“Look, I know it doesn’t look like much”, Jeanette sighed, “but the Grand Noir is solid. Most of this stuff is just… broken surface. It needs some love and a fresh coat of paint, but that’s… that’s pretty much it.” “I dunno”, I said, poking a rotten plank with my foot. “I don’t think the loan will cover this.” “We can stretch a bit” Jeanette said, leaning on me. “We’ve got some flex money.” “Not enough to call it ‘flex money’, Jeanie. Stretch money, maybe. Rainy day-fund.” “We got this” she smiled. “I know we do.” I wasn’t convinced, and the choir of frogs outside seemed equally unimpressed. As I kicked over another plank, I noticed part of a broken sign. Something once hung in the entryway. A big red sign, with yellow letters. “No children” I read out loud. “We putting that back up?” “Nah, some rules are meant to be broken.” “Fair enough.” I left the sign on the floor. The Grand Noir was a few months away from a grand re-opening but Jeanie, if anyone, could make it happen. But that first moment, standing in the entryway, I couldn’t feel the excitement. All I saw was a dark building, abandoned for good reason.
The next few months was just a parade of burning money, but Jeanie got results. We added an extension to the front of the building, so we could have an outdoor serving area. We rewired the kitchen, refurbished the upstairs guest rooms, installed all-new wall paneling and turned the entrance into a proper reception. The outside got a fresh coat of dark gray paint, and we even set up a guest wi-fi, with passwords based on your booking number. The Grand Noir was shaping up to a grand re-opening, and I gotta say, Jeanie did a great job. But I could never really get an explanation for that strange sign. ‘No Children’. We figured that this had something to do with the spotty history of the building. Some said it used to be a smuggler’s den back in the prohibition days. Others said it was a brothel sometime in the 40’s. One local swore that it was the hideaway for some former president’s mistress. Either way, everyone agreed on one thing, all rumors aside; the Grand Noir used to be a ‘bad’ place. No place for children.
There was a lot history hidden in that building. We kept most of it in a storage space in the basement. Old books, journals, ledgers, calendars, some furniture… things we didn’t want to throw away but had nowhere to put. We kept a few things, like a large bible that’d been left open in the master bedroom. The thing was huge; every page as long as my arm. We put it behind a plexiglas display behind the reception. After we got the place up to code, Jeanie spent a lot of time hiring the staff. We knew it’d take some time before we turned a profit, but she had some experience in the tourism industry. The area was screaming for new jobs, and tourists didn’t have many options if they wanted to stay in our corner of the bayou. But even before we opened, there was a lot of interest from the locals.
I remember one day when I saw the Jacksons pass by the walking trail in the backyard. Mr and Mrs Jackson stopped down by the dock to check on August, one of the local fishermen. Meanwhile, their kid Andrew just stared up at the Grand Noir. I saw him from one of the upstairs guest rooms, and he looked right at me. Not just the way kids do, but… with intent. I couldn’t hear what he said, but I saw him open his mouth wide and scream something at the top of his lungs. Mr and Mrs Jackson ran over to him, picked him up, and hurried down the path. If I had only paid attention right then and there, a lot of problems might’ve been avoided. There were a few hints that something about this place wasn’t right. For one thing, we found not just one, but a total of six ‘No Children’ signs. There was also the staring. Some kids who were just passing by would sometimes stop and just stare at the building, for no apparent reason. I didn’t see or hear anyone scream the way Andrew had, but the staring was still a bit uncomfortable. At one point, as I was taking a smoke break outside, I got the chance to ask 12-year old Hanna Lance why she and the other kids tended to stop and stare. “It’s… strange” she answered. “It’s like it wants my help.”
On the other hand, Jeanie didn’t have time to think about that sort of nonsense. She was working herself to the bone, barely keeping down her breakfast in the morning. “A house is a house is a house,” she argued. “It is just a building, and a location. That’s all there is to it.” In general, I agreed with her. I didn’t think there was anything magical or evil about one location more than any other, but I did believe there were things that could affect people in strange ways. There were a lot of strange little things about the people living around the Grand Noir. The bayou can be a mysterious place, and many of the people who live there are equally mysterious. For example, we wanted to paint a mural in our bar, so we hired a local painter. He suggested the image of a young child picking flowers, as this area was known for large fields of blooming flowers. I agreed. But when the piece was finished, I noticed he’d miscolored them. There was a young girl in a dress, picking a large bouquet of sunflowers; except they were blue. “That’s what they used to look like around here” the painter argued. “These lands have history. They have rules.”
I got a chance to learn a little more about that history over the course of the following weeks. As we opened up both the restaurant and the bar to the public, we were still working to get the upstairs guest rooms ready for those who wanted a longer stay. We had some trouble with the pipework. That didn’t stop plenty of locals from stopping by though. I remember one night as Pops Gerry stopped by to check out the bar. A man in his early 60’s, who looked like he was well past 90. He just had the face of someone who’s had a rough life. I took the opportunity to ask him about the area, and what he’d heard of the Grand Noir. It was an overall pleasant conversation. We compared some notes, talked about the various rumors, and shared a drink. Jeanie was back in the kitchen double-checking the shrimp delivery. But as soon as I mentioned the ‘No Children’ signs, Pops Gerry started looking concerned. “Yeah, I’ve heard about that” sighed Pops. “Yeah, I’ve heard all about that.” “You got any idea what it means?” “All these rumors have one thing in common” he nodded. “None of them was a place for children. It’s like it was written into the, uh… the law of the land. The Grand Noir can be successful in all kinds of ways, but the deal is to just keep the kids out of it.”
I thought a lot about that. Whether it was a brothel, a smuggler’s hideout, or a mansion for a mistress, it was never meant to shelter children. We were sort of breaking that rule, opening a B&B. We knew there’d be families with children who wanted to stop by. But could that really be all there was to it? There was this worry that started to gnaw at me. A worry that we were breaking some sort of covenant. I asked Jeanie if we could keep a few signs up as sort of a joke, but she saw right through me. There is no deceiving that woman, and I was an idiot for trying. “I get that you’re worried” she sighed as she held me tight. “This can’t fail, and… and you’re worried. I’m worried too.” “It’s not just worry” I explained. “I think there is something to it. I’ve seen the way people look at this place.” “And by people, you mean kids.” “Yeah, kids.”
And the kids were becoming an increasing problem. The first couple who came to stay in one of our guest rooms had a three-year old son, who absolutely refused to step inside. He screamed, cried, and even as he was carried inside he kept flailing wildly. The parents excused themselves a thousand times, but I could still hear him screaming, hours later. They ended up leaving just before midnight, as it was impossible to calm him down. They just took him out to the car and left. They still paid, but I couldn’t imagine them coming back anytime soon. Every now and then, I’d see kids from the neighborhood just stop and stare up at the building. Sometimes one at a time, sometimes in groups. I once caught the Jackson kid trying to sneak in through the kitchen door. When I confronted him about it, it was like he snapped out of a trance. He was genuinely scared, and had no idea where he even was. He begged me not to tell his parents. Apparently, they’d forbidden him from going anywhere near the Grand Noir.
We got more guests over the following weeks. Mostly fishing enthusiasts, but also a few couples who wanted to experience this side of the bayou. Hell, one family was just obsessed with alligators and came to see a nearby farm. There were a few minor incidents. Kids who woke up screaming in the middle of the night, or came to the reception to ask weird questions. Things like ‘what do the lights want’ and ‘can you turn off the gargling’. One time there was a kid who called the reception, but all he did was breathe into the phone. It was clear to me that something was affecting them, but I couldn’t tell what it was. Then came the morning of August 5th. We’d had a pretty rough storm the prior night, so a lot of the backyard furniture was in disarray. I had to use a chainsaw to split a fallen tree. I spent most of the morning just putting everything back. With water leaking into my old shoes, I was surprisingly cold. You usually can’t see your own breath in early August, so you can imagine my surprise when I saw that white cloud leaving me. Then, I heard a loud crash. Furniture falling over, something breaking. The second story window was open, and something was splayed out on our broken plastic furniture. For a moment, I didn’t even realize what it was; it just looked like a pile of clothes, thrown to the wind. Then, as I heard the screams from the second floor, it dawned on me. It was a kid. She’d jumped.
Apart from a broken shoulder, she was fine. She had no recollection of why she’d jumped out of the window, and no idea how she’d even done it. Jeanette promised to make sure the windows couldn’t be opened, but it felt like fixing symptoms rather than the disease. There was still something about this place that just… refused to allow children. While Jeanie was looking at the practical side of things, I was still convinced there was something about this place we didn’t know about. So I started going through the history to a greater extent. I knew there were books, journals, and other documentation dating all the way back to the late 19th century. I’d put some of those away myself when we first cleaned the place up. I gathered all the journals, diaries, and ledgers I could find.
But it would prove increasingly difficult to get time to read them. Not only did we get a lot more guests to cater to, but there was also more activity overall. Jeanie needed all hands on deck, so I only got the time to read just before bed. Jeanie tried her best to just keep everything afloat, acting like the accident had never happened. She did fix the windows though. One night, as I laid awake peering over an import ledger, Jeanie turned to me. She could barely stay awake, but my reading lamp burned her eyes open. “Sorry,” I said, angling the lamp away. “Just gonna finish this.” “What are you looking for?” she asked, cuddling up next to me. “Really… what… what do you think is in there?” “No idea,” I sighed. “I don’t think whatever happened here is the kind of thing you put in ledgers.” “But you think something happened?” “I suppose so, yeah,” I nodded. “I think something sort of… stays.” “Stays” she smiled. “Something stays.” “I dunno,” I shrugged, putting the ledger aside for the night. “I just wanna know.”
As I stretched to turn off the light, I heard something shift. Out of the corner of my eye, something moved. I held my breath, listening. “Come on” groaned Jeanie. “I’m tired.” “Hold on.” I got out of bed. I could hear something. I took a sudden step, and could hear something shift and rattle. Something reacted. Jeanie sat up as well; she could hear it too. I put a finger to my lips and checked the wardrobe. Nothing. Same with the hallway. I thought about checking under the bed, but it was a bit too tight for a person fit under there. Not a small person though, like a kid. I got down on all fours, brushed the covers aside, and fell backwards. Six eyes looked out at me. The Jackson kid, and two of his friends. Their mouths were wide open, their eyes unblinking. As I screamed in surprise they screamed right back. A strange guttural sound; like someone trying to clear sand from the back of their throat. I’ll never forget the look he gave me. At that moment, he wasn’t a kid; he was an intruder, and there was no telling what he might do. Hollow eyes, and an instinctual malice. If there’d been a weapon, he would’ve attacked me; I’m sure of it. I just held my breath as my heartbeat raced. Jeanie called the police.
Once again, sirens and flashing lights came to the Grand Noir. We didn’t press charges, but the officers had a stern discussion with the parents. But one major thing changed; Jeanie accepted that there was something we couldn’t control about this place. She couldn’t keep pretending like it was all fine, or something passing. The incidents were getting more common and more bizarre. One night as I was going through what looked like an old cookbook, I noticed three kids running across the backyard. One of them held a lit torch. As Jeanie called out to them, they just ran away laughing. I’d also seen the Jackson kid again. He’d been sitting in the car across the street, waiting for his dad to pick something up, and I could see something shift in his eyes. He went from completely disinterested to obsessed in the blink of an eye. I saw him pounding on the window, screaming at the top of his lungs, and the color drain from his eyes. They barely even looked like eyes anymore; they were more like black holes in the middle of his face.
One morning, as I was opening up the reception, I saw four of them standing in the driveway outside. I hurried outside to scare them away, but I stopped as soon as I opened the door. They had that hollow stare, but with a sinister smile. Something was off; they weren’t running away. “What do you want?!” I called out, still rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. “Just tell us what you want!” They just stood there, grinning. The youngest was probably about 6 years old, the oldest closer to 14. I was about to walk up to them when I stopped myself to check my surroundings. Good thing I did. They’d covered the driveway with broken glass. It would’ve gone straight through the broken sole of my old shoes. When they noticed I’d seen through their plan, they just took off. I just stood there, trying to calm myself down. This was getting dangerous. I could’ve hurt myself, badly.
I was getting paranoid. Over the next few days, I could feel my pulse racing just by seeing someone walking up the driveway, or hearing someone walking upstairs. I’d imagine myself seeing someone in the corner of my eye, and every creaking plank was like… announcing a potential intruder. I just felt unsafe, and I couldn’t even appreciate how well we were doing. The Grand Noir was a success; the location was spot on. There were no options if you wanted a place to stay in the area, and there were plenty of activities for all kinds of tourists. The only problem was when people brought kids. It got to the point where Jeanie was starting to pretend that the family rooms were booked, even though they weren’t. It wasn’t official, but we were both starting to feel the same thing; there really should be no children at the Grand Noir.
One night, as I was going through the journal of one of the old groundskeepers, I suddenly just stopped. There it was, ink on paper, clear as day; ‘No Children’. It was the first time I’d seen it referenced in the books. I double-checked the entry, reading through it carefully. While not saying it outright, the groundskeeper seemed to imply there was some sort of prostitution going on. There were talks of ‘the girls’, a ‘madam’ and several ‘patrons’. The groundskeeper seemed to think it was a waste of time landscaping for ‘these kinds of people’. It was implied that the place was a smashing success, and that guests were coming from out-of-state just to spend the night. When he spoke of ‘No Children’ he was referencing a rule that the madam had set; if you were with child, you had to leave the Grand Noir. There were to be ‘No Children Born’ at the Grand Noir. That was it. We hadn’t seen the compete picture. The complete ruleset. ‘No Children Born’ at the Grand Noir.
I thought about it and came to an uncomfortable conclusion. I should’ve seen the signs, but I guess we’d just been too busy. Why hadn’t she told me? Was it too early?
Book in hand, I hurried up the stairs. As I stepped out into the reception, I stopped like a deer in headlights. At least a dozen kids of various ages, all spread throughout the reception. One of the older ones had a shovel, while most of the youngest had knives, forks, or hammers. They were armed, and they were waiting for me. Some sort of prey instinct kicked in, forcing me to stand completely still. There was no way for me to get past them without getting cut. My skin tingled. I held my breath and counted my heartbeats. I could taste sweat, and my mouth was getting salty. I almost lost my balance just from trying too hard to stand still.
Taking a single step forward, they all shifted in unison. One of the kids in the back groaned with that strange guttural sound. Apart from that, it was dead quiet. Not a single footstep. Not a breath out of place. Just a few frogs singing from the bayou. But I couldn’t just stand there. My heartbeats echoed in my head, making my neck twitch. I had to try something. My eyes, darting back and forth, made a mental note of the way I could run to get out. A way for me to get by with as little chance of getting cut as possible. I’d have to pass three of them, but they were small and I was fast. But still. I counted down from three, took a deep breath, and burst into a sprint.
There was an explosion of movement. Plants getting knocked over, someone tripping on the carpet. Screams, laughter, metal scraping against the wallpaper. It took me just a few steps to realize there was no way for me to get out; I had to make a break for the top floor. Turning on a heel, I felt something sharp snip the heel of my shoe. One kid took a swing at me with a knife, but only scratched my jeans. Another tried to stick a fork in me, but their arms were too short. A fourth had some kind of fire poker, and took a wide swing at my legs. I had expected a stab. I took a whack to my right leg, and fell forward. Despite having the air knocked out of my lungs, and a burning pain in my leg, I hurried up the stairs. I was hobbling forward, barely able to place any weight on my wounded leg. I’d been hit harder than I thought, and I suspected there was a fracture. I got upstairs with all kids in tow. I figured Jeanie would be in our bedroom, so I took a sharp right. I burst through the door, locked it behind me, and backed away towards the window. No Jeanie. She was somewhere else. Somewhere safe, I hoped.
I fumbled for my phone and called her. It took two rings before she picked up. There was a pounding on the door, and someone was trying to twist the old lock using a knife. “What’s going on?!” Jeanie called out. “What’s that noise?” “I’m upstairs!” I answered. “There’s… there’s a dozen of them, I… God, my damn leg, I-“ “I’m coming!” she yelled back. “Just hold on!” “No, Jeanie, I… you gotta go” I said. “You can’t be here. Not right now. You just… you can’t.” “What are you talking about?! I’m in the garden, I’m just-“ “Jeanie, please!” The lock was snapping back and forth. They were gonna get through. “Trust me on this, please! Just… just go! Get back to town!” “I can’t just… just…” “Please, Jeanie!”
As the door slammed open, I saw dozens of little black eyes staring at me. Gleefully smiling, armed, and ready. Maybe this was punishment for breaking some sacred rule. Maybe there could be no children at the Grand Noir. Maybe these lands have traditions so old that the ground itself remembers them. Either way, I had to try to get out. I pulled on the window, but Jeanie had fixed it. The windows could no longer be opened without a key, and Jeanie had the keys. I was cornered.
They started circling me, like sharks. Their feet were so small and light, barely even touching the carpet. Some of the younger ones seemed to float, just half an inch off the ground. I could hear the cling of blades touching as they stood close enough for their hands to touch. “…he brought a child to the Grand Noir…” one of them whispered. “…the Grand Noir brings the children back…” whispered another. “…so lost…” “…forgotten…” I could barely hear them over the pounding in my chest. I didn’t even feel my fractured leg, my adrenaline was spiking. I thought about where to go, what to do, but there were no answers. It was hopeless. One wrong step, and I’d be cut down. From behind, I heard one more voice. This one came from no child. It was a dark whisper from a grown woman, with a thick accent. “Breaking the Rules breaks the Man.”
I felt a slash across my shoulder. It took me half a second for the pain to reach my mind, but once it did, I fell to my knees screaming. They all stepped forward. Hammers. Knives. Shovels. Everything they could grab, all pointed at me. Raised. Laughter. Then they stopped. My phone was ringing. One ring, and they all just… stopped. Two rings, and one in the back started to move away. After three rings, they were all hurrying to get away, and out. Almost climbing over one another to get out of the room. By the fourth ring, it was pandemonium. By the fifth ring, the room was empty. I could hear the clattering of dropped weapons tumble down the stairs. I just sat there, bleeding.
It turns out, Jeanie had been pregnant for some time. She’d called me from downtown, just to make sure I was okay. She’d done as I asked and left the Grand Noir as fast as she could. With her out of the picture, there was no need for vengeance. The rules had been upheld, and so the punishment was postponed. No children were to be born at the Grand Noir.
I talked to Jeanie about it, and we decided we’d move to a different location. We’d still be the owners, but we’d hire a general manager. In a few years, we think we’ll be turning a profit. Until then, well, we both have jobs to go back to and family that will support us. And the Grand Noir will still be there. Maybe we can come back some day. Maybe not. From what I’ve heard, everything just seemed to sort itself out once Jeanie and I left. The Grand Noir wasn’t calling to anyone. It seemed to just react to pregnant women, not kids themselves.
But now, as I write this, I have a worry that just won’t quit nagging me. I’m fairly sure that our child was conceived at the Grand Noir. If that is the case, will that in any way affect them? Even if we left, and even if they’re born somewhere else, can the Grand Noir let that happen?
I’m wondering, because even though we’re far away from the bayou, I can see that twinkle in the eyes of children. I can see the smiles creeping back on their faces.
How far does the ‘No Children Born’ rule really stretch? Should I be worried?