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He’d seen it twice on the big screen when it was used as the exterior for two different horror films. It was a sprawling gothic monstrosity built with dark stone blocks arranged in sharp flat lines punctuated by high arches and pointed turrets. The mere image of the hotel’s heavy wooden front doors was enough to conjure a sense of immediate unease.
Those movies were nearly twenty years ago though, and the building had clearly suffered since then.
The bushes out front were overgrown, two windows were boarded up, and there were plenty of weeds peeking out between some cracks in the driveway. The roof on one of the turrets had collapsed and was covered with a bright blue tarp that appeared painfully out of place. It didn’t look like anyone had been here in years, and the obvious lack of care somehow made it seem small.
Sad, perhaps.
Grant could understand why people would think it was haunted though. The creep factor was way high, not to mention the many deaths said to have happened here. He didn’t know what to expect, and he was determined to go into this new job with a clear head.
Rumors were just rumors, after all.
Grant would know if the Allan Hotel was haunted as soon as he walked in.
And when he did take that first step inside the lobby, the electric pull that tugged at his bones was undeniable.
The interior of the hotel had been preserved as it was probably back in the eighties, from the plush red carpet to the floral wallpaper and bronze everything. It was immaculate, which was pretty surprising given the dismal state of the exterior. Visually, it was truly like stepping into a time machine.
Spiritually, it was a packed morgue.
The feeling was like the cool shiver of air conditioning clicking on for the first time in the middle of a hot day, so cold it almost ached, and it made Grant’s breath catch in his throat. The charged draw of spiritual energy was there, like a zap of someone’s touch after they rubbed their socked feet on a rug, but this sensation lingered and dug right into his marrow.
What Grant felt varied from place to place, but there was no doubt about it here.
The Allan Hotel was haunted.
“Hey!” Someone grabbed Grant’s shoulder.
“Shit!” Grant jumped, whirling around to find Cary behind him.
“Sorry!” Cary held his hands up in apology. “Are you okay?”
“I’m okay.” Grant wheezed as he clutched his chest. “You startled me.”
“I’m sorry.” Cary grimaced. “Well, at least I’m alive, right?”
“No offense, but it’s not the dead who scare me.”
Cary considered that for a moment before conceding, “Fair.”
William Carriage, also known as Cary, was the co-host ofThe Paranormal Probe, a reality television show that searched for evidence of the existence of the paranormal. He had been investigating purportedly haunted locations for over twenty years and was the founder of a paranormal themed podcast of the same name.
QuikTV, a streaming service, had offered Cary a contract to bring his podcast to millions of viewers as their own exclusive paranormal reality show and would fund him and his team to travel the country to explore places said to be experiencing paranormal activity. Fans loved Cary’s no-nonsense approach to investigation as he was set on disproving paranormal experiences instead of taking them as gospel. He was a believer, but he was also determined to authenticate and scrutinize findings so any evidence he presented stood up to the most doubtful of skeptics.
Oh, and he was Grant’s boss.
Grant was the show’s dirty little secret.
Okay, maybe notdirty, but it was definitely not a coincidence that Grant was credited as being the team’s historian and not their spiritual medium.
Cary had worried publicly having a medium on staff would hurt their reputation. The paranormal field was already looked down on, and mediums were considered pretty hokey even to the most dedicated of believers. Cary himself claimed to not believe in mediums, but he did believe in Grant. He had seen what Grant could do, and it was impossible to refute.
It was also impossible to document as Grant refused to be recorded. Grant had allowed Cary to do it once when they first met years ago, but that was the only physical evidence that existed of his incredible powers. Grant was determined to keep it that way. He was happy to use his gifts to root out fake hauntings and give the genuine spirits they encountered peace if he could, but he had no interest in being famous or, worse, studied.
If people knew what Grant was capable of, they’d have questions. They’d want to test him, examine him, and he had absolutely zero desire to go through that.
“So,” Cary whispered, glancing about to make sure no one else was around, “what’s the weather gonna be like today?”
“Stormy,” Grant replied. “Very, very stormy.”
