Edward Lee - The Chosen

“I guess I just haven’t been feeling too hot.” But there was one thing he could mention, wasn’t there? “You been hearing weird things at night? Like real late?”

Dan B. plowed half his beer in the first gulp, contemplating the question. “Come to think of it, yeah. Like people talking out in the hall and walking around. And a lot of ruckus too, but it sounds like it’s coming from downstairs, not upstairs.”

“Me too.” Lee winced when he sipped his Bud. But he’d heard more than that, or at least he thought he had. Things thumping around; thunking, laughter. A couple of times he was sure he’d heard someone shriek. Just dreams, he tried to convince himself. Who would be shrieking at a high-class private resort like The Inn?

“In fact,” Dan B. continued, “one night last week I woke up to hang a piss, and I thought I heard someone shriek.”

Lee looked at him.

“And a few nights ago I thought I heard someone walking around the hall. So I looked out, and saw someone going down the stairs, walking away from our rooms.”

“Maybe it was Feldspar,” Lee suggested. “Vera told me his room’s on the end.”

“Yeah, I know, but it’s funny. I’ve only seen him once or twice since we got here. And that Kyle motherfucker. Where’s his room?”

“I don’t know. On the upper floors, I guess.”

“But that doesn’t make sense. The upper floors are all the higher priced suites. Why give one of those to an employee when there’re still several unused rooms on our floor?’’

Lee shrugged. “Who knows. Maybe it was your mom, looking for a fresh doorknob.”

“No, no. Now I remember. It was your sister. She got lost on her way to the smokehouse.”

Lee tried to think of a suitable derogatory comeback, but in the next instant, Dan B. gently poked him with his elbow and said under his breath: “Check this out. These old sticks over here are eyeballing us like we got no heads.”

Lee discreetly took another wincing sip of his Bud, taking a quick glance right. It was true. The old, rustic-looking men at the other side of the bar were staring at them.

“They probably got the hots for you, buddy,” Dan B. suggested and got up off his wobbly stool. “A cute gal like you, shit. Excuse me while I go contribute to the Waynesville reservoir.”

Dan B. walked off for the men’s room, while Lee smirked. What he needed after a long shift was a good beer, like a Maibock or a Blue Herren Ale, not this limp, fizzy domestic swill. And one thing he definitely didn’t need was being stared at by a bunch of drunk old codgers.

Then he nearly jumped off his stool at the surprise slap to his back. “If it’s not my favorite fat boy,” greeted Kyle, who’d been sitting in the opposite corner. “How goes it, slim? I didn’t know they had an all-you-can-eat pasta bar here.”

Kiss my fat ass, Lee wished he had the gall to reply. Kyle slapped him on the back again, downed a shot of Jack, and smacked his lips. “How come you’re sittin’ here bending this bar stool when you’re supposed to cleaning up room service?”

“Kiss my fat ass, Kyle,” Lee finally summoned the courage to suggest. “I’m not doing that anymore; it’s not my job. And you can go ahead and fire me if you don’t like it. I don’t give a shit.”

“Relax, Oprah, relax. I got my own crew squared away so I won’t be needing you back there breaking the floor tile anymore.” Kyle raised his hand. “Hey, keep, get my buddy here a beer on my tab. A light beer.” Then he laughed and went on, “And of course I realize you’re pretty busy these days after hours.”

“What are you talking about, man?’’

Kyle leaned closer. “I know you’ve been fucking that housekeeping dolt, tubby. She any good?”

How does he know… This was a dilemma. Lee set down his beer. He struggled for a reply.

“Don’t worry, man,” Kyle assured. “I can keep a secret, you know, like as a favor. And maybe you can do me a favor sometime.”

How could Lee deny it; Kyle obviously knew all about it, and if he knew all about it, maybe he knew…Lee decided to have out with it, then. What did he have to lose?

“All right, sure. I’m kind of involved with her. So what? You gonna fire me for that? I’m still the best dish-man you ever seen. And since we’re on the subject, I want you to tell me something.”

“Sure, Winny. Anything.”

Lee lowered his voice, sickened by the images that the question conjured. “What the hell happened to her?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean. You said you’ve been working with her for years. Somebody’s done all kinds of disgusting shit to her.”

Kyle ordered another Jack from the medicine-ball-bellied keep. “Oh, you mean the scars and all that.”

“Yeah.”

“I told you, man, we get these groaty dolts from all over the place—Mexico, the Phillipines, East Europe. They work like dogs, and for peanuts. Lot of them used to be whores and strippers and stuff like that. You ever seen the gross shit a Mexican or Phillipino hooker’ll do for a buck? Just about anything. They’re all like that. They’ve seen it all, believe me. S&M, bondage, the works.”

Lee stared off. Could this be true? A prostitute, he thought. He didn’t care—it wasn’t her fault. People from third world countries were products of environment, they had to do whatever they could to survive. But the possibility only saddened him further, that some people clearly weren’t as fortunate as others.…

“What’choo lookin’ at, gramps?” Kyle exclaimed across the bar. The roughened old men looked away.

“Whole fuckin’ town’s like this, Ollie. It gets on my nerves.”

“They’ve been staring at us since we walked in,” Lee told him.

“Of course they have. We’re the outsiders here in this pisshole of a burg. We’re the people from The Inn.”

“What?”

“You’ve heard the stories,” Kyle said. “The place is supposed to be haunted. Used to be an insane asylum, and they killed the patients and sold ’em to labs and medical schools, shit like that. Up your ass, pops!” he nearly shouted again, giving one of the old men the finger.

“Pay up and get out, buddy,” the big, mutton-chopped barkeep ordered. “We don’t want your kind here.”

“My pleasure.” Kyle slapped down a twenty and put on his coat. “I’d put my foot up your big redneck ass except I’d ruin a perfectly good shoe, and the same goes for all of you backwoods fuckers.”

“Get out, or I throw you out.”

Kyle gave him the finger. “See ya tomorrow, Slim,” he said to Lee. “You know, at the Haunted Inn? At the insane asylum just up the road?”

Kyle stormed out, the door banging behind him. The old men were muttering amongst themselves, glaring. The women laughed.

“Hey, I barely know the guy,” Lee explained to the keep, who lumbered away with a grimace. “Your twin brother Kyle was just here,” Lee told Dan B. upon the chef’s return.

“That snide cocker?” Dan B. made a face. “Glad I missed him.”

“He says the reason we’re getting the once-over is because all these people think The Inn is some kind of haunted mansion.”

Dan B. ordered another beer. “Not that crap again. Donna was reading about it in that kooky book of hers. These townspeople got a hard-on for The Inn—it brings back bad memories. You know, all the torture and shit that supposedly went on there, and all this shit about ghosts. These old-timers here? They’re old enough to remember. The book says it was the townspeople themselves that set fire to the place.” Dan B. chuckled. “Can’t say that I blame them. I wouldn’t want a haunted insane asylum in my back yard either. Brings down the property values.” Then he laughed.