The stuffy, confined space of the sweaty tour bus was just starting to get to Angela when it turned off the freeway onto a dusty dirt road. It had been nearly five hours since their last stop, and she was desperate for some fresh air, despite the 103-degree weather and the dry dustiness that was sure to aggravate her asthma. But five hours on a tour bus with no one to talk to had driven her nearly batty. Sure, there were plenty of other college kids her age on the bus. She had talked to a few of them at the motel last night; it was common courtesy, considering they were all sharing a room. But none of them had really hit it off enough to warrant sitting next to each other on the bus, especially since the rest of them all had come with friends.
Celebrating her twenty-first birthday by going on a tour of abandoned buildings and haunted houses by herself had seemed like a great idea. Her parents had questioned the sanity of the endeavor, but Angela had reassured them with the knowledge that the tour was being organized completely by her University, so she would always be with twenty-seven other students her age and the three professors that were chaperoning. Not to mention she was paying the fees entirely using her own money. It was the perfect way to celebrate her first year as an independent adult.
She sighed and stared out the window at the flat, barren desert that stretched into the distance, almost without end. Mike, the Economics major who ended up sitting next to her, had fallen asleep listening to his iPod. They had had a very simple conversation when they left the motel five hours earlier, which basically consisted of exchanging names and majors, as was typical in college introductions. Thirty minutes later Angela, desperate for something more, had made the mistake of asking him what he was listening to. Mike had pulled out one of his earphones with an irritated look, and said, “It’s a podcast about the possible economic implications of the Affordable Care Act. I missed it when it first came out because of the lack of Wi-Fi, so I’d appreciate it if I could listen to it in peace.” With that, he had replaced the earphone and turned away. They had not spoken since.
The tour bus bumped its way down the dirt road for another hour before it reached its next stop, an old motel that had been abandoned when the Interstate had been built. According to the itinerary, it was currently owned by an insanely rich guy who had decided to buy it without fixing it up so he could “preserve history”. Instead, he had built an annex to the side with a suite for the curator, along with a small restaurant-quality kitchen and dining area for tourists and visitors.
Angela craned her neck to take a look. Unlike most of the abandoned buildings they had visited, this one didn’t look nearly as…abandoned. The main building of the motel certainly looked the part, with sagging doors and a tired, weathered overhang covering the walkway outside the doors. But the annex kind of ruined the whole effect. The architect had tried to give it a similar design to the original building, but it was easy to see that it was newer and well cared for, unlike the old motel. The empty swimming pool had been left alone, but the surrounding yard was kept trimmed and neat, and the yard in front of the annex had new landscaping as well. The overall effect was one of imbalance and contrast, old versus new, abandoned versus lived in, forgotten versus loved.
The students filed off the bus, Angela near the back because she had to nudge Mike awake in order to get out of her seat. Mike had grumbled a bit and took his time gathering his things, so he and Angela were last to get off the bus. The sun blinded her and the heat threatened to fry her skin, but it felt so good to be off the cramped little bus that Angela stretched her arms and took a deep breath. A mistake, considering all of the dust kicked up by the bus and by thirty-one pairs of feet. After a brief episode of coughing and wheezing and sucking on her inhaler, Angela promptly moved a good distance away from the group to avoid more dust.
It took a few minutes for everyone to stop chattering and get organized. Eventually, though, the heat became so unbearable that everyone made a beeline for the motel. Again, Angela hung near the back and a little to the side to avoid the dust everyone was kicking up. Besides, she was used to hanging out by herself, anyway.
Everyone gathered on the porch of the motel, surrounding the curator, who had come out to greet them. He was a bit different from Angela’s image of a “curator.” She had imagined a really old white guy with a pleasant smile and a southern drawl. Instead, he was a man in his late twenties or early thirties. He was clean-shaven with long brown hair that was pulled back into a ponytail. He wore a t-shirt and jeans, with steel-toed boots. He kept his stance loose and relaxed, with the tight smile of someone familiar with dealing with tourists. His sharp eyes scanned the tour group, pausing briefly on Angela before continuing on as if nothing had happened.
Angela felt a jolt rip through her in the split second that their eyes had met. She couldn’t quite put a finger on the expression that had come over the curator’s face. Unless she was seeing things. Maybe he was just wondering why she had been hanging back from the group, and that was why he had paid attention to her like that. But what if it wasn’t something innocent like that? It was probably just a coincidence; after all, he had continued on as if he hadn’t seen her at all.
The man cleared his throat and held up a hand to get the group’s attention. “Is this everybody? I really don’t want to say things twice.”
“Yes, this is everyone,” Professor Garcia said, after quickly glancing at her clipboard and counting heads.
“Excellent.” The curator clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “First off, introductions. I’m Gordon Hogan, the caretaker of this place. Basically, my job is to not touch anything, not clean anything, and not fix anything. And to make sure nobody else does, either.” He grinned at his private little joke. Some of the students chuckled.
He looked around. “Which brings us to the rules.” He held up a finger. “Number one rule here is no gum. At all. If you have any in your mouth, spit it into the trash can there.” Hogan waited while seven or eight students hurried to get rid of their gum. When that was done, he held up two fingers. “Number two. No spitting. If I catch anybody spitting anywhere inside this building, you will be charged with a hefty fine.” Ignoring the startled murmuring coming from the group, he plowed ahead to the next rule. “Three. You may only touch what I specifically say you can touch. That means even the walls, unless I say so, are off-limits. You don’t realize it, but the oils on your fingers can cause damage to the paint and wood, especially if it builds up over time. Some parts of this building are very delicate, so please follow my instructions to the letter.”
He lowered his hand and hooked his thumb into his pants pocket. “Any questions?”
One girl’s hand shot up. Angela recognized her as Jenny, one of her motel roommates from the night before. “Don’t you think you’re being a little paranoid? We’ve visited buildings older than this one, and the rules there weren’t nearly as strict.”
Hogan shrugged. “That may be so, but it’s not up to me. The owner is very particular about keeping this place in the same condition he found it. If you don’t like the rules, you’re welcome to sit in the restaurant and wait while everybody else has the tour.”
Jenny blushed, lowering her head a bit. “No, it’s fine. I was just wondering.”
He nodded. “Great. Any other questions?”
Silence.
“All right, then! Let’s get this tour started.” He started down the hall, then stopped abruptly. The students scrambled a bit to keep from bumping into him. He sighed.
“Sorry, I almost forgot. As cheesy as it sounds, the last rule is to have fun, okay?”
Angela smiled a little at that. He made it sound like he was frequently reprimanded for forgetting to mention that particular rule.
Hogan led them to the far end of the motel and worked his way back towards the annex. He opened the doors to each room individually, letting the students peer inside. As each student took their turn looking into the room, he’d rattle off interesting things about each room, like how each room was designed to be somewhat unique from all the other rooms.
At the third door, he actually let the students step inside in groups of three. “This room is infamous for apparently being Red Skelton’s favorite room to stay in when he was on the road, although there’s no proof, since, according to the legend, he always stayed here under an alias.”
“Who’s ‘Red Skeleton?’” one of the guys asked with a smirk.
“It’s ‘Skelton,’ not ‘Skeleton,’” Hogan said. “Red Skelton was a popular comedian back in the fifties and sixties. Maybe your professors are familiar with him?”
Professor Garcia and Professor Newman both shook their heads, being in their forties, but Professor Blake, who was in his late sixties, smiled and nodded. “He was one of my favorites. He always had good, clean humor, unlike the comedians of today.”
Many of the students looked unimpressed. Picking up on that, Hogan added, “There’s also a story that says that mirror in the back is haunted.”
The students immediately perked up. “Haunted how?” Mike asked.
Hogan gave a wicked grin. “Some say that anybody who stares into the mirror for too long will have their soul sucked out. Others say that anybody who looked at the mirror between two and three in the morning eventually died unnatural deaths.”
Angela scoffed. “Yeah, right. Did that Red Skelton guy die an unnatural death?"
“No,” Hogan said, thoroughly enjoying himself. “He must not have ever looked in the mirror between two and three A.M.”
Angela was in the last group of three to go into the room. The room felt rather small for something with such a supposedly rich history. The infamous mirror hung on the back wall just outside the bathroom. Angela caught the gaze of her reflection and rolled her eyes. Soul-sucking indeed. The king-sized bed in the middle of the room was dressed with a duvet that was probably once a rich maroon color, but now, what with the inch-thick layer of dust and the fading of time, just looked like a pale reddish-grey. Angela shook her head, wondering why the owner was so intent on leaving everything as it was. Most people wanting to “preserve history” usually tried to keep things in the same condition as they would have originally been. Instead, this guy seemed bent on keeping everything exposed to the effects of time.
Already she could feel the effects of the dust on her ability to breathe, so she hurried out of the room for some fresh air. The rest of the group had already moved on, but she took the opportunity to gather her breath. Luckily she had acted soon enough that she didn’t need to use her inhaler. Her asthma wasn’t normally this bad; it was probably a combination of the incredibly dry air and dust, as well as the possible presence of mold or rotting wood in the motel.
It was several minutes before the tightness in her chest was gone, and her breathing had evened out. She looked up, only to see that the group was already looking at the last room. Normally she would run to catch up, but she didn’t dare, considering the increased risk of an attack. So she walked at a leisurely pace, careful not to aggravate her lungs. By the time she was halfway there, the tour group was beginning to file into the annex to have lunch in the restaurant.
Hogan hung back and waited for her to catch up. “Are you all right?” he asked. “You seemed to be having trouble breathing.”
“I’m fine,” she said. “It’s just the dry air and dust were causing my asthma to flare up.”
“You have asthma?” He seemed genuinely concerned. “Would you like to sit down in the lobby for a bit? It’s air-conditioned.”
“Thanks, but I’m okay—” Angela was cut off by a fit of coughing when a sudden breeze blew some dust in her face.
“No, you’re not okay.” The curator took her by the elbow and pressed his other hand into her back, pushing her forward. “Let’s get you inside.”
Angela was too busy coughing to protest. She let him lead her through the glass door—the cool blast of purified air did seem to help a bit. Instead of going straight, which according to the sign led to the restaurant, Hogan steered her to the left. He led her to a small lobby and sat her down on a cushioned seat next to a small drinking fountain.
“Here, you just sit here until you feel better.” He looked over his shoulder, then back at Angela. “I’ll go let your professors know where you are. What’s your name?”
“Angela.” She coughed again. “Thanks.”
“It’s nothing. Do you have an inhaler with you?”
She nodded, not trusting her voice.
“All right, you just hang tight.” He patted her shoulder and left, speed-walking down the hallway.
Angela leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes, relieved to have a respite not only from the dirt and dust but from the heat as well. She coughed a few more times, but already the clean air was doing her some good.
After about five minutes she opened her eyes, stood up, and got a drink from the fountain. The ice-cold water soothed her throat, and she gulped the water down greedily. She eventually resurfaced, satisfied. Hogan was coming back down the hallway, one hand stuffed into his pocket.
“Feeling better?” he asked.
“Yes, thank you.” She bit her lip, a little embarrassed. “I better get back to the others.”
He smiled. “Your professors said to take your time. They said your health is more important than their schedule.”
“Oh, well, I really am feeling better.” She looked past him down the hallway. “The restaurant is down this way, right?”
“Yes,” he said, holding his hand out behind her back as if to guide her. “It is.”
“Okay. Thank you so much for your help.”
Quick as a rattlesnake, he snatched her arm, yanking her back against his chest. “No problem,” he said. His other hand came out of his pocket to shove a cloth up over her face and mouth.
Angela tried to scream, and instead inhaled the sickly-sweet smell of chloroform. She coughed and ended up breathing in more of it when she inhaled. Her head swam, her eyes watered, and then there was nothing.
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