The Hotel Bella Muerte: The Library Part 8

“Hello?” I said as I awaited a response.

I only heard slight crackling and static over the phone. “Hello, who is this?” I asked again a little louder this time.

“This is your conscious speaking………” The voice on the other end of the line replied.

“Oh great. What can I do for you jiminy cricket?” I responded sarcastically.

“I…..I need to speak to you about the hotel. Not everything is what is seems.” The phone entity said.

“Yeah, I kinda figured that out already.” I said getting annoyed. “So what’s your take on the hotel?”

“Don’t trust the girl in room #1.” The voice hissed.

“You mean Deborah? She seems so nice.” I said as I looked around the room trying to see if I was still alone. I didn’t want Deb coming in if the phone entity and I were going to be talking about her.

“Just beware, she may seem nice but she is the reason for your suffering.” The phone entity said.

“Well thank you for the advice, but unless you can be less cryptic about things, I think I’ll go now. It’s getting late and I need to get up early in the morning.” I said as I began to move the receiver from my ear.

On the other side of the line I heard, “Just listen to me!” as I hung up the phone and placed it back on the desk.

I sat there a moment longer, contemplating what the phone entity had said. What was so bad about Deb and why was she “The reason for my suffering”? The last couple of days were strange sure, but I was hardly suffering. I got up from the stool behind the desk and headed for my room. Before I went inside I looked once more at the picture just outside my door. The picture unnerved me for a reason I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Maybe it was the fact that everyone in the picture had been dead or gone for over 200 years, maybe it was the man who built the town and his arrogant, self righteous stare, or maybe it was simply a secret that the picture hadn’t divulged yet. Either way, I moved away from the painting quickly and headed inside my room.

Once I had shut my door I changed into my night clothes, a pink pajama set with red hearts that I had bought as a Valentine’s Day present to myself a few years back when I didn’t have a Valentine. Once done I removed my makeup and washed my face. I looked at myself in the mirror. The glue from the stamps and the elixir did a number on me; I had a sickly hue to my skin that made me pale as a ghost, a look that didn’t exactly scream health and vigor. I decided all that I needed was a good night’s sleep and a good healthy breakfast in the morning. I climbed into bed and for the first night since arriving, I slept peacefully and dream free.

In the morning I woke up feeling refreshed and like I could take on the day. As I dressed I thought about all that had happened over the last few days and made a silent vow to make the most of each day, regardless of what that particular day held. Once I finished, I walked down to the kitchen area past the dining hall, thought of a wonderful full breakfast, and opened the oven to find it waiting for me. I had always loved fresh biscuits. I opened the fridge to find the rest of my meal, a tropical fruit bowl and two hard boiled eggs. I took my meal out to the dining room table, sat down, and enjoyed my meal. As I sat there absent mindedly poking at the mango with my fork and staring out the window out to the alleyway, I saw Deb go through. I quickly got up from my seat and dashed to the window to see where she could possibly be going. To my knowledge there was nothing but barren land behind the town. Being the nosey person I was I decided to follow her.

By the time I got down to the first floor and out the door, all I saw was the sleeve of her dress as she darted behind the hotel. I walked/trotted along as fast as I could without being heard. Maybe it had been the warning from the phone entity from last night, but I was feeling a little suspicious of her. The voice on the phone had told me to beware because she wasn’t all she seemed. I began to wonder if the voice had been right, now that I followed her. As I began to wonder about my safety, I heard a slow singing start. It started out slow and gradually sped up as the volume increased. When I rounded the corner I was surprised by what I found.

There in the clearing of the wasteland behind the town was Deb, singing as though in prayer and worship as she danced. What she said I couldn’t understand and who she prayed to I didn’t know, but the words flowed through the air with a blissful, melodic sound. As I stood there watching her I hoped whoever she sang to could hear her and granted her whatever she wished. All too soon the song ended and the only sound left to hear was the wind that swept through the land, whistling as it went. She turned then and saw me standing there peeking out from the back corner of the building. I tried to quickly hide myself but it was in vain; I had been caught.

“You don’t have to hide, you can come out.” She said to me.

As I came out from around the corner feeling as if I was a toddler busted for drawing with crayons on the wall. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to spy. I just saw you from the window and came to see what you were doing behind the hotel.”

“I was singing a song to the Sun Mother. The song is called “Hymn To The Sun”. Did you like it?” Deb asked

“I thought it was beautiful. What was the song about?” I asked her as I came closer to where she stood.

“It’s a song where we give thanks to The Sun Mother and all she does for us and we listen to the sounds of nature as they call out to us. “She told me. Then she added “It’s a song of my people and it is even more beautiful when sung as a group.”

“Your people? Who are your people?” I asked.

“My people lived on this land long ago for hundreds of years, long before there was ever a town here.” She answered.

“But…..if you are…..how can you be….I mean….” I struggled to find the right words that wouldn’t offend her.

She giggled as she turned to look towards the sun. “You mean how is it that I’m a Native Puebloan if I’m black?”

“Well….yes.” I answered honestly.

“Many of the first cowboys in the west were the people native to the land and people of color, those who fled slavery for a better life and later on, after the civil war, ex-slaves who were in search of a way to make a living. My ancestors descended from both. My mother is pueblo and my father was black. But it doesn’t take away or dilute my ancestry. I’m proud and honored to be descended from both.”

“That’s amazing.” I said now in awe of her. “What brought you to this town? Was it the place where your ancestors lived?”

“Yes, it was. This was once sacred land to my people, but unfortunately like many Native peoples all over the world, others stole their land and sought to colonize it to their benefit and purpose, driving them out. I come here every year in the summer to visit the land of my people and to pay homage to those that were lost to us.” She replied.

“I….I’m so sorry. I know I can’t give the land back to your people, but if there is anything I can do to help you or make your stay better I will certainly try.” I told her.

“Thank you, that means a lot coming from one of the care takers. You’re different, I like that.” Deb said.

After we finished our conversation, we parted ways. She went to walk on the outskirts of town, and I headed back to the hotel. The voice that had warned me on the phone had been wrong. She was merely one of the people who belonged to the land, and a kind person at that. What was the voice so sure of that it felt the need to warn me of her? As I re-entered the hotel I saw sitting on the desk a stack of books, a couple of pill bottles, and a note. The note read:

Glad to see you are up walking around and being nosey. You left these at my place. Hope you can return them on time!

-Jasper Moon

I quickly opened the first book in the stack, looking at the checkout dates and return times listed on the inside, front cover. I began to panic when I saw that they were due that day at noon. I looked at the grandfather clock which read 11:56am. I scooped up the remaining items I had to finish returning from Mr. Elberton’s room, and ran out the door. I didn’t know what would happen if I was late to return the books but I didn’t want to find out. I nearly tripped over the front steps on my way down them; my mother had always called me Grace in jest growing up because of my clumsiness. As I sprinted toward the library I heard a laugh in the distance and someone call out, “Run girl run!” followed by even more obnoxious laughter. I thought, God how I couldn’t stand Jasper.

I reached the front door of the library in record time. I was out of breath as I started up the stairs, I needed to work out more I guess. The library, like the post office, was similar in size and depth. I didn’t think there was too many books that could possibly be inside, but I was sure the ones I was carrying would be greatly missed if I didn’t hurry. I passed under the metal pole that extended past the building’s first few steps and looked up at it as I went. I became aware all too suddenly that even though this town held quite a few buildings, none of them had the town name printed on their signs. Come to think of it I didn’t even know what the town name was. It had never been mentioned in any letter, conversation, or even in the childhood stories I grew up with, it had simply always been nameless. I shrugged off this newest revelation and turned the knob of the door, opening it.

The library inside was not what I had expected at all. I had expected a mostly barren and desolate place with only a few dozen books and half of those with moth eaten pages, a few overhanging light bulbs like in the post office, and an old man or woman who would shush you if you spoke too loud. What I saw in front of me was nothing of the sort. It was a grand library that looked to be the size of at least 10 buildings wide and twice as many deep. Not at all the size I had expected given the outside of the building. I backed up out the door and shut it in front of me, turned to walk down the stairs and to the side of the building. Just like I had thought I had seen, a small building the size of the post office. I quickly dashed up the stairs once again, taking them two at a time, and went back inside. Once again I was greeted with the same, larger inside than out, room. I was beyond shocked at its sheer size and elegance. There were, not one, but two grand staircases that wound around, swirling up towards the second floor; one on each side of the room. There were books upon books upon books inside. Books that looked old and new, some in languages I recognized and others I didn’t, and some small and thick alike. The woodwork inside was fashioned in similar make as the hotel, alluring and beautiful. I stood there admiring the place when I heard a voice up ahead.

“Excuse me, may I help you?”

I looked from the second floor that seemed to span ever onward, right ahead of me to see a young woman, about my height, small in stature and dressed in the same period clothes as all the other people I had met so far, not including Deb. I walked up the wooden desk in the center of the room where it sat between the stair cases. Getting a closer look at the woman who sat at the desk, she looked quite plain. She almost seemed out of place in that library. She had long dark brown hair in plaited braids that she piled atop her head in a bun, a floral patterned soft yellow dress that came down to the floor, and a facial expression that read “try me.” All in all she seemed almost stoic in nature and hardened by some event that had happened sometime in her life. She was pretty, with dark blue eyes the color of the night sky at dusk and a fair complexion, but plain nonetheless. I approached her with a shy smile and placed my books on the counter space on top of the desk.

“Hello, my name is Autumn, I work at the hotel next door. I was hoping to return these. A client of ours left them in his room. I hope they aren’t late, I came as soon as I was able.” I said still smiling. After a few minutes of standing there with no reply and a beady look from the librarian, my smile dropped.

“Your late. They were due at noon today and it is,” As she checked her pocket watch, “ 12:02pm.”

“Thank goodness, they are only a two minutes late.” I stated as I let out a slight giggle. The librarian continued to stare at me with that same disapproving look as I began to look elsewhere due to the harsh stare.

“Late is late. You’ll have to pay a fee.” She said, finally taking her eyes off me, looking down to her record book.

“Well, I’m sure I can do that. How much is the fee?” I asked her.

“It’s not your ordinary fee. We don’t take cash here.” She told me never looking up from the book she now started writing in.

“Okay….What do you except as payment then?” I asked her as she looked up from her book.

“We accept time as payment. Nothing more nothing less, 1 hour per late book and it looks like you have 9. You can begin immediately.” She said.

“Wait, 9 hours of what?” I asked thoroughly confused.

“9 hours of work.” She replied as if I had just asked the stupidest question possible.

“Oh, I can do that no problem! I always thought about working in a library when I was little.” I told her.

She looked very unimpressed. “You can start by organizing the books in the fiction wing upstairs. Take these and put them in the right places.” She said as she handed me an armful of books. “Just take the staircase to the left you can’t miss it.”

With that, I made my way with the armful of books to the left staircase and made the twirling climb. Once on the second floor I saw what she meant. Right in front of me was a beautifully, hand painted sign that read fiction. I looked at the first book on the top of the stack, entitled Journey out West by some author I had never heard of before. Out of curiosity I opened the book, but was quickly regretful for having done so. In a second I blacked out and was transported through time and space to the setting the book was in. I was out west, probably somewhere on the plains, and there was a herd of buffalo in front of me, snorting and grunting at my presence. I found myself going along with the story of the book, experiencing the journey of a rugged man, who worked for the railroad, headed out west towards California. I was chased by buffalo, shot by a fellow railway worker, and hunted as an outlaw after I stole from the railroad company. I felt everything the main character experienced and it was terrible. Only when the book ended did I snap back to reality. It felt like an eternity that I had been in the book, but I looked at my watch and only 2 hours had past. I tried to shake the weird feeling off, and continue with my work.

The second book had the title printed on the inside cover. In order for me to properly place it I would have to open it, so I did. The title read 500 Feet Under the Sea, and just like that, I was transported into the tale. It was a story about a marine biologist who would often dive under the sea with dolphins and other aquatic life, surveying the ocean and recording her findings. It was a pleasant book, one that I didn’t mind being in. When it was over I was a little sad to leave. I once again snapped back to reality in a fraction of a second.

I moved on to the next book and the next one after that, opening the covers and emerging myself in each story. I felt everything the main characters felt and saw all that they did. To be so fully immersed in each story was extraordinary and wonderful. Once I finished there was only about two hrs left on my clock left to work. So I went back downstairs to the librarian to let her know I finished. There she sat in her chair reading and writing in the same record book.

“I’ve finished returning all the books you gave me!” I said triumphantly.

“So you have.” She replied in a monotone voice. “Here, one last book for you. This one is nonfiction.”

The book she handed me was quite old and worn. The cover looked like it held on by a thread, and the pages looked torn and frayed. I opened the book only to realize it wasn’t a book at all but a personal diary, who the author was it didn’t say, but I had my suspicions. I was transported into this book as well but it was different than all the others. In this book, I was once again a part of the book, but everything was in the first person narrative of the writer themselves. Everything felt more real, more raw somehow. I felt myself being jostled on a train headed to a land unknown. I experienced firsthand the hopes, dreams, and aspirations of the writer. They wanted a fresh start in the new land, a place to call home and simply be more than they had always been. They wanted so many things, but as the story progressed things began to look more and more disheartening.

In this book the writer chronicled their day to day life as they began their fresh start. The land was everything they had hoped it to be. Everything was perfect, until the native people began to push back. In the daily logs, it was said how the people would come to their camps late at night and steal everything that they could if it was left out. The people began to guard their territory and become menacing, causing great fear for the writer. Everything came to a head the night the townspeople left their camps to drive out the native people. The writer knew it was wrong but desperately wanted a new life so much that they turned a blind eye to what had been done. They knew in their hearts that some sort of retribution would take place, but had no idea when. The story then went on to show me the happenings of that night, when everything changed.

Fire engulfed much of the town and people were heard screaming in the distance. The writer knew there was nothing they could do but write, so write they did, cataloging moment by moment the events that unfolded. The chanting and singing grew loud in the night, as the screams rang out, and they seldom stopped unless by force. The room the writer was in was somewhere in the town, and heat filled it, pouring in from the streets. The door broke open and a dark figure loomed in the doorway, threatening and large. It held a bow in one hand and an arrow in another, as the figure pulled back on the bow with the arrow pointing at the writer, I felt their fear and heard them scream. Then before the arrow could loose from its bow, a man came then to the rescue striking the figure down with one heavy blow. Gunshots began to ring out in the night and the chanting ceased, fleeing for the hills outside the town, the damage the people had come to do had been done. As the writer stayed huddled up in the corner the man who had rescued them came closer, and took their hand, leading them out of the hot home and into the street. In the light of the fires I could see for the first time who the writers savior had been. It was Jasper, Jasper Moon. I was shocked by this, but before I could find out what happened for the rest of the night the book ended all too soon. I snapped back, disappointed that I didn’t get to find out what happened to the town after that.

As I stood there the librarian never looked up at me from her work. All she did was point me in the right direction to the nonfiction section. I placed the book on the shelf, not knowing what to think of the experience. I noticed that there were several more diaries on the shelf and resolved to read them one day. I looked at my watch, as the timer went off signaling the end of my time here at the library. I walked silently out of the library, being sure not to bother the librarian on the way out. As I headed back to the hotel, I thought of all I had just experienced, the hope, those hopes being dashed, the fear, and the relief at the end of that night. As I entered the hotel I felt tired, as if I had run a marathon. That’s when I hear the phone ring once again.

“Hello?” I said as I answered it.

“I tried to warn you.” The voice spoke.

“Ah if it isn’t jiminy cricket. What can I do for you this time?” I said sarcastically.

“I tried to warn you about Deborah. She will curse you and…….” But before the voice could even finish I butted in.

“Listen here, Deb is a nice person, she hasn’t cursed me and not that it is any of your cricket business but I don’t trust you or your judgment. Unless you identify yourself I don’t much care what you have to say.” I said with anger rising in my voice.

Right then I heard the line click, then a thump sounded from upstairs. Thinking it couldn’t be a coincidence I rushed upstairs to where a now scraping sound seemed to originate. Room #9. I unlocked the door and thrusted it open. What I saw on the other side I wasn’t prepared for………