The Hotel

My name is Jackie Moffit. I moved to Chicago on the heels of the 1893 Columbian Exposition, much to the chagrin of my parents. Coming from rural Iowa, the bustling metropolis of the Windy City seemed like a far-off dream. But by the recommendation of a great-uncle and the grace of God, I was offered a receptionist job at a new hotel in the City. This would be my introduction to the devil. 

On my first day, I eagerly meandered to the reception desk to make myself known. 

“Hi, I’m Jackie. Nice to meet you!”, I exclaimed with an outstretched hand. 

            I was not met with a warm rebuttal. A man sat at the desk, clearly out of place and clammy looking. He narrowly avoided eye contact, but my mid-western charm was too much for him and mumbled a quick “hello, how can I help you?” back to me. 

“I’m here for a receptionist job with Mr. Holmes.” 

“Oh, thank fuck,” he said under his breath. “Have a seat, Mr. Holmes will be with you shortly.” 

            As I sat down, a man short in stature approached me and stated “ah, you must be miss Moffit, welcome.” 

            I’ll admit, I was immediately taken aback by his aura. He spoke with such poise; you could not help but hang onto every single word spewing from his mouth. He told me he is a Physician, but the economic possibilities surrounding the Worlds Fair were too huge to pass up. With this he decided to convert the 3^rd floor of his mansion into a hotel for the incoming transients coming to town. I was later told the Fair accounted for over 27 million visitors, many of whom resided elsewhere. I would also learn that this would be the thing that allowed the devil to hunt. 

“Am I able to get a tour of the hotel so I have a lay of the land?” I asked.

“Absurd”, he replied, “everything you will need will be available for you at your desk, it is not necessary to..”

I cut him off. “But sir, I think..”

“But nothing! This will not be spoken of further.” He scolded. I swear in that moment, his eyes turned from a sharp blue to a dark crimson. I dropped it. 

            Holmes showed me to my desk, told me to make myself comfortable and left. The young man at the reception desk before me left as well, but not before looking at me in the eyes and mouthing something indistinguishable. If I didn’t know any better, I would’ve thought he was telling me to run. 

            The next few weeks, I would fall into a slump of what I’d call monotonous busy-work. My primary job was to help guests with check-in, check out and any issues they may have in the interim. I never got to know guests on a first name basis during my time there, but we became friendly. As time would pass by, I noticed many young ladies would check-in, but failed to make it to check out. Many people in US at the time were transient and would often leave home without much more than a letter home once they arrived to their destination. I began to write these women off under the same light, assuming that they were merely moving on to their next place. 

            I would become accustomed to seeing staff members one day, and a new person taking their place the next. It became difficult to form any sort of bond with these people, and coffee breaks were filled with deafening silence, more than mindless chatter. Nobody shared any obvious sort of bond, and a sense of dread filled the room always. It was almost like we had an unspoken agreement that we had nothing in common with one another and should behave as such. The men would smoke a tiny portion of a cigarette before stomping it out, and seemingly say a little prayer before returning to the depths of the hotel. More than once I witnessed these employees stop at the door, turn towards me to say something, before shaking their heads and exiting promptly. The reason for the silence seemed obvious, they must fucking hate seeing a woman in the work place. 

Holmes would leave the hotel many times during my time there in various stages of messy. His shirts would be partially torn, as if he was attacked by a wild animal. His hair would be tussled and shaggy. He would reek of sweat. Other times, he would appear in immaculate condition, dressed to the 9’s, and displaying the confidence of a much taller man. It was during these times that he would approach me with enthusiasm, asking me how my day was and appearing genuinely interested. During his dishevelled moments, however, he would be irritated and short. At those moments, I knew to keep my head down and mind my business. 

            As the weeks continued to pass, I knew I had to get to the bottom of what this place was. There were too many inconsistencies I could no longer ignore. Where were all of these workers disappearing to? Why did all of the staff speak in such hushed tones around each other? And just who was this Holmes fellow, really? I decided it was my mission to find these things out. 

            I attempted to question every staff member I could find; housekeepers, accountants, construction workers. Every door I attempted to open appeared locked shut, and I was no further along than I was weeks ago. 

“What is the hotel like inside?” I’d ask. 

“Don’t concern yourself over it,” they would respond. 

“Can you tell me more about Mr. Holmes?”

“Uhm…no..”

I had given up hope. That was, until Mr Holmes approached me.

“I’ve heard you had questions about my hotel,” he probed. 

“Sir, I was only-“ 

“Relax,” he said, “you have been here long enough, I think it’s time for you to become better acquainted with the grounds. Join me, shall you.” 

I reached out to his outstretched hand as he lead me through the threshold into the hotel. We passed closed doors..room 1, room 2, room 3…

“I assure you, this hotel is no more than meets the eye. Boring room after boring room.”

“Thank you sir, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to..”

“Nonsense, you have nothing to apologize for. Now. Just ahead, at the end of the hallway is a lounge for patrons. I know its not customary, but please, go in and enjoy a drink at the bar. I have some business to attend to briefly, but I will be in shortly to find you. Please, enjoy.” 

            I carefully walked to the lounge entrance, awestruck by the feats of modern architecture that lay around me. I palmed the doorknob and entered the room. I walked in without thinking about it, and suddenly *clink*. The door slammed shut behind me and a lock clicked. I jammed on the door, but it wouldn’t budge. It was then I noticed the walls were no longer covered in beautiful wallpaper, and the wonderful veneer of the floors were gone. The entire room was stale concrete, no windows cascaded any light in. Grates broke through the floor and did not seem to have any filters out of the room. As I started to look for a way out of the room, the candlelight disappeared and the room began to fill with a thick smog. *Oh, fuck*

THE END