Dead Utterings
by
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The Station Hotel sat dormant. Closed and abandoned 30 years ago, all of her secrets and mystery lay behind the boards that covered her broken windows and her locked doors. The electricity had been cut off; the telephone disconnected. Occasionally a light would come on and the telephone would ring, but no one knew, no one saw, no one cared. But after over thirty years someone was no longer passing by but was listening; the electrical wires pulsed, the pipes churned and the old Hotel was awakening, ever so slowly, awakening. And Ben Thomas was there to hear her. The secrets she held were being whispered a little louder. The mysteries she hid beneath decades of dust were ready to be revealed. The desire and the love and the will to survive were stirring. That which was forgotten would be remembered. That which was silent would be heard and that which was hidden would be seen. The shadows of the past would be visible to the present and the screams from years gone by would echo again in our time. The dust covered newspapers that held the old Hotel’s legacy would soon be read. And the few people left alive that slept each night with The Station Hotel’s history entwined in their nightmares would speak of their dreams. The past would strive to be remembered. The Station Hotel would strive to survive. Ben looked to his left and along the corridor he’d have to travel to exit, registering that Kaley’s Room was closed. He didn’t like Kaley’s Room. He didn’t like the sign on the door that read ‘Kaley s Room’. He didn’t like the message that it gave out, the sign of the past, the marker of history, of people gone but not forgotten, or more so of people dead but still lingering. His eyes were still fixed upon her sign; his mind still fixed upon her mystery when it happened. He heard it. Somewhere down the corridor a child was crying. The cries were not ‘baby cries’ Ben concluded, but the cries of a child of say Laura’s age, around seven years old. He ran his hands over his taut face and pulled them down the stubble on his neck. He then held them together as if in prayer with the tips of his fingers touching his nose. His mind raced, contemplating the origins of the noise, of the crying. It was so eerie. He scoured rational for explanation. He questioned his hearing; he questioned his mind. He asked himself if a real live child, maybe a homeless child, could have sneaked into the old building and be crying. He tried not to ask himself if a dead one could be doing just the same. After a while he heard it again. Ever so slightly he could here crying, but this time there was more. Amidst the trembling sobs he could faintly make out a whispered word that sounded uneasily like ‘Mommy’. Someone was crying for Mommy; and Mommy was coming...
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About the Book
Her doors had been locked some thirty years before, but the boards nailed upon them protected so much more than her wood and her glass; they also hid a secret and a dark and infamous past. Still, somewhere amidst the darkness and the dust, the bricks and the memories lurked defiance, spirit, and a will to survive. For thirty forgotten summers and thirty abandoned winters she stood, defying the death-knell of demolition that hung over her broken roof. And then they arrived: a gang of counterfeiters working in the safety and seclusion of her shadows. But as they would discover, The Station Hotel, just like the beautiful brunette who still roamed her corridors, was anything but safe.
About the Author
Dead Utterings is the debut novel of Steph Lawton. "A person should not be judged on what they achieve, but on what they overcome in order to achieve it" Steph stated in a recent interview. With no previous writing experience and little regard for the orthodox way of doing things Steph is delighted to see Dead Utterings finally overcome the many obstacles faced by new writers and find its way to the shelves. Steph plans to move to North Shields, on the banks of the Tyne, where he will complete his second novel, Bullets For Angels, alongside his beautiful girlfriend and soulmate, Julie.