Seer of the St. James Hotel (Section 2)

Seer of the St. James Hotel (Section 2)

A Chapter by Mitchell Goth

Second slice of chapters from my story Seer of the St. James Hotel, things just seem to be getting weirder and harder to imagine for the former skeptic Mike Terry.




Back downstairs Carson sat next to Mike, who had his head in his hands, in a corner of the Silver Ballroom, where Carson’s crew was setting up for the convention.

“That is strange, definitely.” Jerry stood in front of them, Carson’s camera held out snapping photos of the two of them. “The smoke seems to be ignoring you entirely.” He turned the camera to Carson to show him. Sure enough, the thick smoke was nowhere near Carson, it was all still centered around Mike.

“That it very interesting indeed.” Carson stood up next to Jerry and looked back and forth from the camera and Mike.

“So what’s the plan?” Jerry asked.

“I’m thinking we go back upstairs, and try to make contact.” Carson suggested.

“Don’t you think that might just exacerbate things?” Mike wondered, looking back up at them. Carson just looked at him blankly. “You don’t know what it means, do you?” Mike deduced.

“Not really, no.” Carson admitted.

“This guy is running our group.” Jerry scoffed and turned to walk away.

“That sounded like spite.” Carson called out to him.

“It is spite.” Jerry replied harshly.

“Do you think it might make things worse?” Mike rephrased.

“Possibly, but it also might make things better.” Carson turned his attention back to Mike.

“And why do we have to do it upstairs, it’s become painfully obvious that this thing seems to follow me everywhere.” Mike said.

“Well the activity seems to be exacerbated upstairs.” Carson replied with a smile.

“You like that word, don’t you?” Mike wondered.

“It’s always fun to add new words to a vocabulary.” Carson said.

“Oh, God, I’m working with a child.” Mike sunk his head back into his hands.

“Hey, hey, give me some credit. I’m serious when it calls for it.” Carson said.

“Well this is a situation that would definitely call for it.” Mike lifted his head back up.

“Okay, you want seriousness, this thing, whatever it may be, needs to be dealt with in some way. And the only way we can accurately do that is to figure out what type of spirit, or spirits, we are dealing with, once we know that, then we can get some real productive things done” Carson replied sternly.

“I’ll tell you what kind of spirit it is, you said it yourself, it looks bad. Black and red, two bad smoke colors when it comes to spirits.” Mike said.

“The smoke changed. It’s a whitish gray now.” Carson handed the camera to Mike once again. Mike saw the smoke still around him was, in fact, a much lighter color than it was on the roof.

“So what does this tell us?” Mike wondered.

“It tells us we may very well be dealing with two or more entities.” Carson began. “That woman in the photo doesn’t strike me as evil, so maybe the dark mass is something else.”

“What else could it be?” Mike asked.

“Well maybe it’s the one who killed her. It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve had a case like that.” Carson exclaimed.

“So who’s the killer then?” Mike stood up.

“That’s where we hit a snag.” Carson replied. “The murder was never solved, and there were at least five serious suspects. If I’m remembering right it was a janitor.”

“The one I saw. The one who let me in my room.” Mike added.

“Right.” Carson went on. “It was a janitor; a Civil War veteran, still in the army at the time I think; the hotel’s then owner; another prostitute working there at the time; and a traveling businessman who supposedly didn’t want his family finding out about his upstairs escapades. Now it is most likely that the spirit of this woman is trapped here due to the unsolved murder.”

“So you’re saying that the only way I’m going to be able to live the rest of my life haunt free is to solve a one hundred and thirty year old murder case, that doesn’t even have one single solid suspect.” Mike sighed.

“That’s about the gist of it, yeah.” Carson nodded slowly.

“And now why are they coming to me for this?” Mike asked.

“That’s another one of those million dollar questions I guess.” Carson said. “Could it be that one of your family members was close to her, or even killed her, in the past?”

“My grandmother was the first of our family to step on American soil, in nineteen twenty three.” Mike explained.

“So that would mean, at the time of the murder, all your family was mucking around Stonehenge.” Carson replied. He then stood and thought for a long moment. “Could it be that you’re psychic?” He suggested. “They tend to hoard around the psychic types.”

“I’m not psychic.” Mike dismissed quickly.

‘Well then I guess there’s only one way to figure it out for sure.” Carson said.

“How?” Mike was slightly intrigued.

“We’ll have to ask them.” Carson replied.

“Okay, how do we do that?” Mike presented yet another problem.

“Well that one’s easy, you see…” Carson began.

As Carson spoke Mikes attention shifted to a figure walking down the hall, passing by the frequent open doorways of the large ballroom. The figure was a familiar, but Mike just couldn’t put his finger on it. As the figure strode past one of the nearest openings to them, he spotted one attribute that put it all together. The figure walking through the hall had a beautiful head of red hair.

“Hey!” Mike cut off Carson, who was still explaining how to communicate. He got up and ran toward the redheaded figure of Marie Marksworth.

Marie turned to face him. When she saw it was him, she spun around and began running in the opposite direction. Mike was quick in his pursuit and in a matter of seconds he was right on her tail.

They ran through the twisting corridors of the first floor, as the chase went on Mike began to huff and puff, and the distance between him and Marie increased. He was sure he’d lose her.

Just then, she took another sharp turn; he quickly followed only to be stopped by a short hall, which ended abruptly in a single door. Mike pulled on the door, but found it to be locked. A few seconds later Carson arrived, also out of breath.

“What’s gotten into you?” He wondered as he panted.

“You saw her right?” Mike wondered.

“Man, I was right behind you the whole way and I didn’t see a damn thing.” Carson replied.

“You didn’t see her?” Mike stopped huffing abruptly.

“See who?” Carson still looked confused.

“The girl, the one from the photo.” Mike exclaimed.

“There was nobody in front of you, Mike.” Carson said.

“That’s impossible.” Mike scoffed. “I saw her with my own two eyes, she was there.”

“Maybe you really are psychic.” Carson suggested.

“No,” Mike dismissed the thought, “that’s bullshit.”

“Like ghosts?” Carson asked with a smile.

“Okay, suppose I am psychic,” Mike began, “why is this the first time that its come to me?”

“Your childhood probably repressed it into you psyche until an actual experience with ghosts brought it back out.” Carson said.

“But haven’t other psychics been here before? Why me and not them?” Mike wondered.

“That’s another one of those-” Carson started.

“-Million dollar questions, I know.” Mike completed the thought.

“Oh look at that,” Carson pointed out, “we’re finishing each other’s sentences.” He grinned.

“Yeah, we’re practically married and it’s not even ten o’clock yet.” Mike remarked.

“If only this were Vegas then that would be enough.” Carson laughed.

“Well, if we’re done joking around I’d like to get back to reality.” Mike said, switching back to his normal seriousness. “I really don’t think I’m psychic.”

“Well then how do you explain you seeing that dead prostitute running these halls?” Carson wondered.

“I don’t know.” Mike said. “Let’s just ask them.”

“Let’s just ask them.” Carson reiterated, and they both walked off.



Shortly after their encounter with Marie, Mike and Carson decided they needed to face the room once again for an actual attempt at communication. Carson rounded up Jerry, and another investigator, a tall and slim man, didn’t really speak much.

The four of them were ascending the elevator when Jerry broke the silence.

“Okay, so, let me get this straight,” He began, “we’re going to the haunted room to investigate again. And you expect this to work because you’ve got a new friend.” He glared at Carson.

“Hey, you saw those photos, you know that this could work.” Carson replied.

“I’m not sure about that. We’ve been coming here forever, we were bound to get evidence some how, and I think its just some isolated incident you’ve attached to the new guy.”

“My name’s Mike by the way.” Mike said. “And I’m not a ‘new guy’ I just kind of got sucked into this by Carson.”

“Lucky you.” Jerry spoke sarcastically.

Just then, the elevator dinged and the doors slid gently open, revealing a still empty floor, but with something new. A smell wafted into the small elevator, a smell painfully familiar to Mike, but new to everyone else.

“What the hell smells like a butcher shop?” Jerry winced at the stench.

“Oh, god, what the hell is that?” Carson looked just as disgusted. Just then, he remembered what Mike had said. They both shared a look of disbelief. “Where’s that payphone Mike?” He asked.

“It’s down this way.” Mike led them.

The group walked down the hall, as they did the smell got only more rancid. They quickly strode past the room and towards the rest station at the end. By the time they reached it, the smell was making their eyes water, it was much worse than it ever had been.

“Can we leave please?” Jerry said, plugging his nose.

“No, this is necessary.” Carson replied.

They were all standing before the payphone, directly above them was the sprinkler.

“That’s the one that shot blood at me.” Mike explained, pointing up to it.

“What?” Jerry asked in surprise.

“Jerry,” Carson lifted his hand to him, “please.”

“It was everywhere, I swear.” Mike pointed at the floor, now perfectly clean.

“Your story would certainly explain that horrible smell.” Carson said.

“Please, can we go?” Jerry asked again, nearly choking at the smell.

“Alright, let’s make our way back to the room.” Carson agreed, and they all turned away from the rest area and walked down the hall towards the room.

The group quickly got into the room and sat down, Carson and Mike on the bed, while Jerry and the tall investigator situated themselves on the floor. Jerry pulled out a small box with a tall antenna sticking out of the top of it, he quickly pulled out a pair of speakers as well, which he plugged into the box.

“What’s that?” Mike wondered.

“Without going into specifics, it’s what we’re going to use to make contact.” Carson replied.

“How does it work?” Mike asked.

“Don’t worry about that.” Carson said.

“Well I kind of want to know.” Mike responded.

“If this works, I’ll tell you later, but right now I just want to see what we can get.” Carson said, watching Jerry set it up.

After a few seconds of fidgeting with it, Jerry turned the small device on, and a low static hum billowed from the speakers. Jerry flipped a tiny switch and the low hum turned to quick pulses, then he sat back and left the small box alone.

“Now what?” Mike was puzzled.

“We ask questions.” Carson replied.

“So ask them.” Mike said after a long pause.

“Is there anyone here?” Carson spoke into the air. The box just hummed out its usual static.

“Why are you attached to this man?” Carson asked, pointing to Mike. The box gave no response.

“I told you this wouldn’t work.” Jerry said.

“Just let him do his thing, Jerry.” The tall man finally spoke up.

“This has never worked before, why should it work now?” Jerry asked.

“We have a different variable.” The tall man pointed at Mike.

“Like that makes any difference.” Jerry scoffed.

“Will you two be quiet,” Carson interrupted, “we have things to do.”

“Just face it, this isn’t going to work.” Jerry said.

“It will, just give me a second.” Carson replied. Jerry just sighed and sat back again.

“Look, we all need you to talk, say anything, just let us know that you’re here.” Carson called out to the air again. All of a sudden the box’s stream of static began to sputter, and it released a few quick noises, what sounded almost like syllables. “Now that’s some progress right there.” Carson smiled.

“Who are you?” Mike asked, feeling a little stupid talking to what looked like just still air.

The box responded once again with a small chain of syllables, this time it was much louder and clearer.

“Speak slowly.” Carson instructed.

Speak.” The box replied in a low, raspy tone.

“Yes, speak.” Carson replied. “What is your name?”

Just then, a massive pain struck Mike’s head, he winced with the pain, but nobody seemed to notice. Then it hit him again, and again, soon the pain was constant. His head throbbed more and more with each pulse, he’d never had any kind of headache this bad before. He rubbed his head, but that only caused further discomfort.

The box all of sudden stopped its pulsing static and began to squeal loudly, which intensified Mike’s spontaneous migraine. But the squeal didn’t sound like any feedback Mike had ever heard before; it sounded more like a scream, a human scream. Another wave of horrible pain hit him, and his vision began to blur, everything around him began to fade away, everyone in the people seemed to disappear, and the screams of the static box slowly dissipated. He began to feel weak, he fell back and his vision went dark. Mike had blacked out.



Mike awoke and swung back up quickly, only to find himself on a couch in the lobby. As he looked around he saw that everything was amiss from what he’d known. The couch he was sitting on was a dark green, and much more decorative than the one’s he’d seen before. None of the elevators were there, replaced only by empty wall.

He stood up slowly and tried to figure out what had happened. He rubbed his head, which no longer hurt, and continued looking around. The lobby was packed with people, all dressed in expensive looking suits and dresses, but all the clothing looked different as well, nineteenth century looking. He then turned to the wall of old photographs; to find it, like the elevator area, oddly empty. He looked at all the people passing him by, all were ignoring him, he reached out to grab a man passing by, but his hand sank straight through the passing man, who looked as if he couldn’t even see Mike.

He looked in horror as every person he reached out to grab just slipped through his fingers. He tried to grab everyone near him, but he fell through them all. Mike wandered through the crowded lobby, running his hands through all the people, a look of terror plastered on his face.

His eyes darted back and forth, watching his hands go through all these oblivious looking people. Then one of his hands hit something, something solid. His eyes shifted quickly and saw his hand had landed on someone’s shoulder, a woman in a bright red dress. He looked up at her face, to be greeted with the smile of Marie Marksworth.

“Oh, Jesus Christ!” He pulled his hand away and stumbled backward through a crowd of phantom people.

“Just relax.” Marie said calmly, approaching him.

“What the hell is this?” Mike yelled at her, rushing to keep his distance. “Am I having a stroke?”

“You’re not having a stroke.” Marie tried to calm him.

“I’m having a stroke!” He insisted, checking his pulse.

“This isn’t a stroke, this is real.” Marie said.

“Then why are all these people just flowing through my hands?” Mike asked, still frantic.

“They can’t see you.” Marie explained.

“That’s obvious!” Mike snapped.

“You’re a ghost to them.” Marie went on.

“So I am dead?” Mike deduced.

“You’re not dead, you’re a seer.” Marie exclaimed.

“Okay, what the hell is that?” Mike was growing more and more confused by the second.

“You can make contact with the world of the dead. But you wouldn’t, so I had to bring you in myself.” Marie said.

“So I’m a psychic?” Mike looked at her like she was stupid.

“No, your more than that, you can actually go into the spirit world, you can see it first hand.” Marie said.

“But why me? Why now?” Mike was looking around frantically again.

“I don’t know why it was you, but there aren’t that many of you, you’re actually the first real seer to come into the hotel.” Marie said, getting closer to him.

“But why now?” Mike asked again.

“Like your annoying friend said, your memory was suppressed until you actually had an encounter with one of us.” Marie explained.

“You heard that?” Mike was surprised.

“I heard every word you said since you stepped foot in the hotel.” Marie replied. “Civil war era cheap f**k?”

“Sorry about that.” Mike apologized, “I was just under a lot of stress, and that shower of blood you sent on me didn’t help.”

“Shower of blood?” Marie looked confused.

“You turned on the fire sprinkler, and made it raid blood, God knows from where.” Mike said.

“I turned on the sprinkler to get your attention, but I did not make it blood.” Marie said.

“Well somebody did.” Mike exclaimed.

“Oh, God,” Marie had a look of horror on her face, “you contacted him didn’t you?”

“Who?” Mike was lost.

“The man, the b*****d.” She said quietly.

“Who’s the b*****d?” Mike wondered.

“Keep your voice down.” She commanded. “He’s here, and he can hear you.”

“Why don’t you just explain all this from the beginning.” Mike whispered, following her instructions.

“Alright look,” she began, “this place is a spiritual realm, if you can’t make it to the afterlife, you stay in a place like this until you’re at peace.”

“Why aren’t you at peace?” Mike asked.

“If you were on the worse end of a murder, would you be?” Marie replied.

“Good point.” Mike said. “But where do I come in on all this?”

“You need to expose my killer. Find out who it is, I need to know.” Marie said.

“I don’t know who it is, the murder was never solved.” Mike explained.

“What?” Marie yelled, but quickly returned to a quiet tone. “How is that possible?”

“It happens more often than you think.” Mike said.

“Well you need to figure it out.” Marie said sternly.

“Why can’t you?” Mike asked.

“The b*****d won’t let me.” She replied.

“So what makes you think I can do it?” Mike wondered.

“You’re a seer, you’re stronger than it, just don’t let it send you back.” Marie said.

“I don’t have any idea how to do any of this.” Mike rubbed his head with his hands again.

“Look, chances are if you let the b*****d anywhere near you it’ll send you back. So just keep your distance from it.” Marie said.

“Easy enough, I guess.” Mike said. “But then how do I even expose it?”

“Okay, the time here is the same time it is in the regular world, and I died sometime after three o’clock in the morning, so I’ll have to bring you back then so you can do it.”

“But how do I do it?” Mike asked again.

“Just go up to the room, and literally expose who ever it is. But we’ll need your ghost hunter friend in on this as well.”

“Why?” Mike wondered.

“He’s got that static box, I’d talk through it but that’s just another thing the b*****d won’t let me do. So you need him to be in the room with the static box, and when you see who it is, call out their name, as many times as you can, we need it recorded.” Marie explained.

“Will that be enough?” Mike asked.

“It should be, just as long as the outside world knows, and I know.”  Marie said.

As the two both stood in the middle of the lobby, the phantom people passing by, the ground began to silently rumble.

“What’s happening?” Mike asked, looking at the floor.

“Oh, God, it’s coming.” Marie said, and ran off through the crowd.

“Wait, hey!” Mike called out to her, but it was no use, she was gone in seconds.

The rumbling got worse and worse, and slowly the people began to disappear, as well as the happy atmosphere. Now an empty lobby, dank and gray, surrounded Mike. He looked around quickly, for anyone, or anything.

All of a sudden, the rumbling ceased, and Mike stood still. The air felt different, there was almost a charge in it, and he could feel the hair on his neck stand up.

Mike spun around quickly only to be engulfed by a dark mass.

“Look, he’s waking up.” Carson said, standing over Mike, back in the regular world. “Damn, you were out for a good ten minutes.” He said as Mike sat up.

“Carson, we need to have a talk.” Mike said simply.


© 2011 Mitchell Goth

Author's Note

Mitchell Goth
as always, ignore minor grammar problems and the lack of indents, this portion might be a little long, but i had to lump it all together.

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Added on October 27, 2011
Last Updated on October 27, 2011


Mitchell Goth
Mitchell Goth

Janesville, WI

I'm a newer writer. I've been writing as a hobby for years, but more recently I've been looking to publish my novels. I am currently working on a paranormal fiction project as my top priority, with se.. more..

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