Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognize. It all belongs to LJ Smith. Anything you don't recognize, is all a product of my overactive imagination (i.e. Hotel de Melireia (Malaria!! oh noes!), Lily, Sammy, etc.) So, please, don't sue. Think of the... I was going to say children, but fortunately I don't have kids. If I bred, there'd be an army, and no one wants that, now do we?
Hotel de Melireia
It wasn't supposed to happen. But somehow it had. It was a miracle- a nightmare. An impossibility that both ruined my life and made something out of it.
But I'm getting ahead of myself here, aren't I? After all, you don't even know who I am! Well, I suppose I shouldn't let that bit of information slip, should I? I'm Lily. Lily Christiansen. I'm just you average 17 year old, I suppose. I lived in small town suburbia in Oregon all my life, and never really had any friends. I've always been too shy to make any, I guess. But that all changed when my free spirit of a mother decided it was time for us to break out of suburbia and start anew. That's when all my troubles began, and when I really came into life. But to really tell the story, I have to start at the beginning, when we first moved into the Hotel de Melireia…
"Lily! Hurry up with those suitcases! Come on!"
I rolled my eyes at my mother's insistent calls. Why couldn't she have some patience? These bags were heavy! Huffing, I yanked on the handle of yet another trunk, and heard the telltale sounds of movement as the hard fabric scratched across the cement leading up to the overbearing Hotel. I looked down, grimacing at the black lines it left on the already grimy steps. Well, there was nothing I could do about it now, but I could just picture the horror of having to clean it up.
In fact, it was going to be a horror cleaning the rundown hotel inside, let alone the outside too. The old Italian hotel had been abandoned for over fifty years. It was covered in layers upon layers of dark gray dust, and the wood was eaten away in many parts of the lobby. I hated to imagine how the rest of the place would look. What my mother had been thinking when she decided to buy this place I had know idea. Sure, she'd made some strange decisions in her life, like that time she decided Sammy, our grumpy laze of a basset hound (of whom I absolutely adore, of course), would look better with hot pink hair, but this, this was just pure insanity!
Sammy, who'd decided to take up position at the partially caved in front desk, looked up at me through his front paws, dolefully glaring before huffing and going back to his nap. I frowned. Well, if I was honest with myself, I was actually pouting, thrusting my lower lip forward in four-year-old fashion.
How could she do this to me? I asked myself yet again. I'm sure the repetitive whining was killing more and more brain cells by the second. Just imagine what would happen if my inner dialogue wasn't so inner. I'd probably- no, definitely- have a few lumps on my head from the vase mom was carrying at the moment. Why she's carrying a vase instead of helping me with the suitcases, don't ask me, but alas, it's what she does best (being random, in case you didn't get that. Don't worry; I'm pretty slow on the uptake too.) Not only had she ripped me from the comfort, albeit inanely droll, of my hometown, but she threw me in this rundown shack of a hotel! Excuse me if I'm not happy about it.
And besides, not only has the disruption of dust left me sneezing, the place is just creepy. I mean, like, horror movie creepy. There's a whole lot of creaks going on throughout the upstairs, and it's so dark and- and sinister. There's really no good way to describe it. There's just something 'off' about this place. The kind of 'off' that makes goose bumps rise on your arms, and the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. Classic horror movie getup, I tell you. And I would know, too. I'm a horror movie maniac. I eat them for breakfast, I say!
A loud crash made me jump about a foot in the air. I whipped around. I'm sure I was a sight worthy of laughter with my mousy brown hair caked in dust and my eyes so wide you could see the whites of my eyes all around. My heart felt like it was lodged in my throat, and I swear if that were actually possible, it would have killed me. See, the house is already making me jumpy to the point of self-endangerment!
My mom was grinning sheepishly at me from where she knelt on the filthy hardwood floor. She'd managed to break the vase already. That has to be a new record, even for her. Not that I blame her; both of us are terminally clumsy, without any chance of a cure. We usually have at least one near-death experience every day. Great family, eh?
"Mom! You've got to be more careful," I chided playfully.
Despite how much I hated the move, and how angry I was at her, it was hard to be mean. She was like a big kid. It's weird, I guess, because I've always been the 'older' one of the two. I always had to make sure the bills were paid on time since I was a little kid, because she'd always be the one completely immersed in some knew hobby (cough scrap booking cough) and would forget. Not that I'm saying she's a bad mother, or anything, she's not, but she's just forgetfull. And I guess you could say she's really passionate. She finds something she likes and she just dives into it. I've never been like that. Mom says I was born 30, and I get older every year. I never had a fighting chance. I think it's just fear. I've never been the reckless type.
"So sorry, Lilikins!" she snarked back, just as playfully, using the long-hated nickname, moving to pick up the shards of glass. "Next time I'll try to aim for your head!"
"Oh, haha. Very funny, mom. You're a real riot, anyone ever tell you that? Ever think of taking your act on the road?" I threw the suitcase I was carrying into the pile I'd already managed to lug inside. "No, seriously, get outta here."
Mom laughed heartily at that. It was an old joke between us. Because we all know she isn't funny, right?
Still shaking slightly from my scare and a little breathless, I fell back against the pile of suitcases and boxes. It hurt. I managed to not only hit my head on the handle of our rolling suitcase but also get my ankles tangled up in the straps of a duffle bag. Not to mention the box corner poking me in my butt in all its pointed glory. Joy.
"Is that all of it, then?" mom inquired.
I grunted an affirmative and squirmed uncomfortably.
"Oh, goodie! That means we can pick out our rooms!" she continued ecstatically. This was about the time where her eyes glaze over and she rambles on for hours. "I wonder if the elevator still works decently…"
She was still rambling minutes later- to be honest, I lost count- but had at least come to the conclusion that it might be safer to use the stairs. Smart choice mother.
"Are you okay, Lils, honey? You going to pick out a room?" Her heart-shaped face, scarily reminiscent of my own, loomed over me, flushed red with excitement. "Lils?"
"No, I'm fine," I answered slowly, staring up at her through half-closed eyes. If I did that, there were two of her. It was kind of fun. "I'm just gonna lay here and be molested by the boxes."
Apparently she completely missed the sarcasm of my comment, for she just smiled and skipped off for the stairs. I groaned. She couldn't even help me up, could she? My arms flailed, and my legs kicked, but I still couldn't find balance enough to stand up. By the time I'd managed to successfully roll of the pile, slam my face into a dusty rug and have another sneezing fit, Sammy had finally found the energy to come see what trouble I was getting myself into.
He let out a snort of air in my face. God, I forgot how bad a dog's breath is. Grimacing, I patted his head.
"Hey, Sammy-boy," I panted. "Thanks for the help, buddy."
He nuzzled my hand with his head, before curling back up and going back to sleep. Very useful dog I have here, huh? Another groan of protest and I was standing- unsteadily, but hey, what do you expect of me?- and moving toward the staircase I'd thought mom had gone up. It was hard to tell, since there were two staircases in the lobby standing side by side. The only difference between them was that one led only to the second floor, while the other led to the third floor and above. It was weird, and highly confusing. There should have been a sign, or a diagram, at the very least. I mean, come on!
I was pretty sure she had gone up the right staircase- I'd decided to name it Staircase #2. I'm so creative, aren't I?- and since I didn't really have anything to lose, decided to follow my very wrong thoughts. Because of course they were wrong. As soon as I reached to the first landing, the long hallway of rooms stretched empty before me. There were no open doors. No sounds of cooing that would be sure to be coming for my mother. The lone electrical candelabras flickering on and off were the only things decorating the hall.
I shivered. I really did not like being alone in a creepy hotel. I should have brought Sammy. Of course, he probably wouldn't have been a lot of help, but he would have been company at least. I had just decided to run back downstairs to retrieve him, when I heard the whispering. I tripped on the moth-eaten rug, grabbing the banister to keep me from falling.
I've really got to stop watching all those horror movies. I swear, you stick me into a creepy hotel and I start hearing voices. That's never a good sign. It's cliché, and if it's not all in my head, then this is the part where I'm killed by some freaky monster. Now, basic survival instinct is telling me to run, even if my chicken legs feel like jell-o, and leave the hotel without a glance behind me. But of course, like any other one of those idiots who get killed in horror movies, my curiosity got the better of me.
So on my jell-o legs, which again should have been used for running, made their way to the room the whispers spewed from. I kept telling myself it was a stupid thing to do, but it was like I had no control of my body. I just got to watch on in dismay as I threw myself into death's way. Brilliant, Lily. You deserve whatever's coming at you… Well, whatever you're going to, actually.
The door swung open on its hinges, sending a wave of dust into my face. I coughed. I sputtered. My eyes burned and teared over. I waved my hands in front of me, clearing dust, only to freeze mid-motion. My mouth worked like a fish for one long moment before I let out a blood-curdling scream, worthy of any B-grade scream queen.
Surprisingly, I wasn't the only one screaming.
Every time a reader fails to review, Sammy gets dyed a new shade of pink. So, please, think of the dog!