As a teenager, I discovered I was a night owl. I blame the internet partially, but also, there was a weird thrill associated with being awake while the rest of the world slumbers. You feel like an explorer glimpsing something few people have ever seen. Granted, most of the time growing up, the only thing I glimpsed during those hours were video games and porn, but you get my point. It’s unnatural to be nocturnal as a human. There’s a thrill to being out of step with the natural order.

To that end, I started working the overnight shift at the front desk of a hotel. While there isn’t a ton of people who come breezing in at those hours, you see more traffic than you’d imagine. It mainly was exhausted road-tripping families looking for a place to catch some Zzzs before the next leg of their sojourn or couples meeting up for a clandestine affair with lust clouding their eyes (it’s always easy to spot a cheating couple). Still, there was enough of them to keep you busy. Not overworked but steady.

While I had never intended hotel work to be a career, I did find a lot of joy in the work, and, as an added bonus, I was really good at it. About a year into the gig, the big boss sat me down and asked me what my plans were post-college. I said I thought I might move to the coasts and look for work that would take advantage of my major (at that time, it was psychology), but everything was up in the air at the moment. The big boss told me that, if I wanted, there would be a night manager position opening up at a property the owner at just purchased in Cincinnati. The starting pay was great, it had tremendous benefits, and if I had a degree in hospitality management, my pay could double in the first year.

I had no real love for psychology nor any real job prospects in the field at the time. Plus, the idea of grad school had started to fill me with dread. I decided that I would take the plunge and go for it. I shook the big boss’s hand, and my new career path was set. In a year, I’d be the night manager at a newly renovated hotel in a major-ish city. I was thrilled. A year later, I packed up my stuff and moved to Cincinnati.

Built in 1922, the Pullman Hotel was a vintage building that had once been the city’s crown jewel but had since fallen into disrepair. What once was the town’s hot spot with a lively big band and front page style galas had become a flophouse that catered to transients staying week to week or prostitutes staying hour to hour. The guts of the building looked like an open sore that never totally scabbed over. But the facade on the outside could still catch you by surprise. It had that 20s Art Deco look that made even the drabbest office buildings stand out. Where the Pullman was located, it shined like a diamond in a pile of trash.

But urban renewal was becoming all the rage, and gentrification came calling. Soon, all the dilapidated buildings nearby started to change owners, and construction crews shared the streets with unhoused people’s tents. My new boss bought the Pullman for a song and took a buffer’s rag to that dull diamond.

The transformation was impressive. The Pullman looked as glamorous as the day it first opened. My boss took special care to keep the décor as accurate to the era as possible while adding modern touches. It worked. The local press went gaga for the restoration, and soon the Pullman was filling up with travelers from all over the country. The shift in the population of the surrounding area had happened. As always, working-class people were priced out of a place they had lived in for decades as rich, white yuppies moved in. As if to put an exclamation point on the whole gentrification endeavor, a Starbucks opened around the corner.

While the Pullman filled with new staff, there were a lot of holdovers from the previous regime. My boss thought these people knew the hotel at its worst and deserved to see it at its best. I found that touching – that was something they didn’t have to do, but it engendered goodwill to the mostly new staff.

The first three months went smoothly. I loved the night shift, and the crew was great. We all got along and kept the Pullman humming. I genuinely loved my night security crew – a few were holdovers from the other owners, and we just clicked. They had hundreds of stories from their time serving at the flophouse. Some wild shit happened in the old Pullman.

Omar, the head of security, liked to talk about the guests who “checked in but never checked out.” It was his clever way of saying ghosts. He said the building was filled with them – a lot of people died in the hotel during its flop days. Omar mentioned that, even after five years on the job, he still got goosebumps while doing his nightly rounds. He was glad for the security cameras the new owner had installed – it meant he didn’t have to brush up against specters so often.

I loved the stories Omar told, but I thought they were just that – stories. I don’t believe in anything paranormal, especially ghosts. Often times the “evidence” people mentioned with ghosts were all explainable. “Orbs” were just dust or bugs. “Dark figures” were just shadows that hit the right way. Voices picked up by “spirit boxes” or EVP recordings were just our brains trying to make sense of random electrical noise. Most ghostly faces were just everyday objects and tricks of light. Face pareidolia is hardwired into our brains – we seek out faces that look like us. Ever seen a face in a piece of toast or a tree? It’s your brain looking for others like you. Nothing more.

But Omar was a true believer. He told me about all the times he saw strange shit in the hotel. There was the time he saw a disembodied hand open the emergency exit door on the second floor. Or the time he heard what sounded like people laughing in the empty downstairs boiler room. My favorite was the time he was climbing down an access ladder in the basement and saw a face staring at him in the room below. “Bro, I damn near shit myself when I saw that face. I shot up that ladder faster than a fuckin’ rocket.”

As I said, Omar had a million stories about the Pullman, and he loved sharing them with us during downtimes. But while each story was different, they always started the same way. “It’s a cold spot – that’s when you know they’re there,” he’d say, shaking his head, “that’s when I bug the fuck out before someone shows up and haunts my ass.” I told him it was probably just our ancient AC system acting up.

While the old Pullman had been a ghost haven, nothing out of the ordinary had happened since the renovations. Like the transients, the spirits had seemingly moved on. Apparently, we had thrown them out with the old rotted furniture. Omar said he was shocked things were quiet, but he didn’t believe they’d stay that way. “They’ll come back, believe that.”

I didn’t.

One of the things I had taken to doing about halfway through my shift was to walk the hotel. For one, it was nice to leave my office and stretch my legs. Secondly, it was good to have non-security employees walk the floors, so people know someone is always around if they need help. Finally, you really get to know your hotel when you walk the grounds. All the little alcoves and hiding spots. Places where you can add a vending machine or where kids would hide from security, or where you should put a camera. GI Joe told us, “Knowledge is power,” and I always trusted the Joes.

Last week it seemed like the world was caving in at work. Everyone goes through those times when it feels like all you gotta do is stand up to keep going, but some pissed-off God keeps sending hurricane winds to knock you back to Earth. That was me last week. We had a power glitch on Monday that screwed up the air conditioner units. Some floors got blasted with AC, and others got none. On Tuesday, someone busted the lock on the side door on the ground floor, which anyone could walk into. Wednesday, our credit card system went down for a few hours and caused havoc with check-ins and check-outs. It was a mess.

“Ghosts are back,” Omar told me on Thursday night.

“Not ghosts, gremlins. We’re being besieged by gremlins,” I said with a sigh.

“Nah, Gizmo was cool. This is ghosts.”

“Ghosts broke the lock on the door? Ghosts busted the AC unit?”

“Could’ve,” Omar said with a shrug, “anything’s possible.”

“Not that,” I said.

Omar shrugged, “Until it happens to you, everyone thinks that.”

“Honestly, I’d love to blame ghosts. At least then I’d have a reason why we’re having this run of bad luck.”

“Careful what you wish for, bro,” Omar said. Changing gears, he gave me a big smile, “We’re gonna go grab some Taco Bell. You want anything?”

“Aren’t you suppose to do your rounds now?”

“I did it earlier. I’m due for my break. You want something or nah?”

“Of course I want something,” I said with a smile.

“The usual?”

“Yeah,” I said, handing him over some cash. He nodded and pocketed it.

“New guy Martin is watching the cameras. He’s good for a few.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“Thanks, chief,” Omar said with a fist bump. “Be back in a few.”

He headed out, and I plopped back down in my chair. I knew I shouldn’t eat anything late at night, let alone Taco Bell. Still, a spicy potato taco and a chicken quesadilla would be the calming balm I needed to take the edge off this shitty week. I spun in my chair, trying to center myself when I heard a knock at the office door.

“Damn, was there no line at the Bell or what?” I said before looking up. It wasn’t Omar. It was Gwen. She worked the front desk and was probably my most capable employee. She could run this place in my stead, and there would be no noticeable drop-off. If Gwen was in here, something was amiss.

“Sorry, Gwen,” I said, ceasing my spinning, “Omar went to Taco Bell.”

“Oh, I know. I got a bean burrito.”

“A classic,” I said for reasons I’m still not sure of. “What’s up?”

“Umm, someone from the second floor was complaining about noises in the hallway.”

“Okay,” I said, “Did you call Security?”

“Yeah, but Martin...well, I think he accidentally shut off the whole system. He’s kind of flipping out. Not sure he’s the face we want in front of the customers at the moment.”

I sighed. Of course.

“Okay. I’ll go take a look,” I said, standing up. “Do you have a walkie I can borrow? Mine’s still charging.”

“Sure,” she said, “Lemme go grab it.”

A few minutes later, I left the lobby for the second floor. Now, the second floor is a bit of a misnomer because our second floor is actually at street level. In most modern hotels, the entire street-level floor would be just a lobby, bar, and ballroom, but the Pullman isn’t like most buildings. Our second floor is comprised of a small lobby and hotel rooms. Our ballrooms and bar are below street level, or the first floor as our elevator calls it. Below that is the basement, where the laundry and other hotel operations are located.

Why the wonky labeling system? Well, when the building was first built, they took to calling the basement the first floor and the street level the second. Why? Well, the guy who first made the building had some weird beliefs about numbers and the stars or some such nonsense. I think the bars were built in the basement because of Prohibition, but I could never confirm that. I asked the new owner about it once, but it seemed he didn’t know either. He told me he wasn’t going to change anything because he didn’t want to “anger the spirits of the previous owners.” He was another Omar.

If it were up to me, hotel operations would be the “subbasement,” the first floor would be the “basement,” and the second floor would be the “main.” Ya know, a common sense approach to everything. But, alas, I’m just the night manager. Those decisions happen way above my pay grade.

The Pullman is an architecturally pretty building on the outside but it’s also just a big square. I figured I’d start where the guests had first heard the disturbance and make the walk until I came back to where I started. Along the way, I’d check the doors to ensure they were working properly. Hopefully, Omar would come back and fix the cameras, and we would catch whoever was running around.

When I opened the door to the floor, I felt the cold piping in. The second was one of those cold floors the broken AC was assaulting. At times, the AC seemed to shift, which floor was cold and which wasn’t. The tech we had out on Monday had never seen the kind of behavior we had but assumed it had something to do with the computer system. We were still waiting for a computer specialist to come take a look at the software. In the meantime, I would freeze on the second floor.

I started humming along to a Phoebe Bridgers song (Savior Complex, for those keeping score at home) as I strolled to the room that had made the distress call. I hesitated to knock on their door, but I knew they were still up. I rapped on the door and waited a few minutes. I could hear the people inside shuffling and murmuring. I was pretty sure I had just interrupted sex or the prelude to sex.

The door cracked open to a shirtless, disheveled man who was none too pleased to see me. “What?”

“Sorry to bother you, I know it’s late, but you called about the noise, correct?”

“Yeah, Colombo, you solved it.”

I forced a smiled and continued, “I was wondering if you could tell me where the noise was located.”

“The hallway, like I said to the broad upfront.”

“Yes, but, like, what was the noise? Running? Voices? Shouting?”

“All of it,” the man said, “back and forth for ten straight minutes.”

“What were they saying?”

“I dunno,” he said, looking agitated, “I had a hard time making out anything. Some bullshit, I’m sure. Sounded like dumb-ass kids.”

“Okay,” I said.

“People don’t know how to take care of their fuck prizes these days,” he said. I heard the woman he was with admonishing him for the colorful expression of “children.” He grinned and shook his head. “She hates when I talk like that...ain’t that right, doll?”

“I’ll leave you two alone. Thanks for your….”

The man shut the door in my face. I took that as my cue to go and find the fabled “fuck prizes” roaming my hotel halls. I was sure if it was kids, they would be back in their rooms by now. It was late in the evening, and even the most unaware parents made sure their kids got to sleep. Regardless, it was my job to walk the chilly hallways of my Hoth hotel and find these rogue tauntauns.

I turned the first corner of the big square and heard someone whispering in front of me. I stopped and cocked my ear in the direction of the whispers. They suddenly ceased. I faked walking a few steps and stopped to hear if the voices would start up again, but they didn’t.

I started walking again, continuing to whistle my way through Phoebe Bridger’s Punisher album, when I heard what sounded like four or five footsteps running down the next hallway. I ran to the corner in time to see the stairwell door close. Whoever was there was trying to hide on the stairs.

Or that’s what they wanted me to think. This wasn’t my first rodeo, and I knew kids always tried to pull a fast one on adults. Especially adults that were in an authority position. I suddenly shuttered at the thought that I was considered an “authority figure.” I felt my youth tip over and start to spill out of me at that moment.

Just then, from the door at the end of the hall, I saw a figure move. Now, these doors lead to the outside and are made with frosted glass, so I couldn’t make out details, but I believed it was probably some of the kids trying to do an end around. The game was on.

“Is Omar back?” I asked into the walkie.

Static, and then I heard the unsure Martin respond, “He’s not. He’s, ugh, in the bathroom, I think.”

“Martin, I know he went to Taco Bell. You don’t have to cover for him.”

“Oh,” the voice came back, “then no, he’s stuck behind a lady he thinks is ordering everything on the menu.”

“Great,” I sighed, “any chance those security cameras are up and working again?”

“I, uh, after I accidentally turned them all off or whatever, I’d feel better just waiting for him,” Martin said. “Sorry, boss. I just don’t want to make things worse.”

“I get it,” I said. “Just let me know when Omar gets back, okay?”

“Will do,” he said.

I looked up at the frosted door at the end of the hall and stared it down. If they had made it outside, they could only get back in through the lobby – these doors locked behind you. I would’ve called Gwen to tell her, but I was holding her walkie. I was sure she’d noticed a gaggle of kids walking in at this hour.

I glanced over at the door to the stairs. I knew I should probably check the stairwell because there was a good chance they had darted down the stairs to hide. I would’ve if I was a kid and someone was following me. I was just about to swing open that door when I suddenly remembered another spot they might be hiding that was closer.

About ten feet from me was a small alcove where we kept the ice and vending machines. I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve found someone behind the machines trying to vape or get frisky during the night shift. A few times, Omar has found a former guest of the old Pullman trying to break into the vending machines. They wait by the outside doors for smokers and dash in before the door closes. There was a fair to good chance that’s where they were.

However, if they were clever and their kid radar worked, they’d spot an even better place to hide. Behind the machines is a hatch for a small crawl space. It’s an access spot for some AC ducts on the first floor. It was a tight fit to get in, but once you got in and down the ladder, there was a lot of room. Granted, it would be pitch black, but that would help if you were hiding.

I decided to skip the stairs and head for the vending machines. I took three steps towards it when, from behind, I heard laughing coming from the stairwell. I turned and lunged at the door. I ripped it open, half expecting to see a gaggle of preteen boys (it’s always boys) laughing at me. But, instead, I saw nothing.

I checked behind the door and even under the landing on the first floor, but I didn’t see hide nor hair of anyone. I was stumped. I knew I had heard a laugh. It just didn’t make any sense. I walked back into the hallway and let the heavy stairwell door slam behind me.

“Suck a crow’s cock,” I said out loud.

That was the trigger. I suddenly heard someone trying to stifle a laugh. Then two people. Then a group of boys started laughing uncontrollably. It was from behind the vending machines, just like I thought. I walked over there and found four boys red-faced with laughter.

“Hey guys,” I said.

They started laughing harder. I couldn’t help but smile – it was contagious. Even though I was technically the authority figure here, I was still human.

“Was it what I said?” I asked.

“Yes!” they all responded.

“That’s why I said it,” I lied, “I knew you wouldn’t be able to not laugh. Come on, let’s get out from there.”

I moved out of the way and let them slide out from behind the machines. As they were passing, I nodded down at the crawl space hatch. “I’m glad you guys didn’t go down there. I didn’t want to climb down a ladder in the dark.”

“We were going to,” the biggest kid said, “but we heard someone down there. We thought it was security.”

“There isn’t anyone down there,” I said.

“We all heard someone walking and talking down there,” the smallest kid said.

“It was probably just the AC making noise. It’s not working correctly. That’s why it’s so cold on this floor,” I said.

“It didn’t sound like an AC,” a blond boy said.

“It was,” I countered, “where did the kids on the stairs and running around outside go?”

They all looked at each other, confused. The big kid was about to respond, but then we all heard footsteps coming down the hall. The kids looked up at me in fear, and for a half-second, I was scared too.

“David, are you and your brothers down there?!”

The big kid recognized the angry voice. They all did. The jig was up. Mom had arrived on the scene. I stepped out from the vending machines, and the four kids followed behind me. The Mom and I locked eyes.

“They were playing hide and go seek,” I said.

She ignored me and zeroed in on the small group of boys, “What in the world were you four thinking? Sneaking out of the room and running around the hotel?”

“They weren’t too loud,” I said, trying to soften the blow.

“Thank you for finding them,” Mom said to me. “I’m sorry if they caused any problems. I can’t believe they snuck out.”

“It’s not a problem,” I said, turning on the manager charm. “We all did stupid things as kids.”

She feigned a laugh and pointed back towards her room. “Let’s get going, boys. Now.” They all hung their heads and started back towards the room. Mom and I locked eyes again, and she sighed.

“Thanks again for being so understanding. Sorry if they ruined your shift.”

“Nah, they gave me something to do. Enjoy the rest of your night.”

“Thanks, you too,” she said as she turned and joined her four dejected-looking boys. She stared down at them and shook her head. “What am I gonna do with you four, huh?”

“Sorry,” they all said in unison. I figured this wasn’t the first time they had done something like this.

“Mom,” the littlest boy said, “Do you wanna hear what that hotel guy said about crows?”

I turned to leave to avoid any side-eye from Mom for my previous outburst when I heard something bump the wall behind the vending machines. Confused, I thought there might be another rouge group of boys sneaking around. The other boys had said they heard someone down there. I sighed and headed toward the crawl space.

I squatted down and put my ear to the cover. I couldn’t be sure, but I thought I heard something moving down there. It was hard to make anything out for sure with the cover on. I knew I would have to remove the hatch to get a better look.

I pulled out my multi-tool and unfastened the screws. When all four were out, I gingerly grabbed the hatch cover and pulled it away. As soon as I did, you could feel a blast of cold air coming up from the room below. There had to be a leak in these ducts. I made a mental note to tell the repair guy when they returned.

I cocked my ear towards the darkness and listened. I didn’t hear anything now. No shuffling, no talking, nothing. I pulled out my cell and turned on my flashlight. I pointed it down the shaft and onto the floor below. My camera’s light struggled to illuminate much of the area. I leaned my head into the hole to get a better look.

That’s when I heard someone start loudly knocking behind me. I tried to rise up but forgot I was leaning into the hole and slammed my head on the hatch opening. I nearly dropped my phone down the shaft to the room, but by the grace of God, I held on.

I pulled myself out of the crawl space and from behind the vending machines. Rubbing the back of my head, I glanced down the hallway and saw a figure standing just outside the frosted glass door. I knew I had seen someone outside earlier, and now they were knocking to be let in. My guess was this was another group of kids who realized they had been locked out of the hotel.

I started down the hall and pulled my walkie up to ask about the security cameras again when the figure standing outside waved at me. That was when I realized the figure was an adult, and they were trying to get my attention. I waved back and hastened my pace. Someone probably went outside for a smoke and forgot their key. As I said, it happens all the time.

I got to the door and cracked it open. There was an older woman, I pegged her in her mid-fifties, standing outside with an embarrassed look on her face. She was wearing vintage clothes that were out of style but looked right on her. She had blonde hair with gray streaks and the most piercing green eyes I’d ever seen. Her face was cherubic and pleasant, but you could see the red of embarrassment coloring her cheeks.

“Hey there,” I said, opening the door wide to let her in.

“I got turned around,” she said, walking in. “Thank you for helping me.”

“No problem. Did you forget your key?”

“Yes,” she said.

“If I had a dime for every time someone stepped outside for a smoke and forgot their key, I could retire.”

“I’d love to retire,” she said with a faint smile.

“What do you do, if you don’t mind me asking?”

From behind me, the door to the stairwell slammed shut. I spun around, hoping to catch who was playing on the stairs, but I didn’t see anyone. There might still be another group of kids out here.

“Is this the Pullman?” the woman asked.

“Yes,” I said, confused.

“Looks so different.”

“We just went through major renovations,” I offered, “have you stayed here before?”

“Oh yes, many years ago.”

“We tried to keep some of the charm of the old place but update it. How did we do?”

She didn’t respond at first. I thought maybe she hadn’t heard me, but when I looked at her, she looked lost. Like, I could see her eyes, but they were dulled. I wondered if she had a mental illness and maybe was off her meds. I knew the state-run hospitals made a habit of dropping off discharged patients in this area.

“Are you feeling okay?” I asked, softening my voice.

That question didn’t seem to penetrate her shields either. I was about to call for help when she finally stopped drifting and righted her course. “I’ve seen so many things,” she finally said, not breaking her gaze with mine, “So many horrible things.”

Drugs. She was probably on drugs as well. It made the most sense. She said she was familiar with the Pullman but hadn’t been here in a while. Maybe she used to score at the old place and had been away for a time. I had to be careful because you never know how an addict might respond. Especially if they were mentally ill and off medication.

“Hopefully not here,” I said in as light a tone as I could muster.

“There are so many dark things here,” she said, looking lost again. “I feel drawn to them. It’s why I stay here.”

“Is there someone I can call to help you?”

She started laughing. It came on small, like a joke that took a minute to land, but then grew into a full-on fit. She doubled over and held her stomach, and laughed. I took a step back and started scanning the hallways for some help or a way out of there. Then she stopped as if someone had flipped a switch. She looked at me and shot me a warm smile.

“Is Wallace still here at this time of night?”

“I...I don’t know of any Wallace that works here,” I said. “Did he used to work at the hotel when you used to come?”

“He owned the place.”

I had known the names of the previous two owners, and neither was named Wallace. I wasn’t sure if anyone who had ever owned this place was named Wallace. I was sure I was dealing with a mentally unwell person at that point. I wanted to ensure they got the help they needed. I also needed to get them out of my hotel before something bad happened. Bad PR could kill a new place as quick as a bullet.

“Maybe we can see if we can find him in our directory up front,” I said. “Can you follow me to the lobby?”

“So many people died here,” she said. “Wallace hurt so many people.”

I didn’t know what to say. While my brain searched for a response, I heard the squawk of my walkie coming to life. A familiar voice came across the walkie. It was Omar. “Hey boss, what’s going on?”

I pulled up my walkie and smiled at the woman. “Give me a second,” I told her before I took a few steps away, turned my back to her, and pressed the button to respond. “About time you got back, Omar.”

“Blame Taco Bell. Who are you talking to?”

“Someone that may or may not be a guest in the hotel. I might need you down here to help.”

“Boss, what are you talking about?”

“What don’t you understand? You see us, right? You fixed the security cameras?”

“Yeah, but….”

“So what are you confused about? I need help with this lady. She may be lost or,” I whispered, “mentally ill or on drugs or something. She seems out of it. I’m afraid she might get….”

Omar cut me off. “Boss, there isn’t anyone there with you.”

The air went out of the room. I felt my skin go prickly all over. My head felt fuzzy, like I had just done whip-its. My mouth had dried in an instant, and my tongue felt foreign in my mouth. “What are you….”

“I was calling to ask if you were okay because you’re talking to yourself.”

“Omar, I was talking to….” I turned back and saw an empty hallway. I glanced in both directions but didn’t see a trace of the person that had been standing there. The hair on the back of my neck stood up.

“Boss? You okay?”

Omar’s voice sounded a million miles away. I thought I might black out. None of this made sense. My legs started to wobble, but I caught myself. I looked around again, but it was futile. I was alone in the hallway.

“There are so many dark things here,” I heard a disembodied voice say. It sounded like it was coming from all around me. Then, right next to my ear, the woman whispered, “So many people were hurt.”

Then I heard footsteps run down the hall away from me. Not just a pair, but what sounded like dozens. They pounded on the ground, sounding like a herd of elephants on the march. Then I heard the laughter again.

I stood, frozen in place, unable to process anything. I heard a room door whip open and saw the pissed-off man I spoke to earlier come bursting into the hallway. He was completely naked, and it was apparent his good time had been interrupted, but now he had a look of murder in his eyes. He saw me at the other end of the hallway and yelled, “Catch these fuckin’ kids and keep quiet! I’m tryin’ to ball my old lady in….”

Just then, he was violently pushed back into his room by some unseen force. Something cackled as the naked man tumbled to the ground. His door slammed shut by itself, and I was sure he wouldn’t come back out...or at all, if I’m being honest.

The vending machine suddenly tipped over and slammed into the ground with a glass-shattering crunch. I saw the cover to the crawl space opening fly out and slam into the opposite wall. “Oh shit,” I heard Omar say, but I didn’t hear anything else. I dropped the walkie and took off in a full sprint in the opposite direction.

I didn’t stop running until I hit the security office. Omar was smiling as I walked in. “I told you!” he said, pointing at the screen. “This place is haunted as fuck!”

I watched the footage and saw what Omar had told me about. I was standing alone in the hallway, talking to no one. I felt sick to my stomach. I decided to take the rest of the shift off. I went home and stayed up for the rest of the night, afraid to sleep.

When I felt better, I started looking into the hotel’s past. Turns out, the original owner of the Pullman was an eccentric named Wallace Hosiah. He made his money in the whiskey trade and liked to imbibe himself. The problem was he turned mean when he drank. When Prohibition hit, he poured his money into the hotel but never let his liquor connections go. Rumors were that he was mobbed up, and the Pullman was used as a final destination for many men and women who ran afoul with gangsters or Wallace himself.

One of his alleged victims was his mistress. I saw a photo of her...it was the woman I spoke to that night.

When I take my walks around the Pullman now, I do it when Omar does his rounds. Not that two people would be able to do anything if a ghost appeared and got violent, but we Americans love the illusion of safety. Even though my rational brain has a hard time accepting there are ghosts in this world, I know what I went through. I saw, spoke, and interacted with a person who simply wasn’t there.

I think I need a raise.