyes. There was something in there, something I feared but also something that pricked at my curiosity… it was much the same feeling I got from the hotel itself back at the first staircase.

 "When you reach the final floor, I will escort you out of here. By then, you will have discovered much more. If your father is still alive, I will talk to him myself. He does not deserve to waste his time and efforts on a place such as this." The music was beginning to end as he finished his words.

 "Lyra…" He looked at me as though he truly thought of me as a friend. It was creepy considering how little time we had known each other, and I still didn't even know his name. Yet it was my curiosity about him that was enough to not desire for him to leave. I wanted to know him.

 "We are out of time." He lifted my hand up to his face and kissed it gently, as a gentleman would upon ending a dance with a fair lady. He was so tall that he had to bend over a little to reach it. "I pray we will meet again at the final floor."

 After that, I blinked, and he was gone along with everyone else. My father and I were the only ones remaining, as though everything that had just happened was nothing but a dream.

 "Lyra… I have answers to share with you." He stated, walking slowly over to me. "That woman I danced with… she was the mother we saw in the vision." He explained.

 "I'm aware. The man I was dancing with told me about her and the original owner of the hotel." I responded, unsure about my feelings.

 "Yes… she told me that her husband was a cheater, yet could she not bring herself to leave him. She was enthralled with his charms and her infatuation ran deep." He proceeded to tell me just about everything I already knew from the perspective of the wife instead, which wasn't necessarily a bad thing.

 "Their child… do you believe it's the hotel as they claim?" He asked me.

 "I'm not sure. It would indeed correlate with the vision very well, but… did they really care about the hotel so much as to call it their child?" I answered, unsure what to think.

 Regardless of what there was to think about, we couldn't discuss it any further.

 As my father was about to speak, we heard a whooshing sound from the side. My father suddenly ducked backward, a hatchet flying where his head once was, proceeding to fly forward into the distant wall behind us.

 "Go. Now!" He ordered, grabbing my hand and dashing toward the nearest exit. I looked back to see where the hatchet came from and saw the one thing I had hoped not to see. The very same hooded assassin from the vision was stomping toward us in its metal-studded boots. Their face was hidden, except for a little bit of blonde hair poking out from the shadows of the hood.

 We ran as fast as we could toward the stairs, boot stomps echoing behind us through the halls. I had no clue as to how fast this monster was capable of moving, so I kept running without looking back until we reached the open door to the staircase and slammed it behind us. A large dagger blade busted through the door and wedged itself in the wood, only in inches away from where my father's chest would have been.

 I dared not freeze there for any amount of time. We left that dagger in the door and ran up the stairs to the next floor, skipping steps as we flew. We knew this psychopathic blade wielder was capable of climbing those stairs, so unless we could find a way to stop it, we would have a difficult time escaping this murderous figure in the halls of L'Hôtel Hanté.