Nightmare (11 page)

I lay on my stomach, almost unwilling to turn over for fear
of what might happen next. But when something touched my
ankle, I spun over lightning fast.

Something like a very cold, wet hand was crawling up my
bare leg, but I saw nothing.

Suddenly, objects all around my room tore themselves free
from wherever they'd been at rest and began flying around in
all directions. One after another after another. My backpack,
my desk chair, my keys, my laptop. Around and around they
flew, crashing into one wall and then flying up into the air to
go crash into another.

I put my hands on my head and curled into a ball, trying to
keep from being injured, but it wasn't long before things started
brushing past me or just flying into me. There was so much happening now, a hurricane of energy and rage, destroying everything
it touched, and slamming items both blunt and sharp into my skin. I heard my own screams and cries muffled within the storm.
And all the while, the freezing hand continued its slow climb up
my leg, past my knee now. I tried to grab it, to claw it away from
me, but you can't take hold of nothing.

Someone was beating on my door from the hallway outside,
trying to get in and save me, but I couldn't reach the door. I
couldn't move. I just lay in a fetal position in the middle of the
room, screaming for it to end. My heart was racing so fast, I knew
it would soon give out.

I heard terrible, loud crashes and disembodied cackles of
laughter. I could feel hot, wet, sticky spots pouring across one
hip, a shoulder, and the top of my head. I was bleeding.

The tempest reached a powerful crescendo, sounding as if
the entire building were coming down. And then without warning, everything simply stopped. The violence ended, the chilled
hand vanished, and everything was still.

One second passed, and I heard the tiny sound of my cell
phone vibrating against the floor. Aside from the beating on
my door, the only other sound I could hear was of someone
crying.

It took me a moment to realize that the person crying was
me.

I was trembling violently as I opened my eyes and looked
around. The entire room had been destroyed, stripped down to
the studs in the walls. All of my furniture, all of my belongings,
reduced to debris.

I was hurt, but I couldn't tell how badly. I wasn't even sure I
was still breathing. But I had to be alive, because the heavy beating of my heart had become painful to my chest.

My phone was situated right next to me on the floor. A blinking light indicated an incoming call.

I placed a shivering hand over the phone and put it up to
my ear.

I tried to say hello, but my voice wouldn't obey my command
to speak. Instead I let out a weak croak.

When the voice on the other end spoke, it reached my ear as
a whisper from a voice I didn't know.

"The nightmare is coming, Maia," it said, and my blood
turned to ice. "Forget Jordin Cole, or it comes for you next."

DECEMBER 9TH

Snow was falling in Estes Park as our rental car crested the top
of the hill and our destination came into view.

"I assume you approve?" It was a question I asked carefully.

It had been hard getting much out ofJordin since we'd met
up back at JFK Airport in New York. Her attitude couldn't have
been more different than the way she'd behaved on our first trip,
two months ago. She hadn't said one word on the plane, refusing
even a complimentary beverage. She sat in her window seat, her
gaze tracing the roadways and farms and other structures and
signs of civilization far below.

She was so withdrawn and pensive that I began wondering
what could have happened to her. And not knowing her all that well, it occurred to me she might be brooding. Wallowing in
something.

As much as I enjoyed the opportunity to study without her
endless chatter, the silence had grown uncomfortable, the tension surrounding her rising from the moment we got in the car
and made our way out to Estes Park.

I was sure that if anything could jar a reaction out of her, it
would be the gorgeous vistas of the Rocky Mountains surrounding Estes Park, which nearly every visitor agreed was one of the
most beautiful places on earth. But she hadn't spoken at all, still
looking out her window as I drove carefully through the snowcovered streets, winding up the hill toward our stop.

When she said nothing, I tried again. "Do you know where
we are?"

No reply.

"Jordin ... this is the Stanley Hotel."

Finally she blinked. Slowly she swiveled her head to face me.
"The Stanley Hotel?"

I nodded.

"Where Stephen King wrote The Shining?" Jordin said, her
enthusiasm rising.

"Well," I pointed out, "he didn't actually write it here, he
was just inspired to write it by his visit. After the comments you
made about Waverly Hills, I figured a more famous landmark
might scratch your itch."

Jordin sat up straighter in her seat and leaned into the middle
to peer out of the front windshield at the lovely white building
that lay straight ahead. "Wow ... I've always wanted to see this
place."

I almost smiled, proud of myself for pullingJordin out of her funk. Until I remembered that this meant her nonstop talking
would likely return, as well.

"How many times have you been here?" she asked.

"This is my fifth," I replied. "Used to come up once a year
with my parents-they had an open invitation."

I turned back to the windshield to take in the full view of the
grand old hotel with its white siding, stone foundation, Georgian
architecture, and six flagpoles jutting out at a severe angle over the
large covered front porch, and once again I found myself enjoying
a small tingle of the old adrenaline. Every time I'd been here in the
past, I'd witnessed unquestionable paranormal phenomena-and
every time, it was a different experience than before.

The car wound carefully through the snow-covered driveway
up to the front entrance, where we deposited ourselves in the
foot-deep snow with our bags. A bellhop quickly descended the
front steps and snatched our things before I could stop him. I
always preferred to do things for myself, but I had to remind
myself that I was on an all-expense-paid business trip and could
let my "employer" pick up the tab on anything and everything.
Which Jordin seemed only too happy to do.

The yellow rays of the sun had already faded to orange by
the time we neared the front steps. It would be dark soon, and
I knew Jordin would be ready to get started the minute the sun
was gone.

It was understandable. Even a novice like Jordin was familiar
enough with the building's reputation to know that the Stanley
was very special.

Someone brushed a curtain aside in a room on the fourth
floor. I sensed the movement and looked up, but all I saw was a shadow, a person's silhouetted face staring back at me. As soon as
I focused on it, it dissolved and the curtain fell back into place.

I automatically tried to dismiss what I'd just seen, assuming
it was a trick of the light. But something about it made my eyes
linger on the window for a long moment.

"You coming?" asked Jordin, already on the bottom step.

"Yeah," I replied, still studying the window.

Jordin led the way up the front stairs, and we went inside.
As we waited to check in at the charming front desk, which was
stained a deep welcoming hue and had a marble countertop, I
decided it was time to lay down some ground rules.

I spoke softly. "I need you to keep in mind that this is a vastly
different scenario than what we did at Waverly Hills. For one
thing, we're not the only people here-there's a full staff and a
couple hundred other guests-so we don't have free reign. I know
you're anxious to get started but we need to wait until midnight.
I was able to get permission for us to investigate tonight on the
condition that we will respect the other guests and we won't go
poking around in places where guests aren't allowed. With one
or two exceptions. Jordin, are you listening?"

She was fishing out her journal from inside her large pocketbook as I spoke. "Yeah, yeah. Leave everybody else alone, don't
make any big noise. I got it."

We settled in and I tried to entertain myself by watching the
hotel's channel 42, which played Stanley Kubrick's version of
The Shining on a continuous loop, twenty-four hours a day. But I
was really just waiting for the hotel to fall asleep. We needed the
depths of night for our best exploring.

As if sensing my own rising anticipation, Jordin knocked
on my door the second the clock struck midnight, a very full
backpack hefted over one shoulder.

"Where do we start?" she said, her zeal for the hunt already
in plain view.

I didn't mind that she'd abandoned formalities. I was ready
to get on with it, too.

"Let's try the ballroom," I said. "It's where one of the most
frequent reports originates. The grand piano in there sometimes
plays all by itself."

Jordin shifted her backpack and led the way down the narrow
white hotel corridor. She seemed distracted. "Anything weird
happen to you yet?"

I glanced her way. "Like what?"

"When I got in my room, I opened my suitcase and laid out
some fresh clothes on the bed. I went to the bathroom and showered, but when I came out to put those clothes on, they were
back in my bag. It could've been the maid-except I had the door
locked. And chained."

"Hmm," I said, intrigued but trying to sound noncommittal.
It wasn't that unusual of an occurrence, but I knew that something like that happening to Jordin so quickly after we arrived
could spell trouble later on. Something in the hotel might have
taken a special interest in her. If so, further activity would not be
confined to her room. It would follow her wherever she went.

I eyed her bag. "What equipment did you bring?"

"Everything you recommended," she replied without turning
around. "Digital camera, digital voice recorder, video camera."

"A good start," I remarked approvingly.

"Start?" she echoed, nonplussed. "What else is there?"

"Loads. Thermal imaging cameras. Temperature gauges. Electromagnetic frequency detectors. Full-spectrum DSLRs."

Jordin stopped and retrieved her journal from her bag while
we waited for the elevator to arrive. "I should be writing this
down," she muttered.

We rode down the elevator in silence, and then walked a
short way down the main floor hall to the ballroom. The lights
were on inside but I found the wall switch first thing and turned
them off.

Something about the large emptiness of the ballroom always
gave people chills. Nearly everyone who entered it was taken in
by the sensation.

"Why does it have to be dark?" Jordin asked.

"Hmm?"

"I've been reading up, and a lot of reported paranormal activity doesn't even happen at night. So how come you always investigate after dark?"

"Because it's scarier," I deadpanned.