Page 1 of Into the Fire

1

Vic

“How did the fire start?” Police Detective Vic D’Amato asked the nervous man who sat in the chair on the other side of his desk. He had come in raving about ghosts and fire spirits. The crew at the Myrtle Beach Police Department directed those kinds of folks right to Vic as the resident expert in all things occult and weird.

“The hotel just passed an inspection,” Fred Sanderson replied, distraught. “Yes, it’s over a century old, but carefully, lovingly maintained. Read our maintenance reports and our customer reviews. They all raved about the modern safety features and how well the building and grounds were cared for.” Sanderson leaned forward. “This fire was demonic in origin.”

“Fires don’t always start from carelessness or poor upkeep.” Vic tried to understand why Sanderson thought this was more hellfire than a normal three-alarm blaze.

“Everyone says the Ocean Visions Hotel is haunted,” Sanderson said. “And they’re right. Not just some ‘woman in white’ generic ghost. The spirits are from real people who died at the hotel or were deeply connected to it in some way during their lives. That’s why the fire wasn’t worse; the ghosts alerted us even before the fire alarm went off.”

For a place people went to relax and enjoy themselves, Myrtle Beach had more than its share of ghosts with tragic stories. Vic’s psychic medium husband, Simon Kincade, heard many of those sad stories from the spirits or their descendants.

Hotels especially seemed prone to haunting. Sometimes people died of natural causes, while others drowned in the pool, fell off balconies, were murdered, or overdosed. Whether the death was intentional, malicious, or accidental, the spirits seemed to have second thoughts about leaving the beach and decided to stick around.

“The ghosts alerted you to the fire?” Vic wasn’t sure how the man expected the police to help if his story was true. This sounded much more like something up Simon’s alley.

“Yes.” Sanderson took a deep breath. “They raised an awful clatter several minutes before the alarms did. That woke us, and we smelled the smoke. It’s also how we got the guests out and minimized the damage, although it’s still going to take a lot to fix.”

“Where did the fire start?” Vic hoped he could at least present a coherent incident report, even if they ended up turning Sanderson to other resources.

“In the basement, in the oldest part of the hotel. It’s an area that isn’t in use and is off-limits for a lot of reasons. Some of that is age and lead paint remediation, but many people have said it’s not just haunted, it’s cursed, and they do their best to avoid it.” Sanderson dropped his voice as if he were afraid that just saying the words would bring down havoc. “We’ve had psychics investigate, and witches from a number of traditions have said blessings and done cleansings. We even hired an exorcist.”

“What happened?” Vic couldn’t help being intrigued.

“He got halfway through the ritual when something grabbed him and threw him against the wall. We all saw it. He packed up his crucifix and holy water, wished us good luck, and ran away like his ass was on fire.” Sanderson watched Vic as if expecting him to argue.

That wasn’t what Vic had expected, and despite his professional skepticism as a long-time member of the force, he wanted to know how Sanderson thought the pieces went together.

“Why would the…ghost…in the basement want to hurt the hotel or anyone else? Is there a story about who or what it is?” Vic checked to ensure his phone was still recording, and Sanderson didn’t seem self-conscious. He had given his permission at the beginning of their interview and apparently wanted the world to know his story.

“The Ocean Visions Hotel is close to one hundred years old,” Sanderson said. “Myrtle Beach was just coming out of a rough-and-tumble history with pirates, seafarers, timber companies, and railroads. Before the beach, there was a forest here, and the tribes who lived there were nearly wiped out by disease and mistreatment.

“The hotel was built on land that had been barracks for the press gangs who built the railroads. Still, the hotel did well until a plumbing installation in the basement last year turned up very old skeletons in an unmarked hole. We don’t know the story of who they were, but the bones all showed fire damage.”

Vic’s eyebrows went up. He could tell that his partner, Ross Hamilton, was listening at the next desk although he was pretending to concentrate on paperwork. Vic couldn’t blame Ross. Whether or not the tale was true, it was the best story he had heard in a long time. What he didn’t know was what Sanderson expected him to do about it.

“That’s when the hauntings went from mild to malicious,” Sanderson continued. “We exhumed the graves, had the bodies properly buried, brought clergy in to bless and cleanse the area. But it was right after that things started to go wrong.”

“There were dangerous pranks that happened, but the security cameras didn’t catch any of the staff or guests causing them. Things like stoves being turned on after they were turned off in the kitchen, windows opened in a storm, bathtubs flooded, that sort of thing.

“We brought in a medium. She told us that whatever the presence was in the basement, it was very old, angry, and dangerous. That’s when we called the exorcist, which, as I said, didn’t go well.” Just telling the story seemed to drain Sanderson’s energy.

“We talked to a couple of witches who told us how to seal off that whole area and spell it to contain the entity. That held until a water leak washed away the salt and spelled items. I think that let the thing free. Just a few days later, the fire broke out.

“We didn’t find any more skeletons, thank heavens. But the fire department did discover two rooms down there that were bricked up a long time ago and a third that’s blocked shut. I checked, and they don’t show up on the most recent floor plans,” Sanderson went on. “One of them had been busted open from the inside. We haven’t opened the others yet, but there’s got to be a reason someone went to the trouble to seal them to keep something in. I’m worried about what got out, what we’ll find inside, and I’ve got a gut feeling that’s tied up somehow with whatever caused the fire.”

Sanderson met Vic’s gaze, the focused stare of a desperate businessman, not a wild-eyed raving lunatic. “I think it was a warning. It’ll strike again, worse next time. No one died in the fire, but I think that’s what it wants. It likes fear, but it likes death better. I don’t know what to do.”

“How did you think the police could help?” Vic asked, genuinely curious. “Your perpetrator might not even be human, or at the least, is dead. That’s a little beyond our mandate.”

Sanderson shrugged. “I don’t know where else to go. The insurance company won’t believe me. I’ve talked with witches, ministers, and exorcists; they can’t help. I don’t want anyone to get hurt, and I’m afraid that if the spirit manages to destroy the hotel, that will set it loose on the whole town.”

Setting a supernatural power loose in Myrtle Beach with the potential to wreak death and destruction definitely expanded the scope of Sanderson’s concerns about a haunted hotel.

Ross shot him a look with a raised eyebrow, clearly questioning Vic’s next move.

“I know you’ve been disappointed by some of the people you’ve called on for help. I’m sorry they let you down. But I can refer you to a psychic who’s the real deal, my husband, Simon Kincaide with Grand Strand Ghost Tours.”