Greetings friends and horror aficionados. Thank you for joining me for the second story from the terror-filled annals of the Hotel Morte. I imagine you have questions following the first instalment, in which I described the premature demise of Mr Hillman in all its gory details. Hopefully I will be able to provide answers in the tales to come, but for now I ask for your patience.
Today I shall tell you the story of a very unusual convention which ended quite abruptly in the most spectular fashion. But before I begin that account, I would like to tell you a little more about the history of our most unique establishment.
As I previously stated, the Morte first opened its doors during the 1920s, meaning we’ve recently celebrated our one hundredth anniversary (although if I’m honest, these celebrations were rather muted). Our lack of paying guests means I have plenty of spare time on my hands, and I’ve used some of that time to research the establishment which has come to dominate my life so completely.
Despite my best efforts I’ve discovered little about the location which could explain the hotel’s descent into the paranormal realm. It is not the site of an ancient Indian burial ground and no massacre ever took place here as far as I can tell. By all accounts, the land the hotel was built upon was simply an empty lot, swallowed up by urban expansion during the boom years of the 20s.
The first owner was an eccentric millionaire named Thomas Raine. Mr Raine may have been able to provide some of the answers I seek…but alas, he died under mysterious circumstances only weeks after the Morte’s grand opening. A maid discovered his mangled body inside of the penthouse suite, the door locked from the inside. It’s said that his restless spirit still occupies the suite which – like most of our rooms – has long since been sealed up and declared off-limited to the living.
There is little recorded about Mr Raine and his life. His financial affairs are something of a mystery although it seems he had links to organised crime and at least some of his fortune came from bootlegging and illegal gambling. The construction of the Morte appears to have been a vanity project for Raine as he sank almost all of his fortune into it, leaving a string of debts behind him after his untimely death.
There were also rumours about the mysterious Mr Raine and his extra-curricular activities – talk of dark secrets and an unhealthy interest in the occult. One theory is that Raine performed some kind of dark ritual inside the Morte soon after its construction and that he inadvertently opened up a portal to the underworld, allowing malevolent entities to pass through into our world.
The story goes that Raine bit off more than he could chew and thus fell victim to one of the monsters he set loose. I don’t know whether any of this is true, but it’s interesting to note that the attendees at our convention did believe (but more on that later). In any event, Mr Raine’s violent demise was the first of many deaths to occur at the Morte during its long and bloody history.
By my reckoning, one hundred and thirty individuals have lost their lives at the hotel over the last one hundred years. This figure was accurate at the time of writing but will undoubtedly increase in the future. My research indicates that at least two dozen of these deaths were murders, with about twice that number being suicides. The remainder are officially classified as unexplained deaths or accidents, both of which are all too common at the Morte.
There is so much tragedy here, so much grief and pain trapped in our old walls…a terrible dark energy that can drive you insane if you stay here too long.
You’re probably wondering about the entities which occupy our eighty unusable rooms, those frightening but unseen beings which bang and scratch at the doors in an attempt to escape. The truth is, I don’t know exactly what they are, as these rooms were sealed off long before I started working here. My best guess is that they are the spirits of the Morte’s victims, some of those who have died violently on the premises over the years and for some reason haven’t been able to move onto the next world.
If this is the case, it would surely be reasonable to feel sympathy for these trapped souls. There are occasions when I’m tempted to set them free, but Mr Black has warned me in no uncertain terms that this can never happen, as the consequences would be dire for all involved. Nevertheless, we do get a degree of co-operation from the spirits as was proven by the Mr Hillman incident. They are part of our very unconventional community…and besides, in a sense we are all prisoners of the Morte.
And then there’s Mr Black himself, the hotel’s current owner and my employer. Mr Black acquired ownership of the Morte in 1983, shortly after a number of highly publicised deaths which permanently destroyed the hotel’s reputation. He bought it cheap but acquired a money pit – an unprofitable business in a crumbling building with a history of unexplained paranormal events and violent deaths.
I’ve no idea why he took on such an obviously doomed venture which has done nothing but lose money for the past 40 years. Certainly, he’s made no attempt to turn Morte into a profitable concern, as every year the building slowly crumbles due to continuing neglect. I can only guess that – like me – Mr Black has some kind of personal connection to the hotel, which is why he keeps it open.
Nevertheless, the Morte’s elderly owner very rarely visits the premises, which is why I was so surprised when he attended to help in the preparations for the convention.
My employer arrived at 9am on the dot, greeting me at the front desk with a curt nod and emotionless expression. It was the first time I’d seen the man in several years and I was shocked by how much his physical condition had deteriorated. Old age had caught up with Mr Black and now he was undoubtedly an elderly man, stooped over and walking with the aid of a stick, his skin wrinkled and eyes lacking their former spark.
I’ll admit to feeling concern as I shook his frail, shaking hand. Not for the first time, I wondered what would become of the Morte and its residents once Mr Black finally passed away. But this was a problem for another day.
There was time to kill before our mysterious guests arrived, and so I provided my employer with an update on the business, such as it was. We looked over the books, confirming the grave and ongoing financial issues faced by our failing hotel. Surprisingly, Mr Black appeared totally unconcerned by our grim set of accounts.
Afterwards, my employer requested a tour of the premises. I reluctantly agreed, knowing that the corridors and hallways should be relatively quiet during these daylight hours. We slowly walked through the lobby, bar lounge, and restaurant/conference room before ascending to the higher floors on the elevator.
As we progressed I explained the issues and faults, informing the hotel’s owner of the repairs we’d need to make to keep the establishment running in the long term. He nodded his head as I spoke but I got the distinct impression that he wasn’t really listening to me. I did notice how uncharacteristically emotional he became as we walked the corridors, a terrible sadness coming over him as he struggled to hold back the tears.
He became particularly upset once we reached the fifth floor and I noticed how he paused outside of Room 52, sighing deeply as he held his hand up against the door and staged a silent vigil for a prolonged moment. I didn’t ask him what he was doing, merely standing by patiently and waiting for him to finish.
It was only after we’d returned to the front reception that I dared ask him about our mysterious guests.
“Who are these people? Why do they want to come here?” I asked sheepishly.
There was a lengthy pause before Mr Black responded, and I guessed he needed to regain his composure after the trauma of his visit to the fifth floor.
“Hmm…well sir, I suppose you could describe them as a religious organisation…of sorts. They are certainly fascinated in the spiritual world, which explains their interest in our establishment and its unique features. Their leader is a man called Kane – an intelligent but rather intense individual, prone to flights of fancy. I suspect our guests will be challenging to attend to, but I’m confident that our team can deliver a satisfactory service for our client.”
I nodded my head, not really any the wiser, but realising I was unlikely to get anything further from my ever-elusive employer. Still, his explanation concerned me, as I instantly had images of some kind of freakish cult. As it turned out, my fears were well founded.
Hours passed, as Mr Black met with our other staff – Mary and Owen – briefing them on the upcoming event. Kane and his entourage didn’t arrive until close to midnight, sauntering in as if they owned the place. I imagined they would all be clad in dark robes, wearing hoods and necklaces with bizarre and unnerving emblems. But this wasn’t the initial impression.
The thirteen who arrived in our lobby looked surprisingly normal, on the surface at least. They were a diverse enough lot – young and old, male and female, and of various different races. Their clothing was conventional – jeans and shirts, skirts and blouses…nothing on the surface that would raise concerns. But, as I’ve said before, I’ve learnt from bitter experience to recognise the troublemakers. I don’t remember each and every member of the group. They tend to blend into one in my memory, as I recall predatory glares and sadistic grins.
Their leader was called Kane – a bald headed and bearded man with a fiery intensity behind his eyes and a dark aura surrounding him. I noticed how the others were all totally subordinate to Kane and followed his orders without question. Their submissive body language indicated a dangerous mix of devotion and fear.
Kane was an intimidating character, that much was obvious. The only one of their number who seemed to command Kane’s respect was Lilith, a red-haired young woman with piercing green eyes and a seductive look which would be difficult for any man to resist. Judging by their interactions I guessed she was Kane’s lover, and she also seemed to hold the position of his second-in-command within the small group.
It was Kane who spoke with us however, confirming the details of their reservation in a puzzling conversation with Mr Black.
“Ah, Mr Kane, it is our pleasure to welcome you to the Hotel Morte.” my boss began, “I hope you and your party will enjoy your stay.”
Kane smiled slyly, exerting a snake-like charm as he shook our hands. When I felt his cold palm against mine, I experienced an icy chill, and when I looked into his eyes I saw nothing but darkness.
“Thank you gentlemen,” Kane spoke, his voice deep and raspy. “We are grateful for your hospitality. As you know Mr Black, this event is of great importance to my organisation, and it is essential that all goes smoothly during tomorrow’s ceremony.”
“And indeed it shall, Mr Kane. Our dedicated staff will stop at nothing to ensure our client’s satisfaction. Now, I’m sure your party are tired after your long journey. May we escort you to your bedrooms?”
Kane smirked before replying. “Thank you gentlemen, we shall leave our luggage in the rooms, but my associates and I are night owls. We would like to unwind by enjoying some drinks in your bar.”
I shook my head in the negative. “Regrettably sir, our bar closes at midnight…”
“Not tonight,” Mr Black interjected, “I have spoken with Owen and instructed him that the bar will remain open, for the benefit of our new guests.”
I shot my employer an angry look, wondering why he had blindsided me on this, but he ignored my glare and motioned for me to assist the cultists with their luggage. With no other options open to me, I did as I was told, shifting heavy bags to the waiting elevator.
I noticed how two members of the group carried a substantial animal carrier, a cage containing a subdued creature I could not see. They insisted on carrying the box themselves, indicating that the animal inside was of great importance to their organisation and whatever they had planned. I guessed the poor creature was sedated as it made barely a sound as they carried the box to the waiting lift.
I glanced across at Mr Black, expressing my disapproval, but he merely shook his head, warning me not to protest. And so I continued as normal, braving the corridors as I escorted our guests to their bedrooms before I descended back downstairs and awaited their arrival in our bar lounge.
That night, our dilapidated little barroom was about as busy as I’d ever seen it, with all thirteen of our new guests in attendance along with our three long-term residents. Given the increased demand for drinks, I joined our chef Owen behind the bar. I had hoped Mr Black would remain to keep an eye on things…but alas, he’d elected to retire to bed, leaving me to take care of the rabble.
The tension inside of the small bar was palpable, as the customers split into two groups. Our regulars – the major, the widow, and the senorita - were sat at the far end of the bar, glaring suspiciously at the newcomers who they surely considered as invaders of their home turf. The thirteen cultists were at the other end, congregated around their leader and hanging on his every word.
They were fairly civilised at first, but after a few drinks the newcomers descended into increasingly vile and offensive conversation. Their talk began with jokes made in poor taste and soon moved on to crude descriptions of past sexual encounters. But that was just for starters. Belong long Kane’s followers began boasting of despicable acts of violence, of savage beatings, murders, and massacres they’d committed.
These people clearly took a perverse pleasure in recounting these vile assaults, savouring every little detail – the fear, the blood, and the gore. It was sickening to hear, but I felt powerless to intervene, remembering that Mr Black had instructed me to do everything in my power to accommodate our new guests.
Kane was holding court, reciting his own gory tales whilst also vocalising his crude and nihilistic philosophy.
“We alone understand the simple truth – the universe is not governed by justice and harmony, but rather by chaos and violence. In the inferno to come, only the strong will survive.”
My reaction to Kane’s hate-filled words was stunned silence, but the senorita surprised us all by laughing aloud in open mockery, fearlessly provoking the cult leader’s anger. I listened on in dismay as Kane snarled his angry words through clenched teeth.
“You have something to say, young lady?”
The senorita certainly did. Her forthrightness was one of the things I most admired about the young lady, but once again I was worried she was putting herself in danger.
“People like you are always the same! Full of world-weary cynicism and self-loathing, thinking you know some great secret that the rest of humanity has missed. You dismiss everything in human nature that doesn’t fit into your twisted view of the world – compassion, love, loyalty, selflessness. The truth is, you can’t feel these emotions because you’re weak…You’ve given into the worst impulses of your blackened hearts!”
For a moment, the whole barroom was stunned into silence, and a tension-filled moment followed as all awaited the response. Lilith – Kane’s lover and number two – broke the silence, screaming in fury as she screwed up her face and clenched her fists.
“How dare you speak to our leader this way! I ought to tear your tongue out!”
There was a terrible dark energy in the air as all prepared for violence. The thirteen formed up like a pack of jackals, ready to pounce on their prey. Meanwhile, the major jumped up from his bar stool and reached into his jacket pocket, while I saw Owen go for the meat cleaver he kept under the bar.
In a panic I glanced across at the senorita, noting with some pride that she stood her ground. Nevertheless, I felt sure that bloody violence would ensue, with the odds heavily stacked against our side. Therefore, I was astonished when Kane himself acted as peacemaker.
“Friends,” he exclaimed, “There is no need for unpleasantness. This young lady is entitled to her opinion. She is completely wrong of course, but I forgive her for her naivety and loose tongue.”
The senorita scoffed in disgust but made no further comment. The next to speak was the widow, who sat in her usual corner, sipping on her sherry and observing the tense confrontation from afar.
“And so, what is it that you awful people want? Why have you darkened the doors of our hotel and home?”
“A very good question.” Kane answered, as a snide grin appeared on his lips. “We have come here to fulfil our destiny. This hotel – as you describe it – is hardly deserving of the title. Nevertheless, this location holds a special importance to our organisation. You see, this crumbling structure which you inhabit is a portal – an entryway to another dimension. And on the other side dwells our master…the Prince of Darkness and Lord of Chaos. Tomorrow we shall perform a sacred ceremony to summon our master to this realm. We will pledge our eternal fealty and be rewarded with immortal life and unlimited power.”
The widow shook her head, not in dismay but rather in sad resignation.
“You must be insane if you think such an outcome is possible.” she proclaimed.
“We shall find out soon enough.” Kane sneered, “I gladly invite you all to attend our ceremony tomorrow and see for yourselves. In the meantime, why not join us for a drink, so we may settle our differences?”
Kane’s offer seemed genuine, but I noted the devilish look in his eye and guessed he held malicious intent. The major surely recognised the deceitfulness and spoke to the cult leader in a tone which should have left no doubt.
“I think it is time for your party to call it a night.” he stated firmly.
“I think not.” Kane replied, not missing a beat. “We are paying customers and intend to finish our drinks. If you are so offended by our presence, I suggest you leave.”
Another tense moment followed as two killers attempted to stare each other down. We’d worked together to bring down Mr Hillman not so long ago, but he was just one man…and ultimately he turned out to be a coward. Kane was a much tougher foe however, and he was backed up by a dozen bloodthirsty fanatics who stood ready to attack on command.
The major broke eye content with Kane as he spoke to the widow and senorita.
“Come on ladies, let’s leave these people to their libations.”
And with that, our three regulars left the barroom, still retaining their dignity even as Kane’s vile followers sneered and whistled after them in cruel mockery.
I watched with sadness as the trio exited the lounge and disappeared into the shadows. Meanwhile, the hateful Mr Kane toasted his petty little victory and ordered another round of drinks for his twisted subordinates.
Thankfully, Kane’s party left the lounge soon after, although they ordered more booze to bring up to their rooms. I was relieved to be able to escape from the tense situation and make it up to my bedroom before the hotel descended into its usual cycle of nightly chaos. I secretly hoped that one or more of our guests would fall victim to the malicious entities which stalked the corridors and staircases, but I doubted we would be so lucky.
Once I reached the relative safety of my room, I lay on my mattress and tried in vain to sleep. The unpleasant encounter down in the bar kept running through my head. I had seen much worse over the years of course, but what Kane had planned had the potential to be catastrophic. I would need to speak with Mr Black in the morning, as he would surely know what to do.
But despite my apprehension, I also felt just a glimmer of hope. The senorita’s words had moved me. She’d been brave to stand up to Kane, although perhaps also foolhardy. Still, there was a time when the young lady would have shared much of Kane’s deep cynicism and his black world view…But now she spoke of love, compassion and loyalty. I felt a renewed hope and started to believe she could be saved.
But whatever positivity I felt that night disappeared once we reached the witching hour, and the corridors outside of my room descended into hell.
to be continued…