get him out o’ there when I thought he’d had enough, then shake mah head and leave him tae get on with it when he’d shrug me off and order, ‘just one last drink, Gavin my friend.’ For that was the problem: it never was the last one. And that’s how it went for three years and more, until a time two summer seasons ago.
“That was when Kevin began tae ramble: his ‘hallucinations’ and what have ye—which probably had their origin not only in the booze but also in the problems at the old hotel up there on the hill. Aye, that’s when the worst o’ it began, with all the trouble up there: the weird deaths and what all.
“And it all came taegether as spring turned tae summer…
“First off, a young fellow—fit, full o’ life—was found dead in bed in his balcony room, one o’ them rooms lookin’ down on your room number seven. An autopsy said he’d been smothered, but how when the door was locked from the inside? Accidentally? That didn’t seem right at all! His balcony doors were open, but those balconies up there are too far apart for someone tae jump across from one tae the next. So in the end they had tae settle for a respiratory disorder or some such—maybe a heart attack? Asthma? Hay bleddy fever? None o’ which quite fitted the bill—and they left it at that. The only other thing: he’d had quite a few drinks, and maybe too many, on the night he died. Accordin’ tae the autopsy, however, that hadnae contributed tae what was considered ‘death from natural causes.’
“But a mystery? Damn right! And such a mystery that as I’ve said, I think it may have added tae Kevin’s problem, his drunken hallucinations and delirious raving, for after that he got a lot worse. He was forever in that room; he no longer slept with wee Janet at all but we always knew where tae find him: in room number seven, aye. And if he wasnae sleepin’ he’d be sittin’ on the balcony gazin’ out and up at that place on the hill. As for what he saw up there—what attracted him, other than the mystery o’ that young man’s inexplicable death—well, who can say? But sometimes we’d hear him chunterin’ away tae himsel’, ravin’ on about…well of all things, about a nun!”
A nun? That rang a bell, but one that tolled faintly as yet in the back of my mind. An alarm bell, perhaps? But while I was still trying to locate the source of a suddenly sharpened sensation of unease, McCann was continuing with his story:
“Well, the time came when Janet asked him tae see a psychiatrist: a ‘trick cyclist’, as Kevin would have it. He must have seen it as a real threat, though, for it did in fact straighten him up…well, for a wee while. But the booze and room number seven—and I think that ghostly place up there—they all had him in their thrall, so that in a matter o’ weeks his addiction had the upper hand again and he’d reverted tae his auld habits.
“But ye ken, the locals can tell ye tales about that crumbling place up there; rumour has it that it’s always had a verra unfortunate, even a bad reputation. And as tae why I bring that up now: it’s because o’ another occurrence no more than a month or so after that young fellow pegged it in his room from no apparent cause other than a severe lack o’ breath. But actually it was far more than just another incident or ‘occurrence’: it was the death o’ another guest!
“Aye, and would ye believe, it was also another tumble from a balcony!? Indeed the first such tumble, because it took place some weeks in advance o’ Kevin’s and from a higher balcony. And that’s one o’ the most irritatin’, aggravatin’ things about the whole tragedy—Kevin’s tragedy, that is: the muchness that the local press made o’ it. Ye see, some bleddy journalist ended up theorizin’ that Kevin’s fall was possibly—even probably—a copycat suicide, o’ all unlikely things! What’s more, this same so-called ‘reporter’ must have been doin’ some
“That was when Kevin began tae ramble: his ‘hallucinations’ and what have ye—which probably had their origin not only in the booze but also in the problems at the old hotel up there on the hill. Aye, that’s when the worst o’ it began, with all the trouble up there: the weird deaths and what all.
“And it all came taegether as spring turned tae summer…
“First off, a young fellow—fit, full o’ life—was found dead in bed in his balcony room, one o’ them rooms lookin’ down on your room number seven. An autopsy said he’d been smothered, but how when the door was locked from the inside? Accidentally? That didn’t seem right at all! His balcony doors were open, but those balconies up there are too far apart for someone tae jump across from one tae the next. So in the end they had tae settle for a respiratory disorder or some such—maybe a heart attack? Asthma? Hay bleddy fever? None o’ which quite fitted the bill—and they left it at that. The only other thing: he’d had quite a few drinks, and maybe too many, on the night he died. Accordin’ tae the autopsy, however, that hadnae contributed tae what was considered ‘death from natural causes.’
“But a mystery? Damn right! And such a mystery that as I’ve said, I think it may have added tae Kevin’s problem, his drunken hallucinations and delirious raving, for after that he got a lot worse. He was forever in that room; he no longer slept with wee Janet at all but we always knew where tae find him: in room number seven, aye. And if he wasnae sleepin’ he’d be sittin’ on the balcony gazin’ out and up at that place on the hill. As for what he saw up there—what attracted him, other than the mystery o’ that young man’s inexplicable death—well, who can say? But sometimes we’d hear him chunterin’ away tae himsel’, ravin’ on about…well of all things, about a nun!”
A nun? That rang a bell, but one that tolled faintly as yet in the back of my mind. An alarm bell, perhaps? But while I was still trying to locate the source of a suddenly sharpened sensation of unease, McCann was continuing with his story:
“Well, the time came when Janet asked him tae see a psychiatrist: a ‘trick cyclist’, as Kevin would have it. He must have seen it as a real threat, though, for it did in fact straighten him up…well, for a wee while. But the booze and room number seven—and I think that ghostly place up there—they all had him in their thrall, so that in a matter o’ weeks his addiction had the upper hand again and he’d reverted tae his auld habits.
“But ye ken, the locals can tell ye tales about that crumbling place up there; rumour has it that it’s always had a verra unfortunate, even a bad reputation. And as tae why I bring that up now: it’s because o’ another occurrence no more than a month or so after that young fellow pegged it in his room from no apparent cause other than a severe lack o’ breath. But actually it was far more than just another incident or ‘occurrence’: it was the death o’ another guest!
“Aye, and would ye believe, it was also another tumble from a balcony!? Indeed the first such tumble, because it took place some weeks in advance o’ Kevin’s and from a higher balcony. And that’s one o’ the most irritatin’, aggravatin’ things about the whole tragedy—Kevin’s tragedy, that is: the muchness that the local press made o’ it. Ye see, some bleddy journalist ended up theorizin’ that Kevin’s fall was possibly—even probably—a copycat suicide, o’ all unlikely things! What’s more, this same so-called ‘reporter’ must have been doin’ some
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