Copyright 1999 by:

William H. Miltenberger

Do you believe that a place can be evil? I do. I believe that certain buildings possess an inherent malevolence from the time they are built. Evil permeates them like a fog, silent and cold, waiting for the right moment to spring upon an unsuspecting victim. A godforsaken spirit that seeps through every flaw and crack. A place where the sights, sounds, and smells of the past are impregnated in the walls. The Hotel Lyceum in south central St. Louis is such a place.

I also believe in family curses. First my father and then my older brother died in the Lyceum. My father was a parapsychologist who went to the hotel to investigate rumors of strange happenings and tales of ghostly sightings. He stayed overnight in Room 6 and was found dead the next morning.

My brother was a psychic, and years later he arranged a seance in the hotel to make contact with our father. The seance was unproductive, and my brother decided to stay the night in Room 6. He too was found dead the next morning.

Neither death was solved. There were no clues or suspects. An enterprising young reporter for the St. Louis Post Dispatch discovered that both men were related, and theorized both were frightened to death by the ghosts. His article added to the rumors about the hotel. So much for objective reporting.

That reporter was almost right. However, it wasn’t a ghost that killed my brother and father. It was the diabolical hotel itself. How do I know? I catch ghosts for a living. I’m a ghost hunter. My name is Patrick Kelly and I intend to destroy the Hotel Lyceum.

***

The Hotel Lyceum’s owners’ traded on its haunted allure by staging mystery dinners in the creepy ambiance of its dining room. From a tour, I discovered that the owners’ restoration efforts covered just the first floor at this time, and not the upstairs guest rooms.

It was Saturday night, and I snuck in around ten-thirty when the attention of the audience and actors was diverted by participating in the mystery. I hid in one of the upstairs rooms and waited until everyone left.

Around one-thirty the dinner and cleanup were over, and I heard the bartender lockup and leave. I emerged from my hiding place and began to explore. Room 6 was the last room on the second floor near the backstairs exit. It was the only locked room, so I had to break open its old wooden door. Using my pen light, I peered inside. The sparsely furnished room contained a dusty old bedspring, a stained mattress, a small dresser with a cracked mirror, and blank walls with pealing wallpaper. The room was narrow, with a high ceiling from which a naked bulb hung. It had a bare wooden floor. An eerie glow illuminated the room from the solitary street light outside.

The room smelled musty, and disturbed dust swirled in the beam of my light. Its atmosphere was made more sinister by cobwebs draped like bunting in the corners with gray, dusty strands stretching to the thin curtains. Longer, tangled, dingy webs were between the dresser and the mirror. As I walked around, I felt a dark presence. This had been a room that strangled sobs, smothered hopes, and embraced death. This was a place where past events hung in the air and replayed themselves over and over.

I had the sensation of being watched. The skin on the back of my neck tightened and goose bumps raised on my arms. There was indescribable negative energy filling the room. I’d only experienced this feeling once before. That was when I was taking a tour of a New Orleans haunted house where slaves were tortured by their insane mistress.

Leaving Room 6, I quietly went down the carpeted stairs from the second floor towards the lobby. On the landing, a huge ten foot high by eight foot wide mirror hung on the wall reflecting the image of everyone on the steps and below at the registration desk. As I looked in the mirror, I thought I saw something behind me. I jumped and swung around, but nothing was there. When I looked again in the mirror, I saw only my own dim reflection.

I turned away from the mirror and hurried down the rest of the way to the lobby. Except for the sound of my breathing and the occasional creak and groan of the building, stillness filled the old place. The Lyceum knew I was there, but its spirit hadn’t figured out why. I wanted to be ready before it did. I hurried through the lobby to the entrance doors and unlocked them and stepped out on the old, stone sidewalk.

Quickly, I went behind the hotel to the alley where I had my pickup parked, got out four kerosene filled cans, and rushed as fast as I could back to the front entrance. The Lyceum’s old weathered limestone structure hauntingly resembled a sleeping monster. The lone street light glinted off the second floor windows making them look like partially closed eyes while the faceted glass double doors looked like a tooth filled mouth. The effect was the same as a dimly lit jack-o’-lantern at Halloween.

Hastily entering the lobby, I locked the doors behind me. I rushed back to the registration desk and put the cans of kerosene there. I sensed a presence. Good. The Lyceum was beginning to understand what I was about to do. I wanted it to know. I wanted to confront its negative energy and have it be as terrified as my brother and father must have been when it killed them in Room 6.

What was that? Something hit the registration desk with the sound of a cannonball. I even felt the desk shudder under the blow. My probing light didn’t pickup anything. Good, the Lyceum was trying to frighten me. I was prepared. I wouldn’t frighten easily.

My unease increased. I sensed the Lyceum’s uncomfortable and menacing presence growing stronger with every step of my preparations. I stood at the foot of the stairs and could feel the Lyceum’s energy building. It made sense. Most haunted dwellings have the energy of the past imprinted in their atmosphere. Stairs were a good place to feel this energy, because so much of it was expended by the guests climbing the steps to their rooms.

Murder created negative energy, and the old hotel stored it. I had to hurry. I climbed the stairs to the landing. Standing with my back to the gigantic mirror I shouted, “I’m Tim Kelly, son of Mickey Kelly and brother of Sean Kelly.” A sudden powerful force pushed past me from behind. It was the energy of the Lyceum. I turned and yelled at the mirror, “I know what you did and you’ll pay for it!” An intense cold swept through me, and a blue-white mist materialized on the mirror and then disappeared leaving two dim red eyes staring back at me.

I knew I had the Lyceum’s attention now. Whenever you catch a ghost, its eyes turn red. But ghosts didn't haunt this hotel. The Lyceum was the hellish ghost itself. “I’m ready for you,” I mumbled. Racing down the stairs I retrieved a can of kerosene from the registration desk and began my task.

I poured a puddle of kerosene inside the entrance doors. Then I trailed the liquid down the lobby and soaked two cushioned long wooden benches on either side of the lobby. Smiling, I picked up the second can and climbed to the landing tauntingly sneering at the mirror. As if in answer, the sinister red eyes glared back at me, and the chandelier pendants began to strike against each other as I turned around and looked at it.

Suddenly, I saw my brother standing at the bottom of the steps in the dim light through the front glass doors. I saw him, yet I saw through him at the same time. I ran down the stairs, but he moved soundlessly back into the lobby and stopped. As I moved closer to him, he moved back the same amount towards the lobby doors. Slowly, I followed him towards the entrance. He stopped. I stopped. I was only six feet away and jumped to grab him. An explosive, crashing sound occurred behind me and glass shards peppered me from behind and sprayed across the lobby floor ahead. I turned and saw a heap of glass on the floor that was the remains of the chandelier. The evil hotel had indeed awakened. I looked back for my brother, but he was gone.

I continued the trail of kerosene from the benches into the lounge at the right of the stairs. I put the can on the bar and went behind it breaking every bottle of liquor. Then I soaked the bar and drenched a large, round, velvet couch in the center of the room with kerosene.

Standing there I imagined how the flames would devour the richly paneled dark walnut walls, and how the long oak bar would pop and snap as it was consumed by fire. Something was on my foot. The floor was being overrun with twitching quivering symbols of filth - rats. Large rats. I grabbed the fuel can and raced through the bar to the reading room at the front of the hotel and to the right of the entrance. I closed the pocket door between the two rooms behind me and poured kerosene over the furniture.

I tossed a match. The room lit up. The furniture burst into flames, and a sheet of fire jumped up the wall. The dark, thick drapes turned to curtains of fire. I ducked, darted and dashed out through the side door to the lobby. I raced the length of the lobby pouring the last of the kerosene in a trail to the door. Dropping the can, I ran back to the registration desk and picked up the two remaining cans. Menacing flames were licking out of the lounge. Any minute they would find the kerosene trail, and the lobby would erupt in an explosive and consuming ball of fire.

I opened a can and ran up the stairs, draining the kerosene as I went. I stopped on the landing in front of the mirror to arrogantly pour a pool of liquid there. The eyes stared at me with flesh-creeping intensity. “Ah, now you know what I’m doing, and you can’t stop me! I’ll burn you from inside out! From core to skin!” I screamed. The Lyceum shrieked a thunderous roar of flaming fury as the lobby erupted in fire.

I raced up the steps and down the hall and into Room 6 pouring the kerosene as I went. “This is where your dark soul resides. You killed my brother and father in this room because this is where you live.”

A loud crash from the lobby and the sound of breaking glass interrupted my thought. The street lamp outside went out. My pen light stabbed at the dark as I soaked the old mattress and furniture with kerosene. Before I left the room, I looked in the cracked mirror above the old dresser. Ghoulish eyes, as bright as a laser, stared back at me. I laughed aloud and poured more kerosene on the dresser. I mockingly put the empty can there in front of the mirror.

“I’ve got you now. There’s nothing you can do to keep me from killing you. Burn and go to hell. Did you think you could get away with it?” I remembered a quotation from somebody and derisively shouted, ‘Since I was born, your death began its walk.’ You thought you killed the family, but you didn’t count on me, did you? Now you’ll see how wrong you were. I’ll burn your insides out and destroy your very structure. You’ll die.”

As if in answer, the broken room door slammed shut and was barred by a floating dark shape. The face of my father appeared alongside the dark presence. Then he was joined by another -- the face of my brother. Both slowly turned from me and stared into the dark shape. They all merged into one twisting, shapeless form whirling around in the blackness of the room.

I jumped for the door, jerked it open, and leapt out as part of the floor collapsed. The room filled with flame and smoke. I ran for the upstairs exit trailing kerosene after me. “Nice try, but you’re too slow. My whole adult life I’ve planned your destruction, and I’ll make it as painful as possible. I’m ready for you!” I shrieked.

I saturated the hall splashing kerosene on the walls and carpet, laughing at the sounds of exploding glass, from the raging fire downstairs. Smoke seeped through the threadbare carpet like steam in a sauna. I couldn’t wait until the fire totally engulfed the upstairs.

Throwing the nearly empty can back in the hallway I put my hand on the knob to open the door. It didn’t turn. There was no key in the lock. The ear-rending roar of the holocaust was intense. Fingers of flame were appearing between the cracks in the hall floor, and a curtain of fire was at the top of the landing licking out in all directions. Then a scorching holocaust of flaming destruction exploded out of Room 6 and rolled and boiled towards me with the sound of a freight train.

The horrific noise almost deafened me. I hit the old door with all my strength and felt the frame crack, but the door didn’t open. The walls alongside of me burst into flame. Any second my clothes would start to burn. In a frenzy, I smashed through the door and plunged out into the night air.

But I hadn’t escaped the clutches of the Lyceum. I still had to descend the metal steps to the ground, and the Lyceum had one last chance to get me. There was an unbroken first floor window on the side of the building alongside of the stairs. If I were across from it when it exploded, I would be lacerated by a myriad of glass slivers that would cut through clothes and flesh. That’s what the evil hotel wanted. The Lyceum could still kill me.

A ghastly noise from the inside signaled the collapse of the second floor. I looked up and saw flames dancing on the roof. It would go soon, and when it did the outside walls would collapse. I was immersed in thick, choking smoke and had trouble keeping my eyes open.

I had three choices. I could stay where I was and hope the wall and attached metal steps would remain standing when the roof collapsed. I could jump to the ground from the second floor and hope I wouldn’t break anything because I’d still have to get away from the stone wall if it collapsed. Or I could try to race down the steps past the window before it exploded with its shiny slivers of flying death.

Another thunderous crash shook the metal steps violently. The fire burned itself through the roof. Volcanic flame erupted at least thirty feet high into the black night as the consuming fire ate out the wooden structure. I had won! The evil hotel’s core was being consumed; but I had to move. Now! The wall was rocking, and flaming debris was flying off the roof in flaming arcs through the night. Thunderclaps of crashing timbers produced ear-splitting noise that drowned out all other sounds. I couldn’t think.

I fought my way down the smoke clogged metal fire escape until I was just above the unbroken window. A paroxysm of coughing caused by the acrid, curling, black smoke consumed me and I doubled over. I lost my balance and fell down the steps. Shards of glass blasted out as if fired by a shotgun as I passed the window.

I couldn’t breathe. The air was knocked out of me. My back and side were cut. I could feel the sting of the glass, but I was alive. I could barely move, but instinctively I knew I had to or be killed by the wall should it fall. I crawled, slowly at first, then faster. It was like a nightmare where every effort seems to take an eternity while the thing chasing you is moving at hyper speed.

The hotel’s wall was bulging outward slowly. Stones began to separate from its top edge and tumble towards me while the wall continued to lean in my direction more and more. I had to crawl to safety. The wall gave way entirely and toppled outward on its way to the ground. I was crawling as fast as I could. It was almost on top of me. I might make it after all.

***

My groggy mind told me I was in a bed. I felt the clean, soft sensation of a pillow under my head. It was a hospital room. One wall was glass and I saw busy nurses and doctors outside. A nurse looked up, smiled at me, and said something to a doctor. Both of them came to my bedside.

“I’m Doctor Taylor. How are you feeling Mr. Kelly?”

“I have an awful headache, but I don’t feel too bad. How did you know my name? Where am I and what happened?”

“One thing at a time. First, police found your identification in your wallet. Second, you’re in St. Louis University Hospital in Intensive Care. You were found by firemen who were battling a blaze at an old hotel just south of here. It seems you have some minor burns, cuts and were hit by debris from the hotel when it collapsed.”

“Yeah, my back got cut from flying glass as I was running to report the fire.”

“Your cuts are not the problem. Evidentially you were quite close to the building when it collapsed, and the lower half of your body was trapped under part of its wall.”

Suddenly, I thought about my legs. “What’s wrong with the feeling in my legs? Am I okay?”

“Mr. Kelly, you’ve sustained a serious injury. Your lower back is broken. Right now you’re paralyzed from the hips down and ...”

“Will I be able to walk? How long is this going to last?”

“With injuries of this kind, recovery of the use of your legs is a very remote possibility. You were lucky you weren’t killed Mr. Kelly. When you are stronger, we’ll discuss your injuries in more detail. If you need anything, Nurse Cockran here will see that you get it. For the moment, I’ve told the police that you’re too badly injured for questioning. There’s time for that after we transfer you out of ICU.”

“Doctor, was the building that collapsed totally destroyed?”

“From what I heard, it was,” and he and the nurse turned around and went out the door before I could think of anything else.

There would be no more deaths in the Lyceum. The infamous Room 6 was no more, and the godforsaken spirit that possessed the hotel was destroyed. Its malevolent evil was no longer a threat to the men in my family. I had burned out its core and destroyed its structure. The family curse was no more.

Yeah, I got the Lyceum all right, but at what cost? Look where it got me. I was alone, flat on my back, IVs in my arm, monitoring equipment attached to me, and I was paralyzed below the waist.

I felt vulnerable, but why? Where was the threat? The Lyceum was dead, or was it? For some reason, sweat began to pour down my forehead and cheeks. The pillow beneath my head was wet, not damp - wet! What was I afraid of now that I’d burned the Lyceum down?

I didn’t know, but I began to look around the room with renewed interest. What was it that bothered me? The room felt empty, but not empty at the same time if that was possible. Something unseen was there. There was the monitoring equipment beside me. That was no threat. A small chair was alongside the bed. The washbasin and mirror were on the wall facing the foot of the bed. No threats were there either.

The door was open into the room so the doctor and the nurse could come in if I needed them. All I had to do was shout. They were just outside. I could see them through the glass wall. There was nothing wrong with that. So what was it?

As I returned my gaze back into the room, I noticed the number on the door. It was the number 6. Six! I was in Room 6 in the hospital. Something caused me to look at the mirror. It was frosted up. Then letters began to appear that chilled me to the bone. My heart began to hammer so hard I could feel it pounding in my chest shaking the bed from its violent beating. My throat tightened up, and I couldn’t breathe or cry out. A monitoring alarm began to faintly ring far, far away, and the room slowly faded into darkness. Everything disappeared except for the word on the mirror, Lyceum.