“It’s all right,” Calvin said, holding a hand up. “Don’t worry—I believe you.”
Helga’s shoulders dropped a little as she let out a breath. “It could have been the ghost….”
I leaned back on the mattress to grab the ghost diary I’d tossed there earlier. “Good point. Let’s see if anyone in the past reported a disembodied spirit with a penchant for boxer briefs.”
Calvin sighed at that and thanked both Helga and Blondie—the latter offering us a different room, which Calvin declined, comped breakfast for the rest of our visit, which Calvin reluctantly accepted at Blondie’s unrelenting insistence, then promised further investigation into the matter before wishing us a good night.
Calvin shut and locked the door. He glanced at me.
“Delayed sexual gratification is not a kink I’m into,” I stated. I put the half-empty cup on the nightstand. “Can I have my way with you now or what?”
“You’re really not concerned, are you?”
“I’m concerned my blue balls might have lasting health consequences.” I tossed the ghost diary aside again. “Now please get naked so I can fuck you. Before my liquid courage is metabolized.”
I awoke with a start but wasn’t sure why. Calvin had one leg between mine, his head on my chest, his arm wrapped around my waist. His breathing sounded even and low—sex-coma sleep. I thought he must have shifted and that’s what woke me, but I had the strangest impression that the sense of touch hadn’t been responsible.
It was something I heard.
A rustle of—clothing, maybe.
Which made no sense, because we were both naked under the blankets.
I cracked open one eye and took in the room. Greatly out-of-focus it might have been without glasses, but the only functioning cells in my eyes—rods—performed specifically in low-light situations, so I was able to pretty quickly take in the outline of the windows, the low shape of the dresser and attached mirror, the massive armoire with its open door—
The hell?
Then a deadbolt turned, its quiet click like an avalanche in the Swiss Alps to my hyper-attuned hearing. I jerked my head on the pillow and watched the front door silently swing open and a whitish shape drift into the hallway. The door was carefully closed behind the…thing.
I thought of Mick and his mustache.“Folks usually hear things up there.”
A ghost?
No.
I was still a little drunk, could feel the disorientation as I pushed Calvin off and sat up, but I was not stupid enough to think a long-dead housekeeper from the turn of the century was just checking in at midnight to see if we needed mints on the pillows. Plus, what sort of ghost had to unlock a door to leave? Wasn’t the whole spooky aspect the fact that they could walk through walls and shit?
I struggled free from the blankets and clumsily got to my feet. Calvin didn’t wake, which was surprising, but I guess a cross-country flight, seven-hour drive, liquor, and some… um… amazing hotel sex was what it took to knock him out for the better part of the night. I took a step forward, got tangled in Calvin’s jeans on the floor, and nearly face-planted.
“Dammit,” I hissed. I’d somehow managed to slide my foot right into the back pocket—wait a minute. I crouched, thoroughly checked, but no… Calvin’s wallet was gone. And considering how’d I’d been groping him, let me just assure that it’d been there when he was being undressed.
That spectral thing hadn’t been a ghost. I mean,duh. It’d been an intruder. And the rustling sound I’d heard was this motherfucker stealing Calvin’s cash, credit card, license—hell, he kept his shield in that wallet when he was off duty. I sobered considerably as I grabbed my glasses off the nightstand, found my underwear, and yanked them on before checking the door’s peephole. The benefit to always forgetting to remove my red-tinted contacts was that I wasn’t immediately blinded by the light from the third-floor hallway.
I didn’t see anyone, so I yanked open the door and ran out. I belatedly realized, with the exception of my boxer briefs, I was very naked. I reached the banister around the stairwell in the middle of the layout, set my hands on the worn and polished wood, then leaned over. It didn’t appear there was anyone attempting The Great Escape via this route. I looked to the right—dead-end nook with some closed doors, mirroring the same setup on my left, where our room was. I tiptoed backward a few steps to look down the long hallway opposite of Main Avenue.
And there he—she—er—Wannabe Casper was, wearing a long, shapeless, white or maybe gray dress. Something akin to the cheap, mass-produced “historical” attires the staff in the saloon wore, except this was a matronly ensemble and not a sexy bar girl. Casper was standing in front of another guest room, seeming to be struggling with their key card.
“Hey!” I shouted, my voice too loud in the still and silent hotel.
Casper jumped and spun toward me. I was too far to make out any serious details, but I was fairly certain Casper was a man, dressed as a woman, with Halloween face paint on for adeadeffect. He panicked, a combination of having been caught and having been caught by a man justthis sideof naked. Casper bolted down the hall, then seemed to rethink that plan, and reversed course for the stairwell.
I raced forward to cut him off, but Casper dodged and ran around the far side of the banister to put distance between us. He was seconds away from the stairs, and then there’d be no way I could catch him without taking a tumble and breaking my neck. We’d spend the rest of this amazing vacation calling banks to freeze cards, scheduling an appointment for a driver’s license replacement, and worse than having to deal with the DMV, Calvin would have to report his badge being stolen.
In a split-second decision, I picked up a potted fern from a stand beside a mirror and framed painting on the wall to my right, took aim as Casper rounded the corner, then chucked it.
I was standing on the landing of the second floor, surrounded by soil, broken pottery, and one fern that didn’t look like it’d survive the assault. I still had no shoes or pants, but at least I’d been given one of my sweaters, so I had that on with my arms firmly crossed over my chest. An EMT was shining a penlight into Casper’s eyes, checking for a potential concussion caused by either the pot or the fall down the stairs, while a uniformed officer was stooped and securing handcuffs on Casper from behind. Calvin stood about a foot away, talking to a second officer. He wore only his jeans, which were low-hanging and snug on his hips. He’d come rushing out of our room after I’d woken the entire third floor, and probably a few actual resting spirits, by braining Casper in the head with a fucking houseplant.
The third-floor guests were watching us over the banister. Blondie was on the landing with us, alternating between panic, profound confusion, and one or two distracted, lingering glances at my bare legs.
