bidding, she followed him and his son to the guest elevator, a rarified contraption that May had only cleaned, never ridden. At the sight of the three of them approaching, the operator stepped out of the elevator and held the door open for them. May stationed herself as far as possible from the men, pressing her back into the wooden wall. To her surprise, the young man in the gold-piped maroon uniform and cap did not join them, but rather let the door close behind them. Sterling shifted around his father, taking the utmost care not to jostle him in the tight space, and produced a large and substantial-looking key. After inserting it into a hole in the brass plate, he gave it a turn to the right, released it, and then twisted the control to the left. May felt the elevator begin to descend. She watched as the hand on the dial that showed the floor shifted from 1 to B for basement, then continued to move counterclockwise as the car descended farther than she’d believed a body could go.
The car came to a smooth stop, and a moment later the doors opened. Sterling removed the key and grabbed hold of the handles of his father’s wheelchair, easing him over the space between the elevator carriage and the floor. When May didn’t move, Sterling looked back at her. “Come,” he said.
She stepped out of the car and into a hallway that seemed to run close to the full length of the hotel above. Lights shone down from overhead, but rather than filling the length of the hall, the beams just provided dots of light in the surrounding gloom. The walls, floor, and ceiling appeared to be made of the same concrete—uniformly gray, but polished so that it gave off a sheen in those places where light reached it.
May watched in silence as Sterling inserted that key of his into a panel on the wall and turned it right. The doors of the elevator closed of their own accord, and May heard a hum as cables lifted it up, returning it, she assumed, to the hotel’s main floor.
The hall was bereft of any sound other than the squeaking wheels of the elder Maguire’s chair along the stone floor, syncopated by the tapping of his son’s leather-soled shoes following behind. If May’s tread made any noise, it was drowned out by the beating of her heart.
Each spot of light gave way to shadow, and in those dim places in between, May sensed a presence, reaching out from the emptiness of the hall, craving the light she carried in herself, or perhaps only yearning to blot it out. Feeling something brush up against her, she quickened her pace so that she could follow the Maguires in a tighter pack. Then, repulsed by their nearness, she lied to herself, trying to dupe herself into believing there was nothing lurking in the shadows, that she’d disturbed a cobweb and nothing more. She allowed herself to drift back once again, but this time something small and furry ran across her feet, brushing up against her ankle. She felt the tickle of unseen fingers along her forearm. An invisible hand grasped her wrist. She gasped and pulled away, rushing into the next circle of light. Sterling looked back over his shoulder at her. His smile lifted only one side of his mouth, and there was a gleam of dark joy in his eyes. Her fear amused him. She was left in a dance of gooseflesh and queasiness; left to choose between the devils she knew and the ones that traveled unseen.
Sterling stopped his father’s chair before a red door dominated by a brass knocker in the shape of a grimacing, bearded face. Though May would be happy to be out of the long hall, she found herself wondering what horrors might lay behind the incongruous door. Sterling grasped the bottom of the beard and knocked three times before reaching down and turning the oversized doorknob.
“You’ll want to enter backward, my girl,” Maguire called out to her, “or you might not like what you see. I do have a wee bit of magic left to me despite your mama’s best efforts.” Sterling opened the door wide,
The car came to a smooth stop, and a moment later the doors opened. Sterling removed the key and grabbed hold of the handles of his father’s wheelchair, easing him over the space between the elevator carriage and the floor. When May didn’t move, Sterling looked back at her. “Come,” he said.
She stepped out of the car and into a hallway that seemed to run close to the full length of the hotel above. Lights shone down from overhead, but rather than filling the length of the hall, the beams just provided dots of light in the surrounding gloom. The walls, floor, and ceiling appeared to be made of the same concrete—uniformly gray, but polished so that it gave off a sheen in those places where light reached it.
May watched in silence as Sterling inserted that key of his into a panel on the wall and turned it right. The doors of the elevator closed of their own accord, and May heard a hum as cables lifted it up, returning it, she assumed, to the hotel’s main floor.
The hall was bereft of any sound other than the squeaking wheels of the elder Maguire’s chair along the stone floor, syncopated by the tapping of his son’s leather-soled shoes following behind. If May’s tread made any noise, it was drowned out by the beating of her heart.
Each spot of light gave way to shadow, and in those dim places in between, May sensed a presence, reaching out from the emptiness of the hall, craving the light she carried in herself, or perhaps only yearning to blot it out. Feeling something brush up against her, she quickened her pace so that she could follow the Maguires in a tighter pack. Then, repulsed by their nearness, she lied to herself, trying to dupe herself into believing there was nothing lurking in the shadows, that she’d disturbed a cobweb and nothing more. She allowed herself to drift back once again, but this time something small and furry ran across her feet, brushing up against her ankle. She felt the tickle of unseen fingers along her forearm. An invisible hand grasped her wrist. She gasped and pulled away, rushing into the next circle of light. Sterling looked back over his shoulder at her. His smile lifted only one side of his mouth, and there was a gleam of dark joy in his eyes. Her fear amused him. She was left in a dance of gooseflesh and queasiness; left to choose between the devils she knew and the ones that traveled unseen.
Sterling stopped his father’s chair before a red door dominated by a brass knocker in the shape of a grimacing, bearded face. Though May would be happy to be out of the long hall, she found herself wondering what horrors might lay behind the incongruous door. Sterling grasped the bottom of the beard and knocked three times before reaching down and turning the oversized doorknob.
“You’ll want to enter backward, my girl,” Maguire called out to her, “or you might not like what you see. I do have a wee bit of magic left to me despite your mama’s best efforts.” Sterling opened the door wide,
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