Disclaimer: I do not own Pokémon or "The Shining." This was just an idea that had been plaguing my mind for months! I am not getting any money out of this!
Last time, Ash and Misty told their stories to Brock, who is still not ready to believe yet that the hotel is haunted. However, he thought different after he had a mild scare in room 220 himself. Meanwhile, Team Rocket is planning on breaking into the hotel.
Summary: Despite their pleas to leave the hotel, Brock forces them to stay one more night. But that was all the hotel needed.
Midnight! Pokéball Go!
by Spruceton Spook
Part 11:
The Third Night
Brock returned to the lobby where Ash and Misty had patiently awaited his arrival. As soon as he entered the room, the two bolted up immediately, a look of hope in their eyes. He said nothing as he walked up silently to them, his head and eyes pointed down. When he reached them, he looked up at them and simply shook his head.
"Nothing," he said frankly. He handed Ash his hat, and Ash accepted it with a small smile.
"Thanks," he said softly. He did not put it on, he merely gripped it tightly in his hands. He couldn't believe that Brock had not seen a thing. Swearing that he had would have only made Brock more upset, so he stayed quiet and silently accepted Brock's report.
Misty's gaze shot towards Brock. "What about the pool, Brock? You didn't go to the pool. Trust me, it was as red as blood! I saw it!"
Brock closed his eyes and shushed her quietly. "Misty, you've told me before that chlorine bothers your eyes. It was probably just that."
Misty gasped loudly in shock and disgust. "Oh my God, Brock! I know what I saw! Chlorine does not do that to your eyes!"
Brock didn't reply. He buried his head in his hands and rubbed his aching temples. The grandfather clock loudly chimed ten, which was a surprise to the three terror-stricken kids. Ash felt nauseous from barely eating anything that day. But he wasn't sure if he felt sick from what he had experienced, either. Whether or not his body was asking for food, he didn't have much of an appetite anyhow.
"You know," Brock began, talking in a calm voice, "what we could really use is a good night's sleep. Just tonight."
"Brock, no! I told you I'm not spending another night here!" Misty complained.
"Just tonight!" Brock repeated, much more forcefully this time. The effect of his voice caused Misty to shrink back and fall silent.
Ash didn't say a thing. He looked down at Pikachu, who the whole time had stayed close to Ash. He could feel that Ash was frightened, but another force much stronger was beginning to bother Pikachu. Ash bent down and picked Pikachu up, cradling the Pokémon like a baby. He didn't agree with Brock, either, but as soon as he heard the blasts of cold winds against the windows, he quickly reconsidered leaving.
Misty was looking down at the ground. She looked like she was ready to cry. A period of silence lasted between the three, until she finally spoke up calmly in a shaky tone.
"There is NO way I'm spending the night alone," she said, her eyes wide.
"I wasn't expecting that we would," Brock replied. "We'll sleep in the caretaker's quarters again. Tomorrow. . . tomorrow we can think about leaving."
"Not think!" Ash put in. "We WILL leave! I don't want to be here anymore!"
"Me neither," Misty agreed once again.
With that, Ash, Misty, and Brock headed back down the familiar main hallway towards the caretaker's quarters. Ash felt a blast of relief as they entered the quarters. No bad experiences had happened here, and it gave Ash a protective feeling. As soon as he saw the huge bed he had spent the night in two nights ago, he felt drawn to it. None of the kids had their sleeping attire with them, it had all been left in the rooms they had slept in last night. Misty didn't care, and Ash and Brock shrugged it off. Ash wished that he could have gotten out of his old clothes, but at this point, nothing else was important to him. Just as long as he made it through the night in one piece. They simply kicked off their shoes and that was it.
"I'll take the couch again," Brock said, pointing down at it.
"Oh no you don't!" Misty warned. "I am not spending the night alone at all. We can all sleep in Ash's bed. It's big enough."
"But Misty, we'll be cramped!" Ash complained. "We're all in the same apartment. You'll be fine."
Misty shook her head and grabbed the two boys' clothes. "We ARE spending the night in the same room!" she shouted, with a face that made both Ash and Brock sweatdrop. "UNDERSTOOD?!"
Ash and Brock nodded nervously. In no time, the three settled down in the bed, all exhausted but all the same frightened. Misty insisted on sleeping between Ash and Brock, claiming she felt more protected. As soon as they were silent, Misty exhaled deeply, feeling the warmth radiating out of her two friends. For the first time all day, she felt safe.
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"Oww, my toe!" James screamed in a whisper.
"What happened?" Jessie whispered back. She reached her hands out to find him. It was pitch black except for the faint amount of moonlight drifting in through the windows.
"I stubbed my toe on something!" James complained through ground teeth. "It hurts so bad!"
"Would you shaddup?!" Meowth ordered. "They'll hear us!"
James continued to groan and limp as they tried their best to make their way through the hotel's dark kitchen. It seemed like night had fallen so suddenly, but they realized that when they entered the hotel it was already late dusk. Jessie led the way with Meowth on her shoulder, and James following closely behind, holding on tightly to Jessie's shoulders. They had no idea where they were going, they were just happy to be out of the cold for the first time in a week. Their frostbitten limbs slowly defrosted in the hotel's humid, blasting heat.
"Find a light switch, would ya?" Meowth insisted, getting annoyed at the dark. His eyes were beginning to play tricks on him, as well.
"I'm trying! I'm trying!" Jessie replied impatiently. "It's kinda hard when it's so dark you can't see an inch in front of you!"
Suddenly, Jessie walked straight into a wall, causing of course a huge crashing sound. She fell silent.
"You okay, Jess?" James asked. "What happened?"
Jessie groaned. "Wall. . ."
The collision had sent Meowth flying off her shoulder and plummeting to the floor. He landed with a thud. Fortunately, his keen cat eyesight had finally adjusted to the dark. Through the faint reflections his eyes were producing, he could see the smallest streak of light protruding from beneath a door.
"Hey, youse guys! Over here!" he cried happily. "I found light!"
"Where?" Jessie asked, still shuddering from the sudden violent encounter with the wall.
James was now walking past her, his arms out in front of him protectively. "You're right, Meowth!" Reaching about in front of him, he felt a doorknob. He gasped excitedly when it turned with no problem, revealing one of the food pantries.
"Ha! One of dose twerps musta forgot ta shut da light off!" Meowth guessed.
"What luck!" James declared. Jessie didn't say a thing. James looked back at her, noticing she was rubbing her head. He smiled, and grabbed for her. She followed, her eyes lighting up as he saw the huge amounts of food before her.
"Chow time!" she shouted, and without hesitation, the three began to help themselves.
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Three short hours had passed since Ash, Misty, and Brock had collapsed for the night. Despite everything that had happened, they had no problem whatsoever falling asleep. They had all huddled together at some point, for when Brock awoke suddenly he could feel Misty's warm body pushed up against his. He raised his head to see that Ash had scrunched up closer to Misty, which in turn had pushed her into Brock. Brock smiled warmly, glad that the night had gone so well so far.
He wasn't sure what had woken him up. . .until he heard the music. At first, he believed it to be the heater. But after concentrating on it enough, he realized that he was hearing something entirely different.
"What the heck is that?" he asked himself, slowly swinging his legs out from under the huge throw-blanket that they had atop of them. The cold air hit his body immediately and he shivered. Feeling around for his shoes, he slipped his feet in. Without tying the laces, he shuffled his way into the sitting room, where he turned on the faintest light in the room. The music or whatever it was could still be heard, and it bothered Brock more every second.
He opened the door, and the sound of music floated up to his ears. That's what it was, he was sure of it now. But where was it coming from?
Since they had first arrived, they never shut the lights off in the hallway. They considered it more safe that way. That, and the fact that they didn't know how to shut them off! Brock walked slowly down the hallway, following the music as closely as possible. It was certain that it was coming from the bottom floor, for it was getting quite louder as he walked closer towards the lounge and dining room.
Near the lounge, the music blasted. Brock followed it even more closely until he came upon the hotel's bar. Sure enough, the huge antique jukebox in the far corner was on and alive, blasting out what Brock recognized as "In the Mood," the famous swing song from the 1930's.
"How did this get on?" Brock asked himself, walking over to it. He shrugged. "Must've been a short circuit."
He reached to turn off the jukebox but stopped. He smiled and decided to let the song play out. He hadn't heard it much, and he liked it. His eyes darted around the bar. Being one of the few rooms they had not been in, he was curious. The bar was beautiful in its entirety, made of shiny hard wood, and red barstools ran all the way alongside it. Brock smiled as he climbed atop one of the stools. To his surprise, it felt strangely warm.
When Brock looked up, his eyebrows rose. On the shelves behind the bar sat bottles after bottles of liquor, all lined up, neatly glimmering in the dim light. Brock scrutinized the shiny bottles, and to his shock his mouth began to water. A memory flashed back to him in an instant, one from his recent childhood. He recalled how his mom used to let him sip her wine at dinner every night. Brock always heard that wine tasted yucky, but he liked it. He liked how it tingled as it went down his throat.
Now as he looked up at the bottles of alcohol, the crave for that one sip of his mom's wine flooded his body. He got up slowly and made his way behind the bar.
"I shouldn't do this," he warned himself, but the fifteen-year-old couldn't stop himself as he reached up and grabbed a black, skinny bottle of wine. It was open, so it wasn't much of a struggle for Brock to pull the cork out from the bottle's neck. With a loud pop, the cork flew out, and Brock reached up for one of the hanging, crystal-clear glasses. He felt his conscience warning him not to do it, but nevertheless he poured a small splash of the red wine into the glass. He stopped, and a moment later, finished filling the glass to the brim.
Brock closed the bottle back up again, and took his glass of wine to the counter. The song on the jukebox changed, and now Brock found himself listening to a tune he'd never heard before. He liked it though, and settled onto the barstool. He took one small sip from the glass, and smiled as the wine went down his throat. It tasted so good.
Brock kept his eyes closed, his sleepiness catching up to him. As soon as he would finish his wine, he'd shut the jukebox off and go back to bed. Hopefully Ash and Misty were still asleep and not aware that he was gone. He didn't want them to come looking for him and discover his drinking. That would not be too good. He had always tried to set a good example for them.
Opening his eyes, he looked up into the mirror above the bar and gasped. Behind him stood a large group of people, all staring back at him. His heart pounding, he flipped around on his barstool in a flash. Nothing was there. Still panting, his panicky eyes darted the room. There was nothing there. He looked back into the mirror. All he could see where tables and the back wall. No other people were there.
Brock laughed at himself and buried his head into his hands. "I GOT to get some sleep," he said out loud, rubbing his temples. "Stupid eyes are playing tricks on me now." His head and eyes were beginning to ache now from sleeplessness. Brock grabbed for his wine glass, which was still pretty much full. In one large gulp, he consumed the rest of the glass.
He lifted himself off the stool, and turned to leave. Suddenly, he stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes widened and his body tensed up. On the barstool beside his was the scrapbook, the same scrapbook that Brock had found in the cellar.
"How'd you get up here?" Brock asked out loud, carefully picking up the book. "Thought I left you downstairs."
Lifting the book to his face, a small sheet of paper fell out. Brock watched it fall softly to the floor, then bent down to retrieve it. Bringing it close to his face, he read it, his heart pounding faster every second.
Brock: A horrible mistake has been made. We all know that you should be the rightful owner of the Fireside's Warmth Hotel. We have also noticed the interest you've taken to this wonderful resort. It can be yours, too, you know. It would really be a quite simple transaction. You deserve it more than your friend, that's a fact we're all aware of. But Ash won't let you have it. Unknown to you, he has already signed the deed. He wants this hotel, but not as bad as you. The Fireside's Warmth deserves the very best, and that is you.
The note dropped out of Brock's shaking hand. When the hell had Ash signed the deed? But then. . .who wrote that letter?! Brock closed his eyes again as his head began to throb once again. He silently began to head for the door.
"Brock."
Brock froze in place.
"Brock."
The sound was coming from behind him. Holding his breath, he slowly turned around to find the most beautiful girl he had ever seen smiling at him from the entranceway to the dining room.
TO BE CONTINUED. . .