The netscreen flashed jovially, and the inhuman voice lilted.
Would you like to relive this hour again?
She jumped as she turned her head. A noose hanged from the ceiling where had previously been nothing. The rope swung slightly, inviting.
Or would you like to check out early?
The artificial sun blared down over the sprawling city of Artemisia, fluffy clouds floating across the dome. Today, like every day, was incredibly busy, people swarming the streets like bugs. The city was a living organism, trading and laughing and conversing and shouting at others to get out of the way. It had been Luna's capital, once upon a time, but now it was the largest tourist attraction on the moon, with countless museums and historical sites from when the monarchy still ruled over the country.
Meredith walked out from the AR-2 Interplanetary Spaceport, carrying nothing but a small suitcase and a leather bag at her hip. The air was slightly stale compared to the spacious woods where she lived. She had no desire to leave Earth for the rock in the sky, but she was here for the book. She had to leave glacial Scotland behind to stay in the subject of her most hyped novel yet: the Grand Artemisia Hotel.
Word of letter, is how she heard about it. Someone had left her an anonymous postcard with a gorgeous picture of the lunar city, with 'Don't stay in 312' scrawled on the back. At first, she had thrown it away, but she found herself constantly mulling over the cryptic message. A hot-headed mule, Meredith was never one to deny a challenge.
Booking the room proved to be the first of many. The staff had refused at first, stating that the room was unavailable, but Meredith always had the laws and regulations up her sleeve, as a consequence of her profession. This hadn't been the first time that the owners of whatever haunted location had been reluctant to accommodate the writer.
Since the room was vacant and Meredith had the means to pay, being successful enough in Europe in America to afford to rent a royal suite, they were in no position to deny her request. The room has such a sordid past, and we don't want to responsible for your death, they told Meredith. She rolled her eyes and insisted further. Her tongue of steel had pushed them over in a matter of minutes, but they still insisted that she speak with the head manager of the hotel before being checked in.
As such, she barely got through the main gates before she saw Diana Glampers standing in the courtyard, obviously waiting for her. Tall with hard-looking eyes, the woman certainly looked like she could beat out Meredith in any debate. Her heart sank. I should've brought the lawyer after all, she thought. Too late now. She lifted her head up and met the hotel manager's gaze. A sense of coyness made her smile. The woman was a fool if she thought she could put another roadblock between Meredith and Suite 312.
"Miss Davis," Glampers said, dipping her head in greeting. She held out a hand, smiling.
Meredith returned the nod and took Diana's hand. "Is there a problem?"
Diana looked around the courtyard as if it could speak for her. She looked pained.
"Mrs. Glampers?"
The manager sighed. "Miss Davis, could you…speak with me in my office, please?"
Meredith pursed her lips. As much as it was an inconvenience, Diana's unease added to the ominous tone that Meredith's readers expected from her novels. She really was afraid of Suite 312. While Meredith could understand that most people would be uncomfortable with staying in the quarters of Luna's most infamous tyrant, the outright terror was, all in all, ridiculous.
Oh, she had heard the stories—in fact, she had a copy of the room's entire history of her portscreen. Thirty-three deaths since the hotel's opening in the year 159, thirty years after the end of the Lunar Invasion and the abolishment of the monarchy. Twenty suicides, eight heart attacks, four strokes and even a couple that had been driven to kill each other during their two-hour stay. But Meredith wasn't bothered. She had stayed in infamous castles and graveyards and even a 'possessed' church, and had come out without a scratch or even a spook. Good material for her books, though.
"Of course, Mrs. Glampers."
Diana, the good host, reached for Meredith's bag. "Allow me."
"I'm fine with it," the woman said. "Nothing but a change of clothes and a toothbrush." She patted her briefcase. "And my port. Can't go anywhere without it."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes," Meredith said. "I'm already wearing my lucky shirt." She smiled. "It's the one with the ghost repellent."
Diana shook her head. She looked weary, her black hair seeming to slip out of her immaculate bun. "Very good, Miss Davis. Follow me."
In the vast courtyard, the manager had been tentative, but in her marble-and-stone office, she seemed to gain assurance again. The room was decorated in the signature style of the Blackburn Dynasty. The furniture was mostly glass, the walls covered in white wallpaper with gold designs swirling like soup. Regolith pillars held up the ceiling.
Although it was flashy, it wasn't nearly as gaudy as the lobby, which had nearly blinded Meredith when she walked in. Following behind Diana, she wondered what the ballroom was like, if it was as obnoxiously lavish.
As the manager slipped behind her desk, Meredith's eye caught on the sleek port resting on the top, the cover of her latest book displayed on the screen. She smirked. My host has been doing some research of her own, I see.
"Would like a drink, Miss Davis?" Glampers held up a glass bottle, and just from the label Meredith could tell that it was some fancy lunar wine. "It's Red Tsuki, from last year. Some of the finest."
Meredith waved her hand. "Oh, no thank you. I'm not particularly fond of water."
Glampers narrowed her eyes, as if Meredith had insulted her personally.
Stars, Lady. Who cares that much about wine? Meredith grinned and put her hands behind her back. "But I could go for a margarita, or little tequila…don't get me wrong, I simply prefer heavier things."
"Lucinda, may I please have a Martian Mix brought to my office, please? Within five minutes, if possible," Glampers spoke into the port on her desk, tapping her fingers on the surface.
"So, I'm assuming I've been brought here so you can talk me out of my desire to stay in such a wonderful room?" Meredith sighed, digging out her port. "If so, then do you mind if I record this conversation?"
Glampers' lips pursed even more. She gestured to a lush chair placed right in front of her. "Please, have a seat."
Meredith sat down, and as soon as her butt made contact with the chair, a lovely woman walked through the door and placed a beautiful-looking drink on the armrest without so much as a word. Meredith dipped her head, turning on her port and activating the record function.
"Thank you, Lucinda," Glampers called out. She turned to face Meredith, placing her port in front of her. "This is quite an interesting read. A little…basic at times, but competently put together."
"Do you have a point?"
"You're sensitive about these, aren't you?" Glampers asked.
"Sensitive, yes. Vulnerable, no. If you're hoping to persuade me out of your hotel by criticizing my books—"
"No, not at all. I was curious, that's why I downloaded them two days ago, when you first appeared with your...request."
"It was a demand, not a request. Still is. You heard Mr. Robertson; Interplanetary law, applicable to both Earth and Luna, forbids you to deny me a specific room, if I request that specific room and the room is vacant. And 312 is vacant. 312 is always vacant these days."
But Glampers was not to be diverted from the subject of Meredith's last three books all just yet. She flipped a couple pages on the screen, the cover blaring out brightly. Purple sold scary books better than any other colour, Meredith had been told.
"I didn't get a chance to dip into these until earlier this morning," Glampers said. "I've been quite busy. I usually am. This is the biggest hotel in the Solar System, and we run at ninety per cent occupancy and usually a problem comes through the front door with every guest."
"Like me."
"Suite 312 has been closed off to the public for a reason. We haven't rented it out in twenty years, even to the powerful and influential guests."
"The room of a former evil queen is the perfect subject for one of my pleasant little stories. I think I have more justification than any high official." Meredith knew she was full of it, but better to be cocky than insecure. It usually helped, when getting your way, to act as if you know what you're doing.
"That room is currently being used as storage for artefacts that have been known to cause trouble in the past."
"Oh, evil paintings and junk. You're really convincing me now."
"Would you please stop being so rude?"
Meredith flipped her red hair, bearing a shit-eating grin. "No," she said, "I don't believe in ghoulies and ghosties and long-legged beasties. I think it's good there are no such things, because I don't believe there's any non-denominational star god that can protect us from them, either. That's what I believe, but I've kept an open mind from the very start. I may never win a prize for investigating some backwater cathedral in Germany, but I would have written fairly about any ghost if they had shown up."
Glampers said something, only a single word, but too low for Meredith to make it out.
"Excuse me?"
"I said no. I won't let you do this." Glampers looked at her almost apologetically.
Meredith sighed. "Why don't we leave this for another day, Mrs. Glampers? I'll just go on upstairs and brush my teeth. Perhaps I'll even see Queen Levana herself materialize behind me in the bathroom mirror."
Diana frowned, standing up suddenly. "If you think that I care at all about your survival or sanity, Miss Davis, you are sorely mistaken," she seethed. "I just don't want to have to clean up the mess tomorrow morning." She sat down again, rubbing her temples. "Please, finish your drink, Miss Davis."
"No, I really-"
Mrs. Glampers reached into her desk drawer and pulled out a key on a long white string. The brass looked old and scratched and tarnished, engraved with the numbers 312. "Please," Diana said. "Finish your cocktail. Give me ten more minutes of your time, and I'll hand you this key. I would give almost anything to be able to change your mind, but I like to think I can recognize the inevitable when I see it."
"You still use actual keys here?" Meredith asked. "That's sort of a nice touch. Antiquey."
"Suite 312 has never needed a magnetic lock on its door, because I am completely sure the device wouldn't work. Watches don't work in Suite 312. Sometimes they run backward, sometimes they simply go out, but you can't tell time with one. The same is true of portscreens and netscreens, save for the one already in there. But the thing is ancient, having belonged to the late queen herself. We've wiped it off, but sometimes it has a mind of its own."
"No way to fix it?"
"The only sure fix is to stay the hell out of that room."
"I can't do that," Meredith said, taking her portscreen and tucking it in her pocket. "But I think I can take time for that drink."