The Hotel Penland

At the Bar

Kendall slightly tugged on the front of her dark blue Henley; the cotton fabric pulled tight across her chest and her breasts were slightly uncomfortable. She slowly twirled the straw in her old fashioned and caught her reflection in the mirror behind the bar. Turning to look she saw her thin, almost gaunt face framed tightly by strands of her long, wavy reddish orange hair. Her emerald eyes sparkled against her lightly freckled cheeks, slightly shaded by the navy blue ball cap that read "IPS" in white letters on her head.

"Well I hope I didn't take too long," Brandon said as he sat back down on the bar stool next to her. He took the last swig out of his pumpkin ale and pointed the bottle at the bartender indicating he'd like another.

"Brandon, you must be the least manly ghost hunter I've ever met," Kendall laughed, shaking her head from side to side.

"C'mon," he smirked. "It's Halloween. I can skip my bourbon for day, get with the holiday -- you're a ghost hunter now -- you should be like Santa at Christmas, or a priest at Easter ... or, an Irishman on St Patrick's Day .... Or a Canadian on Boxing Day."

She gently slapped him on the shoulder. "I am a Canadian. You're such an ass. Boxing Day! Really?"

Brandon turned to his canvas messenger bag on the barstool next to him. Kendall looked over his hands and muscled arms bulging through the sleeves of his plaid shirt. It had been five years since they last dated their senior year at Northwestern, and she had been by his side for the last five days since joining the Institute for Paranormal Studies. She jumped back slightly and looked down at her drink when he turned and met her eyes. He was about six feet tall and still looked like the anchor of the crew team she'd bedded so many years ago. But she was unnerved by his deep brown eyes as he asked plaintively, "Can I help you?"

"Uh, Uh, Oh. I forgot what I was going to ask you," she stammered.

"Right. I wanted to go over our notes from the five buildings we toured today, and follow up items for our conference call with the Cleveland Chamber of Commerce next month. It's a huge deal that we were selected to prepare the 'Haunted Cleveland' tour." He turned again, pulled his notebook and phone out of his bag and dropped them on the glossy wood bar.

"Ok." She said, swallowing gently. She pulled out her phone and opened the photo roll to review her photographs with him.

"Uh, Kendall, by that, I meant, I wanted YOU to review the buildings and agenda with ME. Our flight to Chicago is first thing in the morning, so I'd like to know if we need to go back to anywhere tonight."

"Right," she said, gently clearing her throat. So I thought we'd start with Schulman's Department store. It was owned by a wealthy Jewish family, and in 1921 the matriarch was having an affair with a stock boy when her husband walked in ..." Brandon continued listening but discretely checked Kendall out again. He was happy she had decided to come work with him on this project; it helped that she had been out of work for the last nine months. I guess law school wasn't as great an idea as she thought; it was the reason they had split when she moved away to attend. She looked as good as ever -- her soft skin was usually white and creamy, but today she had a faint hint of tan that brought out the freckles on her face. Her eyes were deep emeralds set in her thin face. Her tailored jacket hung just above her perfectly round ass; he was pretty sure her pants were at least one size too small. She had an all-American girl look about her, kind of like a younger version of that coach's wife on that show about Texas High School football.

"Brandon. BRANDON. Earth to Brandon." She was staring right at him, staring at her ass. "My eyes are HERE. She raised a clinched fist to eye level and shot out her index finger.

"Sorry, um, I was just distracted."

"I could see that. Now what I was asking you what you thought if we went to the Atlantis Insurance building next. You know, the one that was the site of most infamous murders of the 1870s."

"I suppose that's fine. Any reason?' He asked, taking a swig of his pumpkin ale.

"Well, I was thinking ..." she started when they were interrupted by a dapper older man.

"Excuse me," he said slowly, breathing heavily. "I couldn't help but overhear you talking about Schulman's and the Atlantis building. I know it's rude to eavesdrop, but it's just so rare to see young people interested in the history of our town." The man was 85 if he was a day, stooped and carried a cane with a dragonhead handle, and his wrinkled, weathered face was covered with a dark grey mustache. "I'm sorry, my name's Simmons, Bill Simmons. I was a stockboy at Schulman's before the murder."

"Mr. Simmons, no problem. I'm very glad you did come over. I'm Brandon and this is Kendall -- we're with the Institute of Paranormal Studies and we're working with the Chamber of Commerce to plan a 'Haunted Cleveland' tour. Tonight's our last night here, so we're just going over our notes.' Brandon stood up and shook Simmons' hand firmly. It felt odd, like he was holding a fish; Brandon figured it was because he was old. Kendall jumped up. "Mr. Simmons, would you like to join us for a drink? If it's OK, I wondered if I could ask you if you had any stories about your time in the department store?" She slid out a stool for him and he sat down.

He looked her over and pulled off his brown driving cap. He couldn't help but notice that her nipples were slightly pert atop her large, firm breasts, and the small gold crucifix hanging in her cleavage. He didn't see Kendall give Brandon a knowing look that she'd caught the dirty old man ogling her.

"Barkeep," Mr. Simmons choked out. "Two old fashions, and get the lady here another pumpkin ale." Kendall and Mr. Simmons laughed; Brandon and the bartender rolled their eyes.

The three of them talked for an hour and a half about the city, its history, and the tour. Brandon described their work as ghost hunters and the secondary business they'd started doing tours. As they neared the end of their third round of drinks Kendall said "candidly, Mr. Simmons, we're hoping to find a knock out property to film a television special. Brandon's too shy to mention it, but he thinks we could have our own cable series." Brandon's demeanor changed, giving her a bit of an eagle eye.

"Oh, I don't know much about that, missy. Don't even have a television, but that could be a big deal, I guess. Have you heard of the Penlands Hotel?"

Brandon's grouchy visage quickly faded. "No, sir I haven't."

"It was the finest hotel in town during the 1920s. Its owner, Mr. Penland, shot himself after the crash in '29. It closed shortly thereafter, but was just renovated and had a grand opening this week."

"Really?" Brandon's interest was piqued. "Why didn't the chamber tell us about it?"

"Well, as I understand it, it's, how did they describe it?" Simmons rubbed his chin. "They're having a 'soft grand opening?' There are rumors that it's haunted, and they didn't want a big crowd on Halloween that might give that impression to the guests. That's what my grandson said, anyway. He's a doorman there."

"That sounds interesting." Kendall sat up and leaned her shoulders back slightly, causing her breasts to pop out of her jacket, her cotton shirt struggling to hold them in place.

"Interesting, yes." The old man was ogling her again. She hunched her back down and pulled her windbreaker across her chest. "Would you like to tour it? I think my grandson could arrange it?" "Why not!" Kendall shouted. She reached across the old man and put her hand on Brandon's arm.

"It sounds like an unusual location, Brandon?"

"I'll admit, I'm intrigued. And I'm comfortable with where we are on the list. But all our equipment is packed up in our hotel, and that's all the way back at the airport."

"Well, I've got and EMF scanner in my purse, you've got a camera and video recorder on your phone. It's not like we're ghost busting, we're just going to check it out."

"It sounds like it's settled." Simmons made the decision for the three of them. Do you mind if we take a cab? I don't want to walk that far." Kendall and the old man left Brandon to pick up the tab as they walked out of the bar toward the taxi stand.

The Penland Hotel

After a five minute ride, the three of them got out of the cab. Brandon helped the old man and then paid the cabbie. This was turning out to be an expensive detour, he thought. Simmons walked up to a younger man and embraced him. Brandon looked around. He felt a little awkward, but otherwise everything seemed normal. Your typical old hotel, a short port cachere with six country flags flying over head.

"Joe" he shouted. "I'd like you to meet my good friends, Kendall and, what was it?"

"Brandon." Brandon chimed in, stepping forward to shake Joe's hand. Kendall nodded.

"They're ghost hunters and I was thinking you could arrange a tour." The old man said, his voice trailing off in a cough.

"Grandpa." Joe shook his head. "For the last time, the Penland isn't haunted. You're going to cause trouble for me if you keep bringing people around with these stories. Folks, I'm very sorry. My grandfather is very ... lonely and excitable. Please accept my apologies for the inconvenience. If you'd like, could I buy you a round of drinks, on the house?"

Brandon frowned. "I guess that's OK. We'll step inside." He walked toward the door. Kendall turned around and grabbed both of Mr. Simmons' hands.

"Thank you so much. We both had a wonderful evening." She smiled and the old man nodded. Joe put his hand on the old man's shoulder and turned him back toward the street. Kendall ran inside. As she stepped through the revolving door, she remembered that they had forgotten to give Simmons a business card. She went back through the brass and glass door to the street; both men were gone. "Where did they go?" She looked both directions, then went back inside.

Inside, the hotel was beautiful. The lobby was covered in a plush red and purple paisley carpet and had stained wood paneling throughout. It was mostly empty but contained the building's most striking feature. The check in desk was brass and hardwoods, and above it was the largest mural Kendall had ever seen -- it was of a striking blonde woman in a white lace dress walking along a lake shore, white parasol over her shoulder. "Brandon, look at that painting. She's striking, but I feel like her eyes are following us." Brandon rolled his eyes and sighed. "Yes, she is beautiful," and turning to her he said,

"Kendall, having a sense of when things are weird can be helpful, but if you're going to last in our business you can't let every weird feeling creep you out. That's going to make you miss details and close your mind to the clues you would otherwise see. Let's head to the bar." Inside the bar the furnishings looked like they came right out of the 1920s, but hadn't aged a day. Only one other patron was drinking. Brandon and Kendall sat down as the bartender walked up. "Two old fashions," Brandon said. The bartender, smartly dressed in a white dress shirt with wing collars and black bowtie nodded, as he put down the glass he was drying with a hand towel.

"I can't get over the eerie feeling I have in here. You didn't let me finish in the lobby -- the old man just disappeared on the street." Kendall inched closer to him.

"Kendall," he sighed again. "I hired you because I trust you, so I guess I should start trusting you, right? Do you have that EMF meter?" She pulled it out of her purse.

"Um, it's shooting between 0.5 and 1.0. I know it's only been a week, but I didn't see it this high at any of the buildings." She gave him a worried look.

The color returned to Brandon's face. "Usually, you have to be in the middle of a cemetery to get that kind of reading -- and I mean an old cemetery, like 1980s horror-movie set, cemetery. Let's look around." He choked down the last of his drink and left a twenty on the bar. "Let's go." He grabbed her by the arm. "Keep the EMF detector out."

They walked around the lobby. The few guests and workers there made eye contact and smiled, but no one said anything.

Kendall grabbed Brandon's arm, she felt the flex of his powerful bicep as she pulled it up against her chest. "Do ... do you think we should leave? Should I be scared?" She shot him a worried look.

"You're scared now? This from the girl who a week ago told me 'ghosts weren't real?'" he smirked. "This is where it gets exciting. If you want the big bucks, your own TV show, you've got to find these places. Or I guess you could go back to helping deadbeat tenants sue the little old ladies who own their buildings."

Kendall froze. She knew Brandon resented her for going to law school, but that was too far. "What the fuck was that?" Kendall crossed her arms and leaned back.

"I'm sorry." Brandon reached out and put his arms around her. "It's just that this may be it -- what I thought you wanted -- success, fame, fortune -- and with me, us together."

"Upstairs. Upstairs. Upstairs," a haunting disembodied voice whispered quickly.

"Uh, did you hear that?" Kendall refocused on Brandon. He was practically salivating.

"Yes, I did. Let's get to the elevator." He practically ran there, fishing his phone out of the messenger bag dangling over his shoulder. The doors had already opened by the time Kendall walked up. "Come on, it will be OK." She stepped in and they both looked at the buttons. There was a small stool next to the buttons where a conductor might have sat, but they were alone inside the cab.

"I think it's pretty obvious what floor." Brandon said as they both focused on the number 13. "Even today many buildings still don't have a thirteenth floor. It was unheard of in the 1920s." As quickly as he pressed the button, she pulled the brake and grabbed his hand.

"Promise me this is going to be OK." She looked deeply into his chocolate eyes and pulled him close. Their lips came together and they kissed deeply. "I've missed you. It was a big mistake to leave you for law school, and I'm sorry." Brandon kissed her again. "I'm sorry too. I hope we can start over again when we get back from this trip." He pushed her back against the cab wall, pressing his chest against her breasts, kissed her, and pushed the brake so the elevator started up again. "But for now we've got to see what's going on here -- it's hammer time!"

The doors parted slowly and they stepped out onto the 13th floor. The doors slowly closed behind them. The hallway was dim but clean. Kendall glanced at the EMF -- it was reading 1.5. She elbowed Brandon in the side. He put his finger to his lips. "Shhh."

"Is there anyone here? Is this where you wanted us to come?" Brandon shouted as the couple slowly stepped forward. The hallway was narrow and was interrupted about every 10 feet on each side by a door to a room.

"Are you here? Is this where we are supposed to be?" He took out the phone and started the video camera. "Penlands Hotel, October 31st, 10:30 PM." He said calmly. "Let us know that you are here." Again silence. The couple exchanged nervous glances.

"I've been waiting for you. I've been waiting for you. I've been waiting for you." The same disembodied voice whispered. At that the clear glass globes on the light fixtures lining the hallways exploded in succession, starting on either side of Brandon and Kendall and running down the hallway. They popped like chaser lights on a Christmas tree.

"Shit! I fucked up. This is dangerous. We shouldn't be up here. Let's go." Brandon shouted as he turned to run toward the elevator. He reached down to grab Kendall's hand and as he did, a force thrust against his chest, flipping him back first against the wall. He was held forcefully, spread eagle on the wall, only able to move his head. He came to long enough to see Kendall thrown against the opposite wall like a rag doll. The force of her head hitting the wall knocked her out.

"Ha ha ha ha haahah!" The voice cackled. The strap on Brandon's bag snapped and it fell to the floor and slid down the hall, as if under its own power. He felt himself sliding across the wall, bumping over a door frame -- the force held him tightly in place over the open door way.

Brandon watched Kendall transit the same path until they were facing each other, each suspended in front of opposing open door ways. As she started to come too, she tried to scream. A faint, translucent, bluish green hand wrapped around her mouth, silencing her. Several other similar hands, with red painted finger nails appeared from behind her body and ripped every piece of clothing off of her. The sensation of seeing this beautiful woman nude, suspended in midair, with ghostly hands fondling her 36D breasts and her hairless crotch so distracted him he didn't even notice that he was now also nude, and that a similar hand was stroking up and down the length of his cock -- and that he was quickly becoming aroused. He started to say, "I'm sorry" but found his mouth covered by a similar hand -- unlike the one on his cock, which was warm, soft and wet -- this hand was cold and bony.

In another moment, they each flew backwards into the open doors behind them. The last he saw of Kendall was her struggling against the invasions of these ethereal hands, begging and pleading for help with giant, wide eyes. The doors of the rooms slammed shut.

Brandon

Brandon was now floating on his back, about a foot off the floor of the room, held up by several pairs of ethereal hands. He looked forward and saw that the fingers around his cock had transformed into the translucent red lips of a beautiful woman, floating up and down as she sucked him. Her hands were raised behind her and her torn white dress fluttered around her body as if she were standing under a fan. Her faint blonde hair floated in every direction.

It was the most incredible blowjob he'd ever gotten. Some girls were exceptional at manipulating the outside of his cock, but this ghost felt like she was sucking the outside and inside at the same time. He closed his eyes and dropped his head back. He started to thrust his hips until the ghost hands moved above his cock and held him firm. The ghost sucked even harder on his member and he came, squirting all the way through her onto the ceiling. His entire body shuddered and when he was done he looked up. "I guess you don't spit or swallow," he panted.

She floated above his limp, wet cock and started playing with it again, running her invisible hands up and down, in and out. He was hard again in no time. She put him inside her, floating up and down. He didn't understand how the feeling was so intense when he could see right through her. The hands rolled him over, now floating on his stomach. The ghost passed through his body, sending tingles up and down his spine, rematerializing under him in some twisted missionary position. She grabbed the back of his head and jammed her translucent tongue down his throat. He felt he inside and outside of every part of his body, cumming again, this time leaving a puddle on the floor.

The woman disappeared; in front of him a man materialized. He was naked and looked vaguely familiar. "Joe!" he screamed.

"Joe, Bill, whatever name makes you feel better. That was for you. This next one is for me." Joe floated around behind Brandon. The ghost hands lifted his torso until he was floating on all fours. He felt a man's rough hands pull apart his buttocks and Joe's ghost cock press against his asshole.

"No, No!" Brandon screamed desperately. The woman reappeared, floating in front of him and stuck her tongue back in his mouth. She filled him like a gag. His eyes bulged out but all he could say was "Urggh! Urggh!" as Joe's giant ghost cock breached the opening of his virgin ass. As Joe pistoned in and out, Brandon felt like his ass was being ripped apart. After what seemed like an eternity, the ghost climaxed and vanished. Brandon fell to the floor, passed out, blood pooling on the floor underneath him.