Matthew Cornachione - Dansk Bay Hotel

“Okay, I’ll go.” I backed out of the office then darted out the front door. As the door swung shut behind, I saw a parting smile on the sheriff’s bearded face.

I strode down the street, mind reeling. The evil wasn’t just a carryover from WWII. It was happening today. Thea had hinted at it, but this drove it home. Nekker lured in fishermen every summer, killed them, and locked them in the hotel basement. Then the sheriff covered it all up. Or worse, helped.

But I couldn’t fathom why. How could that help Nekker’s business? It had to have something to do with the ghost, but I couldn’t see a connection. If my hunch was right though, I was up against a ghost and at least one serial killer.

Terrifying, yet somehow reassuring. Evil men seemed easier to deal with than a hostile spirit. And, I hadn’t seen the ghost all morning. If Thea was right, I had fought it by thinking of Lena. Maybe I hurt it somehow.

In any case, I knew where I had to go next.

I passed by the docks. The abandoned shops looked especially ominous today. The weather worsened, leaving the area sheathed in fog as I rain pelted my head. I felt like the only person left in the world.

When I reached the warehouse, I pushed inside and stormed up the stairs and down the hall to Nekker’s office. Summoning up my courage, I pounded on the door and shouted, “Nekker, we need to talk.”

No answer. I tried the handle. It was locked, so I pounded louder, but still Nekker didn’t respond. “Nigel?” I asked. “Are you here?” Silence.

I pressed my ear to the door, thinking I’d hear him rustling around inside. I heard nothing but the hum of fluorescent lights. He wasn’t here.

I looked through the windows behind me, surveying the warehouse floor. There was no sign of anyone at all. Where else could Nekker be?

He could be out on a ship, visiting with a client in Anchorage, hiding in the hotel basement or… his cabin. Only place I could check was the last one. Might as well.

I jogged back across town, hoping nobody was watching through their windows. I didn’t trust anyone anymore.

At the top, I took the first drive. I guessed that Nekker would want the spot closest to town, and I was right. A three story monster cabin sat atop the cliff overlooking the bay. Any other time, I would have thought it gorgeous with its dark stained wood, a sloped modern roofline, and huge windows. Knowing a murderer lived there spoiled the beauty.

I stopped at the end of the walkway, realizing this was my last chance to turn away. I could walk along the train tracks and take my chances that none of this ever caught up to me. But, no, I needed to do this. For Dansk Bay. For Lena. And, for myself.

Walking with what I hoped looked like confidence, I came up to Nekker’s door and pounded on it. “Nekker!” I shouted. I kept slamming my fist on the door, making a racket impossible to ignore.

Silence. Well, if Nekker wasn’t here, maybe I could find some evidence inside. I shook the front door, but it was locked. I stepped off Nekker’s porch and circled the house, trampling a couple flowers along the way. In back was a large deck. I took the stairs up and tried the back door. It opened.

Moving as noiselessly as I could, I stepped into the house. I crept through the kitchen, dining room, then into the living room. It was there, against a leather sofa, that I finally saw Nekker.

Or, rather, his corpse.

Nekker’s rotund body lay in a heap between the couch and a coffee table. His head was toward me, and I could see the sticky mess of matted hair where he’d been bludgeoned. Half opened eyes stared blankly toward the fireplace.

I staggered back, doubling over and vomiting on the hardwood. The blood stains in the hotel had been scary but abstract. With an actual body death wasn’t pretty. Especially not this way.

Once my stomach settled, my mind turned back on. This didn’t make any sense. Hadn’t Nekker been the perpetrator? I must have been wrong. Or someone else had figured him out and gotten revenge. My thoughts raced through all the possibilities.

Then something caught my attention. There on the coffee table was a small book, resting open. It seemed out of place, like Nekker had been reviewing it before his murder. I picked it up and saw it was a list of names. My heart caught; last on it was mine: Kyle Ressler – hotel. Above that was another I recognized: Lucas Brewster – fishing hand. Lucas’ name had a line through it.

The rest of the list was crossed out. Most of the others had “fishing hand” written after their name. A couple were labeled “tourist,” and one more with “hotel.” I was pretty sure I was looking at the string of victims. Nekker had definitely been involved, and here was proof.

I was so engrossed that I almost missed the approaching danger. Only when the hair on the back of my head tingled did I turn around. There, floating in the gloom, was the ghost.

Or, rather, a ghost. This one was different. Where last night’s terror had been fuzzy, this one was sharp, lines mimicking those of a live human. To boot, it was a full body instead of just a head. And it’s face was far from withered. In fact, I recognized this one.

If I’d had any lingering doubts that the fishing hand was in trouble, they vanished as his ghostly face stared at me. The poor kid wasn’t just dead, he was the next elixir test subject.

Aaaaiiiiiiiyyyyyyaaaahhhhh! The ghost’s mouth contorted as a wail echoed through the cabin. It stretched its arms out and wobbled toward me.

I darted to the side, and it whisked past.

I wasn’t sure if it could actually hurt me, but I didn’t want to chance an end like Lena’s. I ran out past the house, onto the road and down the lane. Risking a glance back, I saw that it was chasing me. This one was much faster than the spirit last night.

I picked up the pace. Disoriented, I turned away from town, but there were a few more cabins out here. I angled for the closest, sprinting up the porch to the door. Tugging at the handle, I found it locked. With the ghost following, I didn’t have time for anything subtle. Whispering a silent apology to the owner, I lowered my shoulder and slammed into the door.

I don’t know if it was my adrenaline or rotted wood, but the frame splintered and the door swung inward. I dashed inside, passing through a dusty sitting room and kitchen to find a secluded study. Slamming the door shut, I backed up to the far wall, hoping that I was hidden.

My heart almost stopped when the ghost floated right through the doorway. I took a step toward the window, but the ghost slid between it and me. I skittered back, the darted aside, trying to slip past. It was too quick. The ghost stayed between me and escape, herding me toward a corner.

It had me pinned, but I’d already survived this once. Compassion had worked before, maybe it would again. I raised my fists, steeled my will, and thought of poor Lena.

The reaction was immediate. The ghost backed up and wailed, its pained shriek cutting through my head. As I watched, it grew fuzzy and wobbled like a flame in the breeze. Then it spun around, as if caught in a whirlwind.

Suddenly, everything stopped. We met eyes, and I saw tears streaming down its spirit cheeks.

Hheellpp mmee…

Then, it exploded.

Until then, I’d never have guessed that ghosts could explode. But the fishing hand’s ghost sure did. Sparks shot out in all directions, the ghostly body dissipating before me. A wave of pressure swept across the room. My ears popped, my stomach turned, then it passed.

I was alone in the dim cabin.

Panting, I stood there for a few moments, waiting to see if anything else happened. When nothing did, I calmed down. This whole episode had gone from strange to bizarre to terrifying, but I was still alive.