A haunted hotel in a ghost town, what could be more...cliché?
How about a hotel that doesn't have a ghost, but wants to score one?
After all, ghosts put hotels ON THE MAP, especially when this hotel was once a hospital for miners.
And we all know...
Flung himself at the French doors, yanked them open. Staggered onto the balcony. Gripped the railing. It was baked hot by the afternoon sun, its surface slightly curved, maybe three inches wide. Enough to balance on, but not for long.
For one chilling moment, George believed he was, in fact, that Marsh, who in a murderous rage had killed a miner and his cheating wife (she wasn't coming this day or any other: she was dead, and they would never find her body.)
That Marsh knew about the solid metal fence that ran from floor-to-ceiling on the old balcony, knew it was impossible to fall or jump. That Marsh also knew he could climb the latticework to the hospital roof and scurry down the north side, because that Marsh had cut an escape path for himself in the middle of the night.
It was that Marsh who stepped onto the narrow rail, then stood, precariously balanced, fingers straining high above his head for the handholds modern-day George March knew did not exist.
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And that's when George March yelled for help.
He watched the nurse and doctor strain in his direction, arms outstretched, faces intent, yet oddly hopeful. He heard their feet scrape the landing, felt the hands that should have pulled him to safety...turn into a heart-stopping shove.
In those remaining seconds before he smashed onto the rocks and his soul fled, George March heard their urgent whispers:
"Do you think it will work?" asked the doctor-bartender (Tom was his name and he and nurse-clerk Anna would marry later the same year.)
"I hope so. He meets the criteria. Unhappy death. Besides, we need a ghost, it's good for business."
"Anna. What was in the coffee?"
"Sugar. Just sugar."
AFTERMATH
Yes, it was sugar in the coffee, the same sweet stuff served in the scones Anna baked daily. She hadn't told Tom the rest: there are only so many secrets lovers can share.
While Anna's degree in chemistry had driven poor George crazy, it was her masters in psychology, including one cleverly produced video, that literally drove him to the edge.
Nothing beat the power of suggestion.
And when the time came, so what if he needed a little push? Every ghost story has a wicked spin.
Except. It hadn't worked. The Jerome Hotel remained pristine; un-haunted.
Three nights later, Anna sat with Tom, listening to the very local, very bad jazz band play late into the night. Business was still slow, only three people were booked to arrive that weekend. One couple on their honeymoon, the other a robust world traveler. Anna had high hopes for him: He was coming to Jerome, to, as he said, "Taste the air."
She planned to try again.
THE END
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A/N If you're a history buff, then you know my story is a flight of fancy. This hospital-turned-hotel is a very real place, and has been haunted from the get-go. The usual disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction and the whole ball of wax is a figment of my imagination. But if you're wondering what's true you can read about it online: https://www.azcentral.com/story/news/local/arizona-contributor/2016/10/18/jerome-grand-hotel-most-haunted-place-arizona/92340696/
Susan Rich June 18, 2000 (original) January 20, 2019 (final)
