Breakfast and Black Butterflies |ONC 2021|

Ch. 3: Welcome to Haven Hot Springs

Con set his bag down, rubbing at his shoulder where the strap had pressed down on his freshly healed collarbone. He swept his gaze along the pictures behind the desk, grimacing at the abundance of creepy children staring down at him. Why did they always look like they were seconds away from dying?

At least he hadn't seen any dolls. Yet.

Resigned, Con tapped the bell. The resulting ding! reverberated in his teeth and made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. The sound echoed through the room, lingering longer than Con thought was necessary. He glared down at the bell just to rear back in disgust. A tarantula sat where the bell had been, just inches from his hand. 

As he watched, it waved a leg at him. Con inhaled deeply and shut his eyes, trying to calm his heart. It took a second before he could convince himself to open his eyes. When he did, a startled "Oh!", forced itself out of his lungs.

"Welcome to Haven Hot Springs. I'm Clarice, owner and proprietor of our beautiful hotel."

A tiny old woman with silver-grey hair pulled back in a tight chignon stared up at him, her pale eyes magnified by thick glasses balanced on the end of her nose. Her cheeks were sunken, her skin so translucent Con could see traceries of blue veins. 

Except, the blood ran black beneath the skin.

All Con could do was stare, digging blunt fingernails into the palms of his hands to keep from screaming. Or running. He blinked hard, forcing himself to breathe slowly.

"Are you checking in, sir?" Clarice asked, her voice as creaky as her joints. "Do you have a reservation?"

"Y-Yes," Con managed between clenched teeth, still struggling with his delusion. "Should be under Brennan."

She pushed her glasses farther up her nose, magnifying her eyes even more. Con tried hard not to focus on the black blood vessels running through the whites. Distraction was usually the key to not looking like a psycho, staring at things that weren't actually there. So Con picked up one of the pamphlets at random, flicking it open with shaking fingers.

A black-and-white picture of a woman in an elegant, dark dress was the first thing he saw. The caption below declared her the founder of the Haven Hot Springs. He turned his attention to the next picture, showing the hotel back in the 1800s, filled with well-dressed men and women. A list bulleted with black fleur de lis gave the supposed health benefits of the spring.

He couldn't help but snort at the claims concerning mental health, stress and insomnia. No wonder Mercy had practically shoved him onto the plane.

Cautiously, Con looked back up at Clarice. The paper crinkled loudly as his fingers clenched into fists.

She wasn't old now. She was young, with rich, chocolate-colored hair, skin like cream and roses, her blue eyes clear and sparkling. Dainty gold-rimmed glasses perched on her nose and she raised a perfect brow at him.

"You'll be staying with us for a week?" she said, her tone obviously indicating this was the second time she'd asked him.

Breathe slowly, he ordered himself. Look her in the eye. Smile. Answer the question. It took every strand of willpower he possessed to follow those steps and open his mouth without screaming. 

"That's right," he said, trying to smooth the crumpled pamphlet as discreetly as possible. He glanced down, swearing viciously in his mind when he realized the woman in the photo was the one he was seeing behind the desk.

The clacking of the keyboard irritated him, making his left eyelid twitch. Con finally gave in and rubbed at his eye, gently pressing his finger against the over-stimulated muscle. He kept his other eye focused on the pamphlet, scanning uselessly over the words. Apparently, famous people had visited back in its heyday.

And it was supposedly haunted.

Con glared at the brief quotes, snatches of the paranormal experiences visitors had supposedly had. It wasn't so much that Con didn't believe. He'd just never given it much thought. He tapped at the claims. If something pulls my blankets off in the middle of the night, I'm leaving.

"We don't refund visits cut short."

Con flinched as Clarice answered what he'd thought was something he'd said in his mind. He blinked and looked up, desperate to get to his room. Desperate to be alone where no one else could watch his brain explode. She was once again a slightly scary old lady, her wizened mouth puckered in what he thought was meant to be a smile.

His eyes darted to the stairs before he managed to return the smile. "Good to know. I'll try to tough it out."

Her smile widened as she opened a drawer and began to riffle around in it. "Oh, pshaw. There's no need for that. Our ghosts don't tend to mind the living." With that, she handed a silver key to him. "You're on the third floor, dearie. Take the stairs until you run out and turn left. You're in 304."

Con turned the old-fashioned key over in his hand, frowning at the curling numbers stamped into the silver. He couldn't remember ever having stayed in a hotel that used actual, physical tumbler keys. The metal was cool and heavy in his hand, sparkling in the buttery light cast by the lamps scattered about the lobby and the elaborate chandelier overhead.

Clarice pecked some more at the keyboard, her glasses steadily sliding down her nose. "Booked full," she mumbled cheerfully to herself.

She looked perfectly normal now, and Con swiftly snatched up his luggage and turned toward the stairs before that had a chance to change.

"The hot springs, saunas, baths and pool are open 24/7," she called to his retreating back. "Room service is available by dialing extension one. Meals can also be taken in our dining room here on the first floor."

"Thank you," Con managed, doing his dead-level best not sprint up the stairs before he lapsed back into insanity.

"Please, don't hesitate to let the staff know of any problems," she said, her voice chasing him up the stairs. "And enjoy your stay with us here at the Haven Hot Springs."