The Haunted Halls by Glenn Rolfe Read Free Book Online Page A

hall, after a refreshingly quiet night, Jeff Braun jerked and twisted, serving guests from a nightmare version of his hotel. He was talking in his deep, suffocating sleep. The words were prayers, each one colored in desperation.

Chapter Eight
     
    A day off from work meant Rhiannon could catch up on some much needed shopping. First up was the Goodwill. She managed to pick up a couple of cool new vintage t-shirts and scored a rare find: a purple pair of Chuck Taylors. Next up, she grabbed a sandwich at Subway, then headed to Barnes and Noble to hit up the only Starbucks in forty miles and grab a couple of new magazines to read at work.
    A poster for an in-store signing this afternoon hung by the stack of “New Arrivals.”  An author named Lee Buhl. She’d never heard of him or the series of books next to his picture. He was pretty cute, but had that smug writer look: condescending eyes over a cheap perfect, white smile. A lavender button-up shirt opened so you could see a wooden Indian pendent hung over his fit chest, and more rings on his fingers than any man should be allowed. Okay, maybe the “condescension” in his eyes was her projecting upon the guy, but she’d met enough uppity jerks at the hotel to recognize the type. Lee Buhl may be the sweetest guy in the world, but she had her doubts.
    She grabbed the new Entertainment Weekly and the new Fangoria . She wasn’t a huge horror fanatic, but Jeff would probably appreciate it, and she enjoyed bringing in rags that her buddies could flip through as well. Her generosity ended at Maxim.  She stepped in line and couldn’t help but notice the man who walked through the front doors. It was the author from the poster. He stopped just inside, reached in his shirt pocket and threw on a pair of sunglasses. Yep. Definitely a schmuck.
    She laughed to herself and decided between the magazines and this jerk, she had enough reason to swing by the hotel and see Kurt.
    …
    Lee Buhl liked to get a feel for a book store and its customers prior to his autograph sessions. Some towns, like Dalton, Ohio, were overrun by scummy trailer trash. Others, like Portland, Maine featured a nice mix of wealth and character. Hollis Oaks seemed to be one of those in-betweens–not too ugly, not too pretty, just a bunch of regular folk. Plain was his preference. They were just happy to have a pseudo-celebrity in their midst. Their smiles were sincere and their requests were humble–a quick picture here, a “with love” there.  In a place like Dalton, their smiles seethed with jealousy, in the bigger, hipper cities, the crazy fans or wanna-be writers were out in droves.
    Lee smiled at a couple of blondes by the Nooks next to his poster, and then made his way to grab a shot of caffeine. The blondes strafed along behind him. No doubt recognizing him from the mini-billboard. He watched them from behind his shades as they whispered to one another, eying him. Dressed in tight jeans and t-shirts that left little to the imagination, the two girls looked dangerously young. They waited until he had his iced Frappuccino in hand before making their move.
    He signed copies of his book they grabbed from the “New Arrival” table. One of them asked him to sign it to Sexy Lexi. He did. Before they moved along, he produced his business card and scribbled his cell number on the back for “Sexy” Lexi. Nine out of ten times, they chickened out from making the call. He figured her a bit young to have the balls, but you never know. Young girls these days are full of surprises.
    Another shiver danced through him. This time, he was pretty sure it was from the cold drink, but he’d been wrong before. He needed to find out if there was really something special in this town. He made a mental note to meditate on it when he got back to the motel.

 
     
     
    Chapter Nine
     
    Timothy Laymon pulled his purring blue 2012 Ford Mustang into the back lot of the Bruton Inn. In the two days since checking in he could not