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Cultural Background |
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Storyteller's Cabin |
The festive piano music suddenly stopped, leaving an eerie silence. Jack heard a rustling sound behind him. He turned and saw that the party crowd had gathered behind him, still smiling. The man in the elevator reached out again for Jack and said, "You don't understand. We have room in here for one more."
The crowd suddenly closed in behind Jack. Jack was not an easily scared man, but he was impulsive. He whirled around and charged back through the crowd. Two soldiers grabbed his arms and dragged him back to the elevator. The room began to spin around them, and Jack could swear he saw the Christmas decorations starting to melt. The walls morphed into a sooty black color, and the stinging smell of smoke was everywhere.
"Come on friend," said the smiling man in the elevator. "There's no need to fight - I told you, there's room for one more."
Horrifying screams filled the room, but the revelers stood silent, the same silly grins plastered on their faces. The room heated up rapidly to an unbearable temperature. Black smoke now filled the air, and Jack's blood ran cold as he realized that the place was on fire - but no one wanted to leave.
With every ounce of strength he had, Jack wriggled free of the soldiers and charged back though the crowd, knocking over anyone who stood in his way. Hands grabbed desperately at his clothes through the blinding smoke, the screams deafening.
Suddenly, the ground dropped beneath Jack's feet. He tumbled down the lobby stairs, his head smashing against the marble floor. The room spun wildly around him, then went black.
Moments later, Jack opened his eyes. He found himself lying on a dirty floor littered with garbage, chipped marble and broken glass. He sat up dizzily, wiped the trickle of blood from his forehead and gazed about the room. He was shocked to find that the ornate hotel lobby had fallen into ruin long ago. The windows were broken out, and the rooms were black and gutted. Vagrants had spray-painted graffiti on the walls.
"Hey!" shouted a gruff voice behind him. Jack whirled around to find a police officer standing in the doorway, his hand on his gun. "What are you doing in here?"
"I...I don't know," was all Jack could say.
The policeman studied Jack for a minute, then helped him to his feet. "Did somebody attack you?" he asked.
"No, sir," answered Jack. "I just checked in here a few hours ago and..."
"...What do you mean 'checked in'?" asked the policeman. "This hotel ain't been open since the great fire years ago."
Jack suddenly turned pale and asked, "What fire?"
"Just the worst hotel fire in U.S. history," said the policeman. "Didn't you see the historic marker outside? Over a hundred people died in here. They said this place was fireproof - you know, kinda like they said the Titanic was unsinkable. But they were obviously wrong."
Jack looked about the room in disbelief as the policeman continued: "Most of the folks who survived were on the lower floors. Our fire department didn't have ladders tall enough back then to reach the top floors. It was a horrible sight."
"When did it happen?" asked Jack, almost afraid of the answer.
The policeman scratched his head and said, "I believe it was New Years Eve, 1946."
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