I currently live in a little town out west. Well, I say town. Not exactly what you picture though. It’s more of a ghost town than anything really. Population 4. The only businesses that are open are the post office, the library, a singular, privately owned pharmacy, a gas station, and a hotel. The Hotel Bella Muerte. I’ve worked there for the better part of a century, ever since I was 21.
Unlike most kids my age who jumped straight out of high school and into college, I had other plans……or should I say other plans had me? I lived the town over from the previously mentioned one, a town that had far more people and businesses. I worked from place to place for a couple of years, nothing substantial, but it payed the bills. One day I came home from work, picked up my mail, and headed inside my house. As I brewed a pot of fresh coffee, I absent mindedly flipped through the mail. Bills and junk mail were all I ever seemed to get, but then, I hit the second to last piece of mail and it felt….well…odd. It’s hard to describe but, the letter was ornate to say the least. It had a thick texture, made from what I could only imagine was some pretty expensive paper. In the most beautiful, flowing script, was printed my full name, clear as day, Autumn Winters. It had no return address, and it didn’t have my address either, just my name. The fact that someone knew me intimately enough to hand deliver a letter to me without me knowing was a strange thought to me. I had very few friends because I grew up an army brat. Only a handful of people knew me well enough to actually know where I lived: out of sheer curiosity I then preceded to open the letter.
On the finest parchment paper, in the most delicate letterhead, read the following words:
Dear Miss Autumn Winters,
I am writing you to offer you the most prestigious position at our establishment, The Hotel Bella Muerte! For over 200yrs our establishment has been a haven for the weary and restless, the old, the young and the forgotten, and men and women and animals alike. Recently we have had an opening for a new caretaker and would like to offer the position to you.
The letter went on to say that along with the position a hotel room/small apartment came with the job, along with a salary four times what I was currently making a year. The name of the hotel seemed familiar, yet everything about the letter and position seemed too good to be true, like a scam of some sort. That’s when I noticed at the bottom of the job offer was the address. That my friends, was when my interest was truly piqued. It was only one town over. That’s when it all clicked in my head. The Hotel Bella Muerte.
Ever since I could remember there have been rumors and stories about the Hotel Bella Muerte. Strange tales that seem too odd to be true, tales of ghosts, strange travelers and more. We heard the rumors sure, but few people I knew actually believed them. The kids in the town I lived in would say that if you set foot in the hotel you would be driven to madness and go “loco”. The tales were just so bizarre, how could we believe them. So, after a few days of deliberating, I wrote back accepting the job opportunity. I got a letter back a few days later to congratulate me and set the start date. I was to start the next Monday, around noonish.
As I got ready that following Monday, I put on my best clothes, did my makeup and hair, you know the “girlie things”, tripped over thin air as I went to the kitchen to get my coffee to go, then I got in my 1965 red convertible mustang and made the short drive. On the way into town I passed by, well nothing. The land is completely barren outside the town I grew up in, except for the tumbleweeds, brush and bracken that looked perfect to start a brush fire with, and the few twisted, gnarled, elder trees that once stood tall perhaps but now were nothing more than sorry shadows of what they used to be. Think typical western movie scenes. The town that held the hotel, looked much more of the same with rundown buildings that barely could be considered standing. The further into the “ghost town” you got, the more lifelike things became. The gas station was the first thing that looked like it held any living beings. The pharmacy was next, then the library, and then the post office. They were all about equal in size, looked just as run down as the other, with peeling paint that fell in ribbons to the ground when the wind was strong and acting up. And suddenly I saw it for the first time, The Hotel Bella Muerte, live and in person, and it did not even compare to what I had in mind.
You see, when I pictured it I thought of a rundown building, filled with cockroaches and rats, with only the lowest kind of people staying there, the kind of place that the police did stakeouts at to bust drug dealers and hookers. What other kind of place could be in this rundown town? But I was so, so wrong. The sight that greeted me as I pulled up to the parking lot of the place was one I could barely believe. The hotel was, in a word, magnificent. It looked like it belonged in a fancy city, not a barren wasteland. The outside of the hotel fit the town and the time period of the 1800’s, with a high rise balcony and white pillars that stool tall and straight. The brickwork was perfectly inlaid, faded red in color due to the wear and tear of time, yet still hardy in structure. I imagine it looked only a little better in its heyday, if nothing else than for its newness. Whoever owned the building took great care of it, whether in restoration or simple upkeep. It was something to see for sure. As I got out of my car and walked up the front steps, admiring all the intricate woodwork that went into its structure, I looked above the front door and read the sign, The Hotel Bella Muerte Est. 1802. I turned the knob of the old door, no creaks, or groans, just silence as the door pivoted on its hinges, and walked inside.
Now as impressed as I was with the outside of the place, it didn’t even compare to what was before my eyes. As you entered into the lobby the first thing that would come to attention was the grand staircase. Made of beautiful mahogany wood, rich in cherry brown undertones, swooping as it dipped from its height down to the floor. To the left I became aware of the lobby desk. It was the same type of wood as the staircase, with intricate designs that swirled down its length, carved out by some long dead carpenter. Behind the desk were the letterboxes, with the numbers carefully and expertly placed in their centers, numbering from 1 to 15. The parlor was to the right, it looked as though it was frozen in time like the rest of the place, with old furniture with floral designs and high backs, to the wallpaper that looked much of the same. It was stupendous.
After I had gotten done admiring the lobby, I slowly walked over to the desk. No one was there, not a single soul. I rang the bell on the counter yet no one came, and after a few more minutes of waiting, I called out a “Hello?” and still no one came. I began to wonder what I should do next, in our correspondence I never got a phone number, despite noticing an old rotary phone on the desk near the letterboxes. Then I realized, I actually never got a name of the person I was corresponding with. I didn’t even know who my employer was. As I grappled with this realization the phone began to ring breaking the silence. I almost jumped out of my skin, scared shitless by the loud ringing in the otherwise quiet room. After no one magically appeared to answer it, it fell silent after the fourth ring, only to begin ringing once more. After regaining my composure, I walked around the desk to the back, looking around as I did so and feeling as if I were a child about to be caught with my hand in the cookie jar, and I picked up the phone.
“Hello?” I answered slowly.
“Yes Is this Autumn?”
“Yes, yes it is.” I replied “Who is this?”
“I’m the owner, Mary, and my sister, Martha, is also on the phone.” the voice said.
“Oh! Hi!” I said, stunned by the fact that the owners called instead of actually being there in person to greet me. “Are you coming by or are you here somewhere?”
“Oh no hun, we aren’t there. We are never at the hotel that would be ridiculous.” Mary said as her sister Martha chimed in, in the background, “Oh that is terribly ridiculous.” she said giggling.
“Oh ok.” I said now terribly confused.
“No we were just calling to let you know there is a letter with your instructions for the job next to the phone and to let you know that we will be checking in from time to time. You are the only employee. The last one left us a bit…..well…..shall we say unexpectedly.”
The last one?? What does that mean the last one, she said that as if there were a series of ones.
“Well I take it that means I’m starting immediately then?”
“We wouldn’t have it any other way, love.” Martha replied. “Everything you’ll need to know to run the place is in the letter, just make sure you read everything and don’t skip anything.” Mary added. Then both in unison said “We’ll be in touch dear!” as they hung up the phone.
I was a little weirded out by the whole conversation to be honest. It seemed so callous yet rushed despite the cheery nature of their voices and reactions, and the weird pet names of course.
I looked at the table next to the phone. As the sisters had said, there was a letter. I opened the letter quickly with the ornate silver letter opener conveniently placed in the first drawer I happened to look through. Out from the envelope popped a long, and I mean a 2 foot letter, made of the same parchment paper as my offer letter. As I started to read I became increasingly confused and worried. What had I gotten myself into I thought. The letter started out normally enough. It outlined the general duties of the job. How to receive payment, $50 per night, stunningly low I thought for such a place as this, but I’ve never been in the hotel business and I wouldn’t know otherwise. Housekeeping, even down to the way they wanted the toilet paper changed. The wrong way with the paper going under the roll, but hey, who am I to judge? Last but not least was written a long set of rules that honestly made no sense. Written in bold, red print was the following set of rules:
Rule #126 – Never forget to lock the doors at night, you don’t want to let them in.
Rule #127 – Make sure you feed Jesus every night, or else.
Rule #128 – Only take the trash out in daylight hrs.
Rule #129 – Make sure you face the dolls in the doll room facing the wall at night.
Rule #130 - Don’t ever take candy from the pharmacist.
Rule #131 – Never return a book late to the librarian.
Rule #132 – Always lick the stamps in the presence of the postman.
Rule #133 – Never ever leave the town under any circumstances or you’ll regret it.
And that was that. Not threatening at all, or bizarre, or extremely specific at all. Just a normal set of rules that made the place seem a little more…..undesirable. Now I was really thinking I had got myself into something, and not something good. And yet……I was thoroughly intrigued. I mean, what happens if I leave the town? Why did I have to lock the doors at night and who was “them”? Why did I have to take the trash out during the day? And who the hell was Jesus? Nothing made sense.
Since I was gonna be here awhile, I decided I might as well settle in. I looked at the letter again and at the end was my room number and in the envelope was my room key. Room number 16. Turned out there was one extra room in the hotel. After I got the key I put the letter back into its prior place and I turned to walk up the stairs to explore what was going to be my new home. The doors on the second floor spanned three hallways and a dining room attached to a kitchen. Each room numbered 1 through 16 alternated going from the left side of the hallway and then adjacent to the room on the right and back again. The walls seemed to ever expand and contract at the same time if you stood in one place for too long, a dizzying effect to be sure. It reminded me of the shining, no thank you. As I walked the halls, reaching the dining room, I passed by and I could have sworn I saw a dark shadow pass by the half opened door but when I looked inside there was nothing. There were only the tables and chairs and waiting tables lining the walls. Strange I thought but just shrugged it off and continued down the hall. Number 13, number 14, number 15 and finally room number 16.
As I jiggled the old skeleton key in its lock, there appeared to be a slight mumbling coming from the other side of the door. I promptly stopped to listen, but there was nothing, not a single solitary sound. So I proceeded to open the door once unlocked. My room, like the rest of the place was absolutely beautiful. The queen sized bed with ornate canopy, all white billowing in the soft breeze from the open window, stood in the left hand side of the room towards the middle of the length of wall. The small sitting area was to the right with a wardrobe, small couch, and two high backed chairs of the same make as those in the sitting room downstairs, same floral patterns and everything. The open balcony windows were straight ahead. As I walked to them I became all too aware of the mumbling again. I spun quickly around to see that in the corner of the right side of the room was a birds perch and cage.
When I say bird, I don’t mean a parrot or a cockatoo or even a parakeet or finch. What I saw sitting there was a raven, and it was talking! Just strange phrases and random words, but human words nonetheless. I began to approach the bird and it let out a loud squawk and began to flap its wings and flew straight into my face blinding me for a second. Now, I think it would be fair to mention, for visuals sake, that I hate birds. Yes they are or can be pretty, yes they have beautiful songs and musical notes that they chipperly sing out, and yes they perhaps make good companions for some people. I, however, am not one of those people and I especially hate when their little or in this case big flappy wings come flying in my face or near me or in my visual field. So of course I screamed out loud, which only made it squawk louder with its horrible croaky voice. Then as soon as it had hit me, it flew away. I took my arms down after a moment, once I knew it was gone, which had been trying to shield my face, and begun to look around the room. Not a bird in sight. Had I just dreamed I saw that too or was I starting to go “Loco” in that hotel as the many rumors from my childhood had said you would if you stepped into the Hotel Bella Muerte.
After calming down a bit, I began to shrug off the fear and replaced it with determination to settle in and set up the room with my things. Once I had finished, at the exact moment I put the last pair of pants in the wardrobe, I heard a strange sound. A little ding. That’s when I realized I heard the bell from downstairs. Someone was in the lobby………
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