Old Fashioned Hospitality

By Kenneth Dube

Angie grew anxious as the deserted road continued to turn and wind without any sign of life.  She was beginning to think that she had taken a wrong turn or missed a turn half-way back.  A little longer and she was ready to turn around and drive the four hours back to Connecticut.  The trees lined both sides of the road like monsters walking toward her only speed keeping her ahead of them.  The headlights of Angie's black Honda Civic pierced the darkness like the eyes of a frightened child.  Her heart raced as she began to worry that her car would break down in the middle of nowhere and the approaching trees would grab her.

She began to second-guess why she ever agreed to accept the free weekend at the Old Towne Vermont Inn.  They were probably going to fill all her time up trying to sell her something.  You don't get something for nothing, she thought.

The civic complained as it made its way up a steep, winding road.  Angie held her breath as she listened to the whining of the engine.  The bend in the road straightened out revealing the start of civilization.

Street lights lined the road like carnival lights.  A few lit houses lay scattered along the visible half mile stretch.  A wooden, brown sign advertising the old Towne Vermont Inn pointed ahead, looking as old and tarnished as its name indicated.  The surroundings didn't look like much, but at least the trees were kept away from the road or were scattered.  Angie no longer felt closed in.

The sign indicating for her to turn off the route to the right to get to the inn was so small that she nearly passed it.  For a place advertising in other states, it seemed to her that they didn't advertise their whereabouts locally very well.

A fog seemed to trail behind her car as she sped down the dirt road.  After driving about a half mile away from the main road the inn slid from behind the trees.  It was indeed an old inn, at least 200 years old.  It was three stories high at its center with two story wings.  All of the lights were on inside and out; giving it the look of a picture you would see on a Christmas card.

Angie had a warm feeling from it as soon as she saw it.  All of the windows and light fixtures looked original.  The parking lot even looked original as it was dirt with old posts and rails which horses probably hitched to long ago.  The parking lot had cars of varying age.  Some went back to the early 20's.  She figured there must be a classic car convention in town.

Angie got out of the car and took the place in.  The soft glow of the inn warmed her.  Beyond it was the view of dark mountains rising up.  It was breathtaking.  The trip up was definitely well worth it.  She hurried inside as she was suddenly overcome by the fear that they might not have her reservation and hoped they did have a room ready for her.

A huge stone fireplace dominated the main room.  Angie fell in love with the place instantly.  Old fashioned lamps flickered on the walls.  It looked like they kept it exactly as it was when it was built.

"Welcome to the Old Towne Vermont Inn, Angie," a man's voice announced from her left.  Taken by surprise, she turned and saw an elderly couple standing in front of a counter.  They were about five feet tall with gentle features and clothes you saw people wear in old black and white TV shows like the twilight zone.

"Thank you," Angie replied.  "Thank you for having me.  This is a beautiful place you have.  How have you kept it in its original state?"

"The owners would have it no other way," the man replied.  "They are sticklers for tradition."

"Oh, I thought you were the owners," she said as they shook hands.

"Oh no," the man said.  "We are the caretakers of the inn."

"Since 1958," the woman added.

"Wow, that's a long time," Angie said.

"Yes, but it flies by with people like you visiting.  We've seen so many faces that they all blur together after a while."

The man, Ralph, had gone behind the counter and turned a book for Angie to sign.  A traditional ink fountain pen was pushed next to it.  Angie noticed the book.  "Oh okay," she said as she picked the feathered pen out of the fountain.  She signed her name below the others and put the day's date.  She noticed the names above hers were dated different for the most part.  The guests she read quickly above her name seemed to have a considerable amount of days between them.  The old man noticed her hesitation.

"I'm afraid we don't get much business anymore;" he told her, "ever since they put the main highway through."

"That's why the owner has been sending out free stays here like you received."

"I can see how that would work," Angie said.  "I fell in love with this place as soon as I saw it."

"And I'm sure it fell in love with you," said Ralph, his eyes deep and serious.  Angie smiled and looked from him to his smiling, quiet wife, Emma, to the wall behind them covered with photographs.  All were black and white, some which looked like they were from the 1800's.

"Who are all those people?" she asked.

"Those are all our children," Emma responded as a proud mother would.

"At least we like to think of them as our children," Ralph smiled.  "They are all guests of this inn.  We like to keep a scrap book, you might say."

"Emma, get the camera," he turned to his wife.  As she went in back, he said, "I hope you don't mind if we take your picture.  Your beauty would grace our walls," he grinned.

"I'd be honored," she replied.  She warmed up to the couple quickly.  It was something that didn't happen back at home with strangers too often.

The wife returned with a 1950's style camera and a smile.

"Wow, that looks like a camera my parents had when I was a child," Angie said.

"Ralph holds on to things as long as they work," Emma said apologetically.

"They don't make them like this anymore," he defended.

Indeed they don't, Angie chuckled to herself.

Angie settled into her room.  With most of her clothes put away, she unpacked her toiletries and bushed her teeth.  She changed and curled up in bed to a mystery novel with only a dim bed light.  She quickly fell asleep with her book still on her lap.

Whispers...Whispers...Angie woke up.  The room was silent.  Staring down at her were three smooth-faced, painted masks.  The eyes were merely holes, but the darkness filled the voids.  The faces looked real, despite the patterns painted on them.

Angie was afraid.  She felt the presence of something else in the room with her. It was like the feeling she'd get when waking from a nightmare, except she couldn't remember having one.  She just remembered whispers.  The room was silent now.  She lay quietly for another 10 minutes.  Relatively sure there was nothing else there, she rested her book on the nightstand, pulled the blankets over her as shields and shut the light.  She drifted off.

Whispers...Whispers...Angie woke again.  This time, the whispers did not stop.  This was no dream.  The whispers seemed to come from the masks.  They were too quiet and layered for Angie to comprehend what they were saying.  Angie reached for the light and turned it on.  The whispers stopped.

She looked around the room and waited.  There wasn't a sound.  Angie reached for her book and began reading.  She certainly wasn't going to be able to fall back a sleep now.  As she read, her mind worked on figuring out what had just happened.  The words in the book became props for her eyes rather than meaningful thoughts, as she mechanically drifted her eyes down the pages.

This isn't right, she thought.  There has to be an explanation.  A door shut and she heard footsteps slowly walk down the hall.  Another door shut.  Of course, she thought, I'm not the only one here.  There must be people in the next room.  Much of here fear passed, but some remained.  She backtracked in her story to a point she remembered reading to and stayed awake with her remaining fear as company.

Slam!  Angie awoke with a start.  Footsteps ran down the hall.  Whispers were coming through the wall again.  Angie looked up at the masks.  "What are you looking at?" the bearded mask mouthed. 

"Oh my God," Angie gasped and quickly covered her mouth with her right hand.  The whispers multiplied from all four walls, all of them saying something different and in a different tone.

Angie sat in bed with the covers pulled up to her chin.  Faces pushed through the walls like they were made of cloth.  Many had pained expressions.  Some looked angry.  The tree masks moved along the walls and taunted her.

"Why are you surprised?" one asked.

"You don't get something for nothing," taunted the second.

"Get used to us," the third winked.  "You are going to stay with us for a long, long time."  Heads started to swim towards her under the blankets.  Angie jumped out of bed and ran for the door.  The knob would not turn.  She banged on the door as hard as she could.

A face formed in the wood and asked angrily, "How would you like it if I hit you?"

Angie turned to get her stuff.  "Aaah!" she screamed.  A 5 year old girl stood in the middle of the room, wearing a thick, striped dress with leggings.

"Don't be afraid," the girl said.

"Don't listen to her," a few voices rose over the whispers.

"Who are you?" Angie asked, afraid to step toward her, but struck by how cute she was.

"I'm Rose," she said in a delicate voice that somehow was heard over the whispers.  Her eyes were a deep black.  The room seemed to shrink behind them.

"What are you doing here?" Angie asked.  "How did you get in?"

"I was hiding under the bed," she answered in a frightened voice.  "I was hiding from the voices."

"Where are your parents?"

"I'm lost.  I can't remember where our room is," tears began to well up.

"I'll help you find them just as soon as I can find a way out of this room."  Angie went to a window and tried opening it.  It was frozen shut.  She picked up a chair and threw it at the window.  The chair bounced off the window as if it was Plexiglas.

Angie caught Rose in the corner of her eye.  She was standing by the door which was now open, her eyes expressionless and her arms by her sides.

"Rose, how did you get the door opened?" she asked in surprise and moved toward her.

"I opened it," she said simply.

Angie took her by the hand, "let's go find your parents and get out of here."

"Wait, I have to get my doll!"

Angie waited outside the door as Rose ran behind the bed and disappeared.  The door slammed shut.  Angie tried unsuccessfully to turn the knob.  She kicked and hit the door with her fists.  "Rose!"

The door shook and voices rose behind it.  The doorknob changed into an angry face.  Angie jumped back.  A face pushed through the wall behind her in an expression of pain.  Angie leaped out of its way and began running down the hall.  Faces followed within the wall; the light fixtures flickered like candles in the wind.

Angie made it to the stairs and clutched the wooden rail as she descended to the main floor.  Feet ran up and down through the elastic-like ceiling.  Nothing seemed solid anymore.  As she reached the last step, the rail pulled off the wall in her hand like a long tongue.  Angie screamed and threw it away.

She stumbled by the front desk.  From the floor, Angie noticed movement coming from the wall behind the desk.  She got up and walked over for a closer look.  It was the photographs.  They were in motion; animated.  The people in them were changing from their original pose to that of fear and even death.  Angie saw a shadow form from the hall light from where the innkeepers lived.  She quickly ran back around the counter in fear of being trapped and partly out of some childish guilt in her that she shouldn't have been behind the counter looking at the pictures.  She knew it was a strange feeling to have when something 100 times worse was after her.

The elderly innkeeper approached her from behind the counter with an ax.  "Where are your manners young lady?  We open our inn to you, our lives' accumulation, that which is dearest to us and you want to leave in the middle of the night!  We can't allow that!  There is no way out of here.  You can try every window and door, but they will not obey your touch."

He lunged at Angie with the ax.  She darted away and the ax splintered the counter top.  The general area did not offer much protection; a couch; a few chairs.  Angie put the couch between them.  Ralph moved toward her well for a man in his 70's.  He ran onto the couch and somersaulted over and behind her.

The fireplace raged behind him causing an eerie glow to surround his shadowed figure.  "Now be a good girl and take your beating," he said in a dark voice.  "This is the part that is so enjoyable.  I do wish it didn't go by so fast.  Now stand still and it'll be over before you know it."

He raised the ax up behind his head with both hands and readied to split her like wood.  Angie screamed and turned to run.  She ran over the couch and something stood in her path causing her to stumble off the couch and to hit the floor hard with her shoulder.  At the same time, the ax released, whistling over her head.  A thud and a shriek followed.  Emma had been the one blocking her path.

The ax stood out of her chest and trembled with her body.  From the floor, Angie watched in horror.  The women's body dehydrated, her face tightening her frozen shriek.  "Emma!" Ralph exclaimed painfully.  Her body collapsed to the floor, the leather covering tearing open.  Dust and beetles poured out.  As some crawled toward her, Angie pulled herself out of shock and off the floor.  She quickly picked the ax off the floor, having dislodged from the decayed body.  She turned to face the innkeeper.

He had transformed back to the old, sweet innkeeper she had met earlier in the evening.  He was sobbing deeply for his wife.  "Why?" he asked.  "What am I going to do without your company?"

Angie stepped around the couch cautiously with the ax ready in her hands.  Screams and footsteps covered the ceiling.  Angie now stood before the innkeeper, shaking.  "I don't know who or what you are, but you tried to kill me!" she said angrily.  "I drove all the way up here for peace and quiet at a nice inn and this is what you give me!  I don't need extra stress in my life right now, thank you very much!"

Ralph looked up at her, his tears evaporated and concern traveling over his face.  "Now wait a minute," he defended, "I'm defenseless.  Why don't you put that down?"

"I don't think so mister!" she said, trying to keep her anger so that fear wouldn't replace it.  "You are not a sweet old man and this is not a nice old inn.  You're all evil and I don't have any problem at all with chopping your wrinkled butt back to where ever it is you freaks came from.  I am not in the mood!"

"We mean you no harm," he pleaded.  "We just get lonely.  This inn may not seem like much to you, but it's everything to us.  It gives us everything we need.  But it gets old and run down and needs new visitors to run new blood through its walls.  And fresh bodies are hard to come by when the old one wear down.  There are so many lives here living within the walls, their bodies long gone.  We meant you no harm.  We just wanted you to join us."

"By killing me!" she said trying to remind herself that this is not an innocent man and this place is not what it appears to be.

"Well I admit that is the unfortunate part for you, but necessary I assure you.  Now why don't you give it back to me so we can get on with your destiny."

"I'll give it back to you!" she said raising the ax as the innkeeper had done before.  Impulsively she threw the ax at the innkeeper, who was now backing away from her.  The ax placed high and lodged through his throat.  He staggered back emitting a load squealing scream.  He fell back into the tall flames of the fireplace.  The fire consumed him in a large fireball that roared up the stone chimney.  A pause followed.  Silence.

Angie's hands fell to her mouth and her fingers began to shake on her lips.  "What happened?  This isn't possible.  Did I really kill a man?"  She looked around the room.  "It's just a dream.  No one will believe this.  This just isn't possible."

"I killed a man," she repeated.  The room began to shake.  The footsteps and screams grew louder than before from upstairs.  Moving faces appeared in the walls around her, the whispers in a chorus.

"No, this can't be happening!" she yelled while blocking her ears with her hands.  Blood dripped down the inside of the fireplace walls and burned giving off a sweet, sickening smell.  Scurrying came from the stairs as thousands of beetles appeared as a black rug covering each step.  The heads stretched through the walls toward her, some writhing in pain and others yelling unintelligibly.  She backed to the center of the room and spun around as all of the things happening around her made her dizzy.  Something in the corner of her eye caught her attention as the room spun by.  She stopped and started silently.  It was the little girl she met upstairs.  The girl stood in front of the entrance door and gestured with her finger and head for Angie to come to her.  Angie walked slowly toward her amid all of the chaos.  She was like a flower in front of a storm-battered window.  The little girl put her finger up to her lips and then said gently, "You have to get out of here.  Let me show you."

"I know. So do you.  But none of the windows or doors open.  There is no way out."

"You can get out through this door," Rose assured her.  "I've seen them use it at night."  She held a skeleton key out in her delicate little hand.  "They use this."

Angie went to take it, but then pulled her hand back.  What did she know about this little girl?  How did she know she wasn't on of them?  She was different from them anyway.  She did seem to be trying to keep away from them as well.  Angie tried to judge her as she looked into her soft blue eyes.

Around them, things became more violent.  The blood began to spill into the room as most of it burned and filled the room with smoke.  The contents of the room spun in the air as if in a cyclone.  The beetles had reached the room and began to move toward her like a black tide.  The girl was her only hope.

"Are you an angel?" Angie asked.

Rose giggled, "How do you become an angel?"  Her tone changed as she looked behind Angie at the black mass coming toward them.  "Hurry!" she begged.

Angie looked back as well and then grabbed the key.  Her hands shook as she clumsily guided it into the lock.  The key did not budge when she went to turn it.  The beetles reached her feet and began to climb her.  She jiggled the key and turned it with all of her might.  This time, the key turned and the bolt clanked.  Angie shook her feet to shake off the beetles and then turned the knob and thrust the door open.  It was so dark out, she could see nothing.  Not even depth.  Rose ran outside, "Come on, hurry. Please!"  For a moment, Angie hesitated.  Was this darkness a moonless night?  With time running out, she stepped out and shut the chaos behind the door.  The air smelled of sweet firewood and the dampness of a fresh rain shower.  It was over.

The morning light lay softly over the historic inn.  A car glided into the parking lot and stopped before a post.  Bill and Carol removed their suitcases and made their way to the door.  "Oh it's darling," said Carol.  "Look at the detail around those windows."  Bill smiled and agreed.  They entered the inn and stopped at the main desk.  The lanterns were lit and the smell of apple cinnamon pancakes filled the air.  Bill popped the desk bell with his palm.  "Cute," he said.

The innkeeper came out from the back room and greeted them with a warm smile.  "Welcome to our inn," she said.  We're pleased to have you as our guests."

"Breakfast smells scrumptious," Carol said.  "I haven't had a country breakfast in years."

"We serve breakfast from 7 to 10," she said.  "Our cook uses recipes that were used when this place first opened."

Carol interrupted, "What are those photos behind you?"

"Oh, we like to take pictures of our guests as a way of preserving their stay.  So you find them fascinating, Carol?"

"Yes...how did you know my name?"

"We were expecting you," Angie said with a smile, her eyes very deep and serious like those of the old innkeeper.