Matthew Cornachione - Dansk Bay Hotel

She raised her eyebrows. “What are you after?”

“Pardon?”

“Folks don’t come to Dansk Bay by accident, especially not your type. No need to be clever with me.”

“Okay, fair enough. I’m here looking into the hotel.”

“Ah, of course.” Her face tightened. “I’ll save you some trouble. Forget about your business and get out of town.”

Nicer than the bearded man, but still the same in the end. “I appreciate the advice, um… What’s your name anyway?”

“Thea.”

“Thea, my name is Kyle. I didn’t expect your name to be so… American.”

Thea laughed. “My real name is a mouthful. Too long for the simple folks around here.”

I laughed with her. Too true. “Well, Thea, I’ll admit I haven’t had a great impression Dansk Bay so far, but I owe it to my boss to check out this hotel. I’ll be moving on soon, so no one need worry. Why is everyone so eager to have me gone?”

A brief frown passed across Thea’s face, but she smoothed it quickly. “Just not a place you want to get stuck in. Outsiders cause more harm than good, usually to themselves.”

I sensed that Thea knew much more, but even she wasn’t eager to talk. I didn’t want to push too hard, but I needed more. There was something going on here, something I didn’t yet understand.

“But what about the hotel? Was it popular during its heyday?”

“It’s not a hotel,” said Thea. “It’s the home of an evil spirit. Stay in town if you must, but don’t go near that place. Not if you know what’s good for you.”

Looked like Thea carried some superstition herself. Normally, I would have brushed a comment like that aside, but after the waitress’s plea for help, I had to know more.

“Does this have something to do with the withered one?”

“Where did you hear that?”

I smiled. “I keep my ears open. So who is this guy? What’s his problem?”

“He’s not a man. Not anymore. I don’t know his spirit’s intentions, but I know his actions have only brought pain to Dansk Bay.”

Uh huh. Thea and the waitress were both sounding a little crazy. Maybe the problem here was worse than I thought. Hospitality training only went so far if there were rampant mental health issues.

“Okay, then, answer me this. If this town is so bad, why don’t you just leave?”

Thea leveled her gaze at me. “Someone has to stand up to it.”

With that Thea looked down and rang up my purchase.

“That’ll be $12.47,” she said in a businesslike tone.

For what I’d just bought, that price amounted to robbery, but hey, Touravista was buying. And, her information was good, if weird. I handed over my credit card.

“Thanks for the food and the advice. I’ll keep it in mind.”

Thea shook her head; I could tell she wasn’t fooled. But, that didn’t matter. After everything I’d just heard, I knew where I had to go next. The Dansk Bay Hotel.

Looming a few hundred yards down the street was the Dansk Bay Hotel. Foreboding, yes, but the home of an evil spirit? Doubtful. Still, the hotel looked completely neglected. I knew full well that unsavory things could happen in an abandoned building. I needed to find out whether this superstition thing would cause problems if we bought the place.

I walked down Main Street, still lugging my travel bag. The road was pretty much empty once I passed Lucy’s. No aloof people, no trashy buildings. Peaceful.

To the left, I spotted a bench in what appeared to be a park and made a quick pit stop. Best to explore evil hotels on a full stomach. I stepped across the cobblestones, sat down, and pulled out my goodies from the trading post.

Mm, Thea wasn’t fooling; the sandwich was good. Much better than the travel plaza fare along the interstates back in the lower 48.

As I munched, I glanced around the park. There was no open grass, just a few neatly groomed bushes planted in a semicircle around an American flag. In front of the flag was a golden plaque mounted atop a polished black marble. Curious, I sauntered over. The plaque read:

Huh. Not a park. A WWII memorial. I hadn’t realized that Alaska had been involved at all in the war. I suppose it made some sense; they were on the coast nearest to Japan. Still, I was surprised, especially at the long list of names engraved on the rock below. There had to be at least fifty servicemen, probably close to the entire population of Dansk Bay today. Maybe this town had been thriving before the war.

That could explain some of Dansk Bay’s attitude. If Japanese invaders cost the town most of their youth, that would account for the survivors’ mistrust. Personally, I think you’ve got to move on eventually, but plenty of people held grudges to their deathbed. It was rare, of course, for a whole town to do it, but Dansk Bay was small enough that such resentment was possible.

Oddly enough, that made me feel a little better. There wasn’t any overt evil here, just lingering fear. These people had been through hardship; I could sympathize with that. Still, it didn’t explain why the waitress and Thea were scared of a withered spirit. Then again, I’d heard crazier stories.

Once my lunch was finished, I left the memorial behind. It was all of a minute to reach the cutoff road to the hotel. The drive was about fifty yards long and ran up a small rise to the foundation. As I paced the distance, I imagined an ornate sign advertising a luxury hotel. That would look better than fractured pavement littered with debris.

My imagination had to stretch a little more once I crested the rise. Up close, the hotel was abysmal. Well, even more abysmal. Broken glass littered the ground beneath empty windows. Rusted rebar showed where chunks of concrete had broken away. Thick scrub brush grew from patches of unattended earth. Regina had her work cut out for her; this place was a long way from habitable, let alone marketable.

I left my bags behind and picked my way across the small parking lot, stepping over weed-choked cracks. The hotel was built in a U-shape, the two prongs pointing toward the front. They framed an unkempt courtyard, replete with a walkway to the entrance. I took the path, shaking my head as I saw the industrial style doors, dented and rusty.

The doors were barred from the outside, a thick chain and padlock holding them closed. Despite myself, I pulled on a door handle, hoping the chain would magically part. The hinges protested at my efforts, squeaking as the door inched outward. Then the chain pulled taught, holding the doors closed.

Damn, I really wanted to scope out the inside. I eyed one of the empty windows. Shards of broken glass framing the pane dissuaded me from crawling through the hole. I’d rather not catch tetanus. The nearest hospital was way too far away.

Instead, I circled around the hotel, passing out of the courtyard and along one of the side walls. If this hotel was like every other building there should be… yes! There was the back door, also rusted metal. Unlike the front door, however, this one stood open a few inches. I had my entryway.

Careful, I pulled the door fully open, cringing as the screech of metal echoed through the interior. No one, man or spirit, came running out so I figured I was okay to proceed. I glanced inside, but couldn’t see much. None of the windows opened directly into the hallway, although a few rays spilled through from the rooms.

I slipped inside, waiting for my eyes to adjust. The interior was every bit as depressing as the outside, concrete walls, floors, and ceiling. A lot of gray. Dust and concrete chips littered the floor, but it was clear enough to walk. I took a few steps and glanced into the first room.