Black Hotel Page 2

  9:15. God, today was going to go forever. He definitely needed more sleep. Awful as his job managed to be most of the time it was far worse when he was tired. Jack was beginning to wonder whether the job was actually a job at all. Or rather some sort of sick psychological test. Something to test his endurance and patience. See how long a person would spend being tortured by an entirely pointless endeavour.

  Unfold, refold. Unfold, refold. Jack had no idea what happened to the pieces of paper once he refolded them. Something to do with data entry. Why couldn’t the data enterers unfold the paper themselves?

  About thirty tedious minutes of unfolding and refolding later Jack made a pleasant discovery. He was nearing the end of the tub. The last tub. The mail tubs from which he retrieved the folded surveys were each the size of a small chest, meaning they could hold hundreds of pieces of paper.

  And this was the last one.

  He checked under the desk to be sure. Nothing there. Was it possible he was nearly done? A strange pleasure seeped through Jack’s body. What would be next? Some sort of new task presumably. The idea of a new job seemed slightly concerning, but whatever the new task was it couldn’t be worse than folding and unfolding paper, could it? Whatever it might be, he had almost seen the end of the horrible surveys. No more folding.

  He was down to his last 20 surveys when his boss passed again.

  Jack stopped him and indicated to the final tub. ‘Look. It’s nearly empty.’

  A blank look was his only reply.

  ‘I’m almost done… ‘

  His boss chuckled and beckoned Jack to follow. Trailing behind, Jack continued to speculate as to what his next job might be. They passed a row of people doing data entry on the bank of computers. Blank faces. Dead eyes. The work appeared equally as mindless, but computer work paid better. Only a dollar or two an hour, but still… There were a couple of spare machines too. What would it be like on this side of the room? The computers were somewhat nearer the window but still didn’t offer much of a view out into the world. However, the boss didn’t stop at the computers. He kept going.

  His boss led Jack to the less familiar part of the factory. They moved along a drab corridor to a concrete set of stairs. At the bottom of the staircase, they entered the loading bay. Jack’s boss greeted a few of the workers as he passed. They never seemed very friendly to Jack. Was this the new task? Oh God, no. He didn’t want to work down here with the store people. That would be a disaster. The store guys were a different breed somehow. But his boss continued to walk.

  Finally, they reached a cage. For a fleeting moment, Jack thought this could be a trap. What if his boss intended to imprison him here? Keep him here like some sort of caged animal. How long until anyone noticed? Would anyone even care? Surely Merch would. He made a mental note not to go in too far and to try and stay between his boss and the cage door. Just in case.

  Then immediately it became clear why they were down here, and it was arguably worse than being a caged prisoner. The cage was a large room, and the room was stacked full of tubs. Several hundred tubs. All overflowing with surveys.

  ‘Not almost finished,’ the boss delighted in his high, flinty voice.

  Jack stared in horror at the tubs. His future flashed before his eyes. It was entirely possible he was going to be on unfolding and refolding paper for the remainder of his natural existence.

  4

  Mother

  Jack rang the bell and waited. Soft noises escaped from inside as she approached the door.

  ‘Jack.’

  ‘Hi, Mum.’

  Jack hadn’t been too keen on going out two nights in a row, but he wasn’t too keen to cook either. Besides, dinner with his Mum was a lot easier than the dinner party. He didn’t have to make conversation, he just had to sit and eat and pretend to be interested.

  His Mum had cooked up a nice casserole. Certainly a step up from the duck. As they ate his Mum went through all the gossip she had managed to accumulate, moving outwards from family members and their lives to an ever-increasing circle of people Jack had never met. Many his Mum had never met either.

  Jack’s Mum had moved here about six months ago, into what was dubbed "The Community". The Community was essentially little more than a series of connected apartments. The difference was rather than having a bunch of neighbours who barely know each other, members of The Community took an active interest in one another’s lives. They were all retired, and all more or less the same age. The Community went to movies together, took walks together, explored museums together, shared hobbies. That sort of thing. But mostly they talked. About their lives and the lives of anyone they knew. Stockpiling information about each other’s lives and families. Gossip the dominant commodity. The situation suited Jack’s Mum perfectly because it gave her endless topics of conversation, far more than her family and friends had been able to provide prior to her moving to The Community. Jack did feel as though he was letting the side down somewhat, not providing a more exciting life for her to be able to leverage her position within The Community. Imagine how respected she would be if he were say, an astronaut.

  ‘And you know Bobby Jackson?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Yes, you do. Estelle’s daughter.’ Jack had no idea who Estelle was. ‘Anyway, Bobby is pregnant, and she was meant to be getting married. But her fiancé ran off with her best friend. Isn’t that awful?’

  ‘Awful,’ Jack repeated, mulling into the casserole.

  ‘Oh and Estelle’s son, Mark, he wasn’t happy with his career, so I bet you can’t guess what he did? He went back and got an apprenticeship. Age 35. Imagine that.’

  ‘Wow,’ Jack added noncommittally. He waited for it, waited for her to say it, but it didn’t come. Not yet. The silence hung in the air. Finally:

  ‘What about Merch? How is he?’

  ‘Umm, good. He’s just… Merch. Doing his thing.’

  ‘Has he found a girl yet? Settled down?

  ‘He finds lots of girls. It’s the settling down part he’s not so keen on.’

  The conversation was skirting dangerous grounds. Time to beat a hasty retreat.

  ‘He will, one day. Soon. Mark my words.’

  In an attempt to get himself moving, Jack shovelled down the remaining bits of casserole, attacking the last mouthful a bit too quickly.

  ‘What will you do then?’ continued his mother

  Jack stood. ‘I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it, Mum. Thanks for dinner.’

  ‘By the way, what are you doing Friday lunchtime?’

  ‘Folding paper.’

  ‘The Community has regular Friday lunches, where they organise speakers to come in and give us talks. They’re very good. Last week’s was all about diversifying your super. I didn’t really understand most of what was said, but it was very interesting all the same. Anyway, I thought this Friday’s might appeal to you.’

  ‘Can’t do it. I’ve got work.’

  She ploughed on, ignoring him. ‘The talk is called "The Best You" and it’s all about helping yourself achieve being the best version of yourself. Of course, it will be more aimed at people my age, but you might get something out of it.’ She handed him a flyer.

  Great. Just how he wanted to spend his time. If sharing a lunch with a bunch of retired people wasn’t enough to remind him that his life was a mess, there was a helpful talk to ram home the point.

  ‘Thanks, Mum. I’ll think about it,’ he lied. As he left Jack decided he was pleased his Mum had found The Community. It seemed to be good for her.

  5

  Sunshine

  The next day Jack’s mood matched the dark and bleak clouds swelling over the factory. A horrible day, both inside and out.

  Unfold, refold. Unfold, refold.

  Jack contemplated the amount left to do. The tub to his left was full of sheets, all of which needed unfolding and refolding. Several more tubs sat piled up beside that. Even more tubs waited on the floor. And God only knew how many more in the cage d
ownstairs.

  Jack sighed. He glances at his watch again. 10:27. Damn it. He’d left it too late. He should have gone to the toilet earlier. Too late to go now. He had been in trouble for going to the bathroom just before break time in the past. He wasn’t scared of his boss. However, things were better when his boss wasn’t annoyed. Like poking a bear, no point unless you have to.

  The problem was when the clock hit 10:30 it was as though a silent alarm sounded in the building. Break time. All the worker drones stood in unison and trudged for the exit. That forced Jack to make a decision. Bathroom or break room. Jack needed the toilet, and if he got there quick, he could avoid the crush. Nothing worse than spending half the break waiting in the bathroom. On the other hand the kitchen, which doubled as the office’s only break room, always filled up super fast. The kitchen was a kitchen in the loosest possible sense of the word. There was a ridiculously full fridge, a coffee machine and the sink. Close by sat a few tables and chairs, which would allow Jack to escape to the wonderful world of Terry Pratchett, at least for a few minutes.

  The trouble was if he went for the break room he would need to go to the toilet for the entire break and wouldn’t enjoy the time. Decisions, decisions.

  It wasn’t really a question. The bathroom won out.

  Jack raced in and managed to exit again before the crush. Perfect. However, he wasn’t so lucky with the break room. He hurried in only to find the space packed to capacity. There wasn’t even anywhere good to stand and lean. All the decent wall spots were taken by people sipping watery coffee and hating their lives.

  Where else could he go? He didn’t want to go back to his desk – he was stuck there all day as it was. Besides if he was at his desk the assumption was that he was working, which made reading there a bad look. Something about low paying jobs. The lower the pay, the harder they watch every move you make.

  Jack briefly considered the cage, but the only advantage the cage had was a lack of people. He had no desire to sit in a dirty, dusty space surrounded by the tubs of doom.

  Without any kind of conscious decision, Jack found himself outside in the cold with the quiet desperation of the smokers. This wasn’t palatable either. What was he going to do?

  Then something glorious happened. As he looked searchingly up at the black sky a tiny hole forced its way through the dark clouds. A teeny, tiny patch of the most beautiful blue and with it a ray of sunlight. The type of ray of light people used to mistake for God. A ray of sun for Jack and Jack alone. He was sure of it. Closing his eyes and lifting his head to the heavens, he revelled in the momentary piece of beauty and warmth.

  The chance moment spoke to him. Jack knew precisely what he had to do.

  Jack raced back inside the office, feeling alive. He snatched up his bag and bolted for the exit.

  ‘Hey, Jack. Break time’s over.’

  Jack didn’t care. He ignored the high-pitched voice, running right out of the office. Running away.

  ‘Jack? Jack!’ His boss turned to one of the drones. ‘Where is he going?’

  6

  Exploring

  Jack ran out of the factory and away. Above him, the sky began to clear. Free of that evil place he slowed to a walk, chuckling like a madman. As with many of Jack’s bursts of inspiration, taking action felt sublime. Like a drug, surging through him. Of course, he had no idea what he would do next, and he was well aware the reality of his actions would catch up with him sooner rather than later. But that was later’s problem. He could ignore it, at least for the time being. And the weather played its part, steadily getting better and better.

  This wasn’t a part of the city Jack was overly familiar with, and he enjoyed wandering about checking out the various houses and buildings that he passed. The sun encouraged people out of their homes. Elderly people ventured just far enough outside to watch the world go by. Parents took young children to the park. Jack drank it all in, moving slowly. Warm sun fuelling his adventure.

  The further Jack went the fewer houses he saw. The people thinned out as well until he found himself venturing alone through entirely industrial surrounds. Nothing except factories and warehouses. Some standing out on their own, others in little courtyards. Small dead-end streets populated by warehouses on both sides.

  With only a rough idea of where he was and even less of where he was headed, Jack rounded a corner and stopped, laying eyes on it for the first time.

  Black Hotel.

  A gorgeous turn of the century Gothic structure, the hotel stood proudly despite being squeezed on either side by the endless march of progress. What was it doing here? It was as though the hotel had wandered off from its family and become lost somehow, entirely out of place amongst the bland concrete walls and endless roller doors. The hotel sparkled with charm and character. A relic of another time or possibly even another world. Jack stood staring for a long time.

  When Jack attempted to piece things together later the sensation the hotel gave him wasn’t one he was able to articulate. It was more… a knowing. The hotel was calling him, beckoning him in. Drawing Jack to it somehow. They had a connection. Even if he didn’t want to enter, there was little choice. So he ventured inside.

  The train rocked Jack gently to and fro as it powered along. He couldn’t help but smile. He marvelled at the world with no idea how things worked, just that they generally did. Leaning over, he took out the pamphlet from his bag. The front displayed an image of Black Hotel taken from much the same angle he had first seen it. When had the photo been taken? The exterior of the hotel itself looked exactly the same, although it wasn’t being squeezed so much on either side by the neighbouring buildings.

  Jack searched his backpack again, fishing out a pen. In the blue sky above the hotel, he drew a bright, happy sun, with a great big smile. He couldn’t wait to tell Merch. With the train approaching his station Jack got to his feet, sliding the pamphlet into his back pocket.

  Unbeknownst to Jack, the pamphlet slipped out of his pocket as he stood. Jack exited the train, unwittingly leaving the pamphlet lying on the carriage floor … where it only sat for a few minutes, before being discovered by an unhappy little middle-aged man. The sad man stared at hotel pamphlet, the hotel façade reflected in his thick glasses.

  Three impressively dressed knights crowded into the small kitchen area of Jack and Merch’s flat. Had they had horses the knights would very much have looked the real deal.

  ‘Dude. Your chainmail is on backwards.’

  Merch’s companion awkwardly attempted to turn his chainmail about without having to remove the entire ensemble.

  ‘Someone approaches…’ exclaimed the third knight, thrusting his sword forward. ‘Halt, peasant!’

  Jack ambled in and smiled. ‘Hey, guys. Oh, I forgot, you’ve got your… thing tonight.’ He very nearly slipped up and referred to their things as a "Knights of the Round Table thing", a mistake he made before. Merch and his friends loved to dress up as knights, but it had nothing to do with King Arthur or his round table and to suggest so was rather insulting apparently. Jack didn’t understand. He wasn’t much for playing dress ups.

  ‘Hey, have you spoken to your boss?’ Merch asked.

  ‘No.’ Jack had deliberately switched his phone off and hadn’t been able to bring himself to turn it back on yet. ‘Why?’

  ‘He left a somewhat abusive message on the machine. Sounds pretty pissed. ‘

  ‘I think I quit. Too nice a day to fold paper. ‘

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘It’s all good. I got a new job. Look.’ Jack reached for his pocket. The pamphlet wasn’t there. Somewhat surprised, Jack patted the empty pocket several times as though the gesture might prompt the pamphlet magically appear. ‘I must’ve dropped it. Oh well, I’ll get another tonight.’ He left the knights to it and hurried to his bedroom.

  A few minutes later Merch and his two fellow knights had finished dressing.

  ‘Hey, Jack. We’re off.’

  ‘No worries.’ Jack called out
from the other room. ‘Hey, check this out.’

  Jack strutted back in, decked out in an old-fashioned bellhop outfit, complete with an overabundance of gold buttons running in three rows down the jacket and the little round hat. Jack beamed proudly.

  The three knights looked at him quizzically before bursting into fits of laughter.

  ‘What the hell is that?’

  ‘My uniform. For my new job.’

  ‘Dude. Thou looks ridiculous.’

  7

  Trains?

  Black Hotel glowed ominously, floodlit against a dramatic night sky.

  Inside quietness hung in the air. An array of black and white and sepia pictures lined the walls. Photos of the hotel, pinpointing moments in its history and evolution. Old-fashioned turn of the century workers laying the foundation stones. The hotel completely surrounded by countryside and accessible by dirt road. Patrons out front on horseback. Jack studied each image with great interest.

  ‘Do you like trains?’ Hector enquired.

  ‘Trains?’

  ‘Yeah. Trains.’

  ‘Ummm. They’re okay I suppose.’

  Hector was relatively small and looked to be in his early 40s. Maybe younger. Guessing ages wasn’t Jack’s strong suit. About all Jack had been able to ascertain was that Hector worked at the hotel although Jack had little idea in what capacity. Hector had been the person Jack had spoken to when he had first wandered in. There had been no one else about. And he was here now giving Jack the tour.

  Hector moved with a slight limp. Jack was keen to ask about the limp, how he got it, but guessed it probably wasn’t polite to ask such things in a job interview, or trial period, or whatever this was… Hector hadn’t been overly specific.