The Old Nome Hotel

At first glance, the old hotel looked different than Jeremy remembered. It resembled a mountain when seen through the trees in the dwindling light. Jeremy realized the mist drifting through the towers gave the impression of movement. On first sight, Jeremy’s horse, King, pulled back. The massive structure loomed. But appearances were not the only cause of Jeremy’s hesitation.  

He stroked King’s mane gently. “You’ve been here before, King. Is that why you balk?”

This was his tenth and final year paying tribute at the manse. Jeremy would collect his due. His pot of gold. His liberty.

Old Nome had done a spectacular job transforming the decrepit old house into this imposing structure. Considering its remote location, Nome had made a go of it and over time, its dubious reputation spread. People willingly traveled here, out of their way, to sleep for a night or two in a legendary haunted mansion. Many came away believing.

Some didn’t leave at all. Which is not to say they stayed. Stories about guests disappearing only added to its allure.

No one in their right mind actually believed the place to be haunted. Yet, those well-grounded people also, never crossed its threshold.

Ten years and Jeremy’s final payment had come due. Now everything would change. He could finally go home.

An attendant met them at the gate and held the reins of Jeremy’s horse, which trembled at the stranger’s approach. Jeremy dismounted and cooed to King, as he patted its withers. “Go King. Eat your fill. We’ll be off in the morning.”

The little man laughed as he led the steed around to the stables.

Jeremy entered the lobby and once more gazed at the grand, high ceilings with their intricate carvings and muted colors.

Nome approached with his hand out. “You came.” They shook hands. Nome rested against his walking stick. He looked up at Jeremy, a head taller.

“How could I not? We agreed, didn’t we?”

“Perhaps you’ll stay this time?”

Jeremy laughed. “Oh no, old man. I will hold you to your word.”

Nome smiled mysteriously. “If you think you can. Many have tried. Perhaps you will.”

Their laughter entwined and echoed coldly, as they slapped each other’s backs in embrace.

Nome said, “Come. There is much to do.”

Jeremy followed the old man, who walked briskly despite his limp.

Jeremy smiled at his ongoing, internal debate about the inn-keeper. Did his head look like a cabbage found by the roadside? Or a giant potato? Jeremy laughed to himself, resolving it was a curious hybrid of the two. Regardless, Nome’s out-sized nose and cavernous, clever eyes, peering from beneath a singular mossy brow, ensured no one took the liberty of plopping him into a stew pot.

Nome took Jeremy directly to his room up the narrow stairs, on the third floor.

“Here ye be. Shake the dust off and come down for some grubs.”

Jeremy thanked him and closed the door.

Small and spare, the room suited him. The dorm window overlooked the grounds and stables. A deep rose glow faded over rolling hills in the west.

Jeremy traveled light. He almost hit his head on the ceiling as he turned to put his satchel on the cot. A small sink under a smaller mirror fit into one corner. The communal toilet was down one floor at the end of the hall. The hook on the door held his jacket.

The only décor, a heavy picture frame, barely fit the wall between the sink and the window. It featured a postcard sized picture of three faeries sitting for a family portrait. They bore no resemblance to Nome.

 Jeremy rinsed his face and descended to the main floor.

The staff greeted him with a cheer as he entered the dining area. They treated him like long lost family.

Undine ran to him and gave him a warm hug. She smiled up at him. He always felt immersed in a peaceful sea scape when gazing into her gentle blue eyes.

She spoke. “Is it really you?”

“At last.”

“Back to stay?”

“Nome will determine that, won’t he?”

Undine shared a look with him that Jeremy dared not interpret. He felt a tug on his sleeve.

Sylphie came and went without fanfare, like a refreshing breeze.  She offered Jeremy the single large chair at the foot of the table. She sat next to him. Hardly noticed but when absent, when candles flickered, Jeremy knew Sylphie stood at hand.

Nome sat opposite Jeremy. They nodded to each other soberly. Sylphie gave Jeremy a questioning look. Her dark eyes drew him in like a tunnel. Nome slapped the table and broke his trance. Sylphie touched Jeremy’s elbow.

“We must speak. But not here.”

Nome coughed conspicuously. “There will be no hogging of the guest with whispers and glances, Sylphie. Let us celebrate!”

At that, the cook, stocky Sal, entered with a platter laden with steaming, juicy delicacies. The platter eclipsed his head but he handled it deftly. Sal placed it in the middle of the table and everyone dug in, Sal included. Plates and cutlery were considered an unnecessary formality. Food fights are more dignified. No one went hungry.

Being a cook, Sal carried a rich mixture of scents with him, peat smoke, sage, exotic tobacco, meat, onions and garlic. He snapped a napkin and sailed it over the table where it came to rest atop Jeremy’s head. This triggered additional cheering and laughter, making Sal’s eyes flicker brightly.

The mead flowed freely. And as the evening progressed, their voices and laughter gained volume in proportion to the quantities of drink. Memories flitted about like a lost bird. Each had their spin and color to add.

Jeremy got so drunk it took three of them to boost him up the stairs to his room. Their laughter brought hotel guests out of their rooms. But the protests turned to shouts of encouragement and hilarity.

Once back in his room, Jeremy lit a candle, placed it into the wall sconce and slumped into the one chair. He could not sleep. His eyes remained open but unfocused.

Time passed and Jeremy noticed his candle flickering. He glanced up to see his door opening. Sylphie crept in, holding her finger up, signaling for silence.

She shut the door without a sound and knelt by Jeremy’s side.

“Jeremy, my boy. You must go without delay. You’re not safe.”

Jeremy responded, “But…”

Sylphie shushed him. “No debates, boy.” She gestured for him to take his things. He grabbed his satchel and followed her down the stairs.

Silently, they moved through the gloom, down to the main floor and into the kitchen. Sylphie paused to take a meat cleaver from the rack and signaled Jeremy to follow her. They went to a secret door behind the pantry.

A draft of cool, musky air rushed by when Sylphie opened it. She guided him down into the dark basement, closing the door behind her. Then she stopped him. Sylphie groped his face and pulled him down so she could speak directly to him.

Whispering, she placed the cleaver firmly into his hand. “Take this. You must go. Follow the corridor. Don’t stop.”

She turned up the staircase. Jeremy took her hand but she pulled away. “I said go. There’s no time. It’s late.” Sylphie ran back up the stairs in silence.

Jeremy could barely discern the corridor Sylphie directed him to follow. He ran his hand along the wall of rough brick, walking quickly as he dared, down the slight incline, into even deeper darkness.

It seemed to go forever. There were turns. Had he walked a mile? More?

A door stopped him. His foot bumped into it before he hit his face. He rattled the latch. Though stiff, it was not locked. Eventually, the door showed signs of submitting to Jeremy’s efforts. After throwing his weight into it a few times, the hinges gave way with a shriek.

A golden light filled the windowless room. Jeremy looked back into the dark corridor to let his eyes adjust. A pot of gold stood on a pedestal in the middle of the room. Gold coins lay strewn about the stone floor. There was nothing else.

Jeremy shut and barred the door. He sank the cleaver into the hard wood and stood back, taking stock of his situation.

He lifted the pot with some effort. It took both hands. He would not get far hauling such an unwieldy object. He opened his bag and poured the golden coins into it. The satchel reached capacity before the pot fully emptied. Jeremy set the pot aright and watched in amazement as it refilled itself.

He mumbled, “No good to me if I cannot carry it.”

Jeremy closed his bag and found he could haul it, if he took his time. He prayed the handle would hold. He opened a second door, which revealed another tunnel. Jeremy left this door open for what meager light it would offer. He grabbed the heavy bag and ran until the darkness enveloped him. After a brief rest, he took up his burden again and continued groping his way.

Though physically fit, the satchel became too heavy to carry. How far had he walked? How deep ran this tunnel? Where did it lead?

Jeremy set down the satchel and sat on it to catch his breath. A glow drew his attention from back down the tunnel. A distant roar of billowing flames approached.

Nowhere to turn, Jeremy grabbed his bag and ran into the darkness. A wind picked up and roared past him, feeding the inferno. Wind and flames became deafening. The gale pulled at his bag and resisted his every step. Wind fed flames gained strength and closed on him. Jeremy felt the heat cooking his back. He screamed. He stumbled. But the wind held him upright.

Jeremy felt an additional force slowing him as the flames gained on him. Rising water surged past him toward the fire. The flames receded. Jeremy could breathe again. But the water kept filling the tunnel. It rose to his waist and he could make no progress against the stiff current.

Desperate, Jeremy hugged his satchel of gold. Dirt and stones showered down on him. Bracing against the current, he tried to protect his eyes from the falling debris while clutching his bag. It almost slipped from his grasp.

“No! Please!”

The water rose to his chest. The current stopped pulling at him but continued rising.

The dirt and rocks tapered off. Jeremy looked up and saw daylight. He thought if the water kept rising, he could tread water up to open air. But not if he tried to keep his precious bag of gold.

When the water reached his nose, Jeremy had no choice but to let go of his baggage. He jumped and grabbed onto the lower lip of the opening. The water buoyed him up. The current swirled around and knocked him into the walls of the well. But Jeremy kept his wits.  With both hands free, he half climbed and half swam to the top.

Soon, the water welled to the surface and washed him out onto level ground. Jeremy lay in the mud. Water ran over him and he sputtered and coughed. Feeling like a discarded rag, Jeremy crawled away from the sink hole and collected his wits. He had nothing else.

The sun shone warmly. But Jeremy felt wet and cold to his bones. He had just lost a fortune, had no clue about his location, where to go, or how to begin again. With a groan, Jeremy rolled onto his back, shut his eyes and thanked God for his life.

Jeremy lay soaking in the sun. He had to get up. To move. He was spent, wrung out.

A bird called. A gentle gust moved the grass and tickled his face. A sound made him look up.

A wolf stood silhouetted on the rise. Two others joined it. They saw him and tentatively approached. As they loped and then began to run, they spread out to circle him.

Jeremy stood and shielded his eyes from the sun. The wolves were white. Jeremy had nowhere to hide.

The lead wolf reached Jeremy and leaped up, almost knocking him down. It licked his face in greeting. The other wolves circled him and sniffed his legs. Jeremy began to laugh and to cry.

The wolves knew him. They were his. Jeremy had come home.

He shouted and energized, began to run helter-skelter with them, an old game.  

Jeremy walked over the rise accompanied by his wolves. There, King, his horse looked up and whinnied in greeting. King pranced around its corral.

Jeremy felt whole.