29 Sep 2016, 4:30am
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/the Macedonia Hotel, Chapter 11

Macedonia HotelThe Macedonia Hotel

A NANOWRIMO

Relay writing project

 

 

By the Wayne writers Guild

Completed July 2016


The Macedonia Hotel

(This fictional piece is the product of a relay writing project by the Wayne Writer’s Guild In honor of NANOWRIMO-2015.  Any resemblance to real events, people, places, or things is a coincidence and neither intended nor implied to be real and accurate.)

 

 

 

I extend my thanks and gratitude to the contributors who shared their time and talents to make this NANOWRIMO Relay Writing Project possible.

 

The individual chapters are the intellectual property of the author.

 

Special thanks are extended to John Cieslinski for his generous use of the book store’s back room.

–Kate Chamberlin, Coordinating Editor

July 20, 2016

 

 

Wayne Writers Guild

Meets at 7:30pm – 9:00pm, on the 2nd and 4th. Tuesday of each month

Books, Etc. of Macedon, NY

John Cieslinski, Owner

78 W. Main ST. Macedon NY 14502

Phone 585-474-4116

 

 

Chapter 11

The Mysterious Visitor

By C. A. Stahr

 

He appeared one afternoon.  He wasn’t much observed.  He was a quite ordinary man.  One would not look twice in his direction.  His clothing was out of fashion by any measure, a bit frayed and perhaps somewhat musty smelling.  He wasn’t tall or short, thin or obese.  His coloring was kind of a golden brown, like a Native American’s perhaps.  His hair was long, but tidy – pulled back in what was called a ponytail and tied with a silver string that sparkled in the afternoon sunlight.

Well, actually, he was observed by one person – that was me.  I was on the front desk.  My shift had commenced at 1 o’clock and it had been a typically boring afternoon.  Not much happened at the Macedonia until 8:00 or 9:00 o’clock in the evening.  Ours is a pretty quiet town.  I would describe it as “dull.”  Anyway, I noticed the man because he was the only guest to arrive that afternoon and I was hungry for something to do.

He approached the front desk and requested a suite for a week’s stay.  A suite, I chuckled, where did he think he was?

“The closest thing we have to a suite is a queen bedroom with a private bathroom,” I responded.

“Well then,” he said, “I suppose that will have to do young man” – he peered at my name tag and said: “Mr. Frank, that is.  Is there someone to take my bags to my room?” he queried.

“That would be me,” I told him and accepted his trunk key to retrieve his bags.

When I returned to the lobby, the mysterious Mr. Wayne was nowhere to be seen.  I shrugged and went about my business.  What a strange man, I thought.  He hadn’t stated his business in Macedon and I had neglected to ask.

Mr. Wayne returned a bit later and asked to speak with the Hotel Manager.

“Is there something I can help you with?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said.  “You can tell the Hotel Manager I wish to speak with him.”

“Yes, sir,” I responded, somewhat put off by his officious manner.

As it happens, Ms Davis entered the lobby just as I was about to go in search of her.  “Ms Davis,” I said softly.  “This gentleman has requested a word with you.”

“But, of course.  Will you come this way, Mr . . .?

“Wayne,” he supplied.  “Thank you for taking the time to talk with me.

So off they went to the manager’s office.  They were in there for some time and finally emerged, both in a somber mood, it seemed.

“Frankie,” Ms Davis instructed.  “Please give Mr. Wayne a tour of our fine hotel.  Take the pass keys and allow him to inspect anything he wishes.”

“Ah,” thought I.  “Must be a Safety Inspector or a Zoning Inspector, or some kind of official.  Boy, is he in for an eye full.”

Mr. Wayne looked in every nook and cranny of our hotel.  He inspected the boiler room, not just the boiler, but every inch of the room.  He instructed me to open every guest room and he actually entered every room, made notes, pulled back curtains, looked out windows, measured closets, and counted the number of rooms per bathroom on each floor.

Then we climbed to the attic level where all the unused furniture and stuff are kept.  Now that is one hot and dusty place in the middle of August, I can tell you.  We moved dusty furniture, pushed boxes and trunks around, measured windows and checked out lighting fixtures.  He spent long minutes peering out the windows at the landscaping and the surrounding buildings.  A funny duck was he.  He uttered nary a word to me, only mumbled and hmmmm’d and whistled every once in a while.  I sure was getting weary of this adventure, I can tell you.

“Next stop,” sang out Mr. Wayne, “the cupola room.”

Now, I’m no sissy, but I avoid the cupola room at all costs.  I’m not afraid of much, but I don’t figure to meet up with any ghost if I can help it.  However, since it was my job, I gingerly guided Mr. Wayne up the stairs to the cupola room.  A rocking chair was rocking gently with a soft creak as we entered the room. There was no one in the room.  The windows were closed and there was no draft.  The room was dusty from unuse, but the chair continued to rock, back and forth, back and forth.  I stood in the doorway, prepared for a quick retreat.

“Hmmm, fascinating,” Mr. Wayne mused.   He then circled the room, took measurements, peered out of each window, circled the room again and sat down in the rocking chair.  It stopped rocking.  I gulped quietly.  Mr. Wayne took his notebook from his jacket and began writing hurriedly.  I waited.

After a considerable time, Mr. Wayne asked me to escort him to the roof.  “The roof?”  I asked.  “Yes, Mr. Frank, the roof.” he repeated in his most patient voice.  So, to the roof we went.  I thrust open the trap door amidst cobwebs and sawdust and led the way to the rooftop.  Here we stood for long moments.  Mr. Wayne strolled to the very edge, peered over, scratched his head, walked the entire perimeter of the rooftop and jotted down some more notes.  “What could he possibly find interesting enough to take notes on?” I wondered.

Finally, Mr. Wayne replaced his notebook inside his jacket pocket and told me to lead the way down.  We returned to the lobby where Ms Davis was waiting for him.

“Thank you for your invaluable help. Mr. Frank,” he said, and motioned Ms Davis to return with him to her office.  And off they went leaving me with a zillion questions and zero answers.

“Not my concern,” I cautioned myself.  And I returned to the front desk to sign in a guest who was just entering the lobby.

But, of course, I kept glancing at Ms Davis’s office door, wondering what was transpiring behind it.  I am unnerved by closed doors.  They bring the most perplexing possibilities to my vivid imagination.

Several hours later the usual crowd began to filter in through the lobby and to who-knows-what-party, as always.  My unfounded fear was that Mr. Wayne would exit Ms Davis’s office while these rag-a-tags were traipsing through the lobby and think poorly of our hotel.  “Now, where did that come from?” I wondered.  “You’d think it was my establishment and, of course, I’m just a grunt here.  But, I do take pride in our hotel.”

I went off duty at 9 o’clock and still had not seen Mr. Wayne emerge from Ms Davis’s office.  The suspense was killing me.  “Oh, well,” I consoled myself, “Ms Davis will probably fill me in in the morning.

The next day was Friday and I went on duty at 1:00 o’clock, like always.  The hotel was all abuzz with tenants, local merchants, and various Macedon residents in clusters around the lobby.  Now, the Macedonia Hotel may not be the Ritz, but we do have a very large impressive lobby.   “What’s going on,” I asked John, the Proprietor of Books, Etc. as I pinned on my name tag and glanced around the front desk to be certain everything was in place.  John handed me the Macedon Post and there on the front page was a color photo of Mr. Wayne with a cover story that read:

 

MULTI-MILLIONAIRE PURCHASES MACEDONIA HOTEL

 

Mr. David Wayne (of the Wayne County Waynes) has purchased the Macedonia Hotel for $3.9M.  Mr. Wayne states that he has had his eye on this hotel for several years and has exciting plans for its renovation.  Several floors will be added to include such amenities as a heated Olympic size pool, an exercise room, a unisex hair salon, a 5-star restaurant, a Club Room and several well-appointed suites. “I will make the Macedonia a Grand Hotel in its own right,” said Mr. Wayne.  Several surrounding buildings have also been purchased and will be replaced by a multi-level parking garage and a luxurious park surrounding the hotel.

The purchase goes hand-in-hand with a Casino that Mr. Wayne will build on Route 31 – just a short distance from the Hotel. The Wayne Complex will boast a world-class Water Park as an added incentive to patrons who wish to combine their Casino junket with family vacation.  “Travel by highway, canal and a newly created air-strip will bring Casino patrons from all over New England at the very least,” is Mr. Wayne’s prediction.

When asked what will happen to the current residents of the Hotel, Mr. Wayne responded: “Well, of course, I have made provision for everyone who will be affected by my plans.  I am presently negotiating with a local contractor to build affordable apartments on the Route 31 corridor near Macedon proper.  No one will be displaced as a result of new ownership.”

Once refurbished, Mr. Wayne will reside at the Hotel in the Cupola Room Suite.  He has expressed great interest in this particular part of the Hotel.  Perhaps, he knows something the rest of us don’t?

It seems that Mr. Wayne has thought of everything.  And Macedon will soon be a thriving city with ancillary businesses to support the Wayne complex of Hotel, Casino and Airstrip.  These are indeed exciting times for Macedon, NY.

John watched as I read the article, a wide smile on his mischievous face.  “What do you think of that, Frankie?” he chirped.

“Well, I’ll be,” I mused.  “Who’d have thought that unimpressive man with his frayed coat and dusty shoes was a billionaire?  His quiet ways and straightforward manner gave no clue to his place in society.  As you’ve often said, John, you just can’t judge a book by its cover!”

 

Author Bio:

  1. A. Stahr was born in the Finger Lakes area, lived in various eastern USA locations and returned to our area in 2011 after her husband, Alan, passed away. Anne has three children and three granddaughters. Ms Stahr earned her B.S. at Columbia College and devoted more than 25 years to Human Resources Management.  She is a Literacy Volunteer, gardener, avid reader and aspiring writer, as well as a valued member of the Wayne Writers Guild.

castahr@gmail.com>

 

Wayne Writers Guild

Meets at 7:30pm – 9:00pm, on the 2nd and 4th. Tuesday of each month

Books, Etc. of Macedon, NY

John Cieslinski, Owner

78 W. Main ST. Macedon NY 14502

Phone 585-474-4116

 

22 Sep 2016, 4:05am
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/the Macedonia Hotel, Chapter 10

Macedonia HotelThe Macedonia Hotel

A NANOWRIMO

Relay writing project

 

 

By the Wayne writers Guild

Completed July 2016


The Macedonia Hotel

(This fictional piece is the product of a relay writing project by the Wayne Writer’s Guild In honor of NANOWRIMO-2015.  Any resemblance to real events, people, places, or things is a coincidence and neither intended nor implied to be real and accurate.)

 

 

 

I extend my thanks and gratitude to the contributors who shared their time and talents to make this NANOWRIMO Relay Writing Project possible.

 

The individual chapters are the intellectual property of the author.

 

Special thanks are extended to John Cieslinski for his generous use of the book store’s back room.

–Kate Chamberlin, Coordinating Editor

July 20, 2016

 

 

Wayne Writers Guild

Meets at 7:30pm – 9:00pm, on the 2nd and 4th. Tuesday of each month

Books, Etc. of Macedon, NY

John Cieslinski, Owner

78 W. Main ST. Macedon NY 14502

Phone 585-474-4116

 

Chapter 10:

The Time Traveler

By Anon E. Mous

 

I, too, am a traveler; a traveler of time and parallel worlds. The first time I visited Macedon, the rolling, irregular hills rose from the valley of the Mud Creek. The soil of clay and gravelly loam upon a limestone formation supported verdant grasses and deciduous trees.

When next I visited, Webb Harwood and Ebenezer Reed had settled here. Perhaps, the year was 1789 or there a-bouts. The Town of Macedon is named after the birthplace of Alexander the Great, in the Greek province of Macedonia, Greece. I recall the first child born was Enoch Gannett, in 1791.

Once the Macedonia Hotel was constructed in 1888, the cupola became my favorite portal of entry.

I witnessed Sir Robert, who had experienced many lives because he was a Dragon in human form, bestow a very special gift upon his wife, Maria. She had been granted the gift of becoming a Crystal Dragon.

One evening, there was a beautiful lady viewing the town from that lofty vantage point when I came through the portal.

Though deceased, Mrs. Bonnie Black and I spent many pleasurable hours together each time I came to visit. In other times and in other worlds, she wasn’t the tragic figure she became in this parallel.

Billy was alive and as snarky as ever when the boy, Randy, escorted the blind girl, Grace, out of the hotel into the snow storm, presumably to take her home to 12 Stone Street. Big Bertha’s party was in full swing, so, the salesman, Bradley, had to put two pillows over his head to block out the noise. He was impervious to the actual snow storm outside and the virtual storm brewing inside the hotel. Even Hughey , satiated with connubial bliss with Rosa, was sound asleep in their basement lair, unaware that the lights were out and needed his attention.

I happened to be in the lobby to witness who murdered Billy Beckwith. She was too busy to notice me this time, but, I hung around to see the chaos she’d caused.

The Chief of Police, Captain Carl, reluctantly left his burger and fries in the Hungry House Café to trudge out into the storm across Main Street when the frantic call from the dispatcher came in.

“I’m sick and tired of being called to that hotel for nothing,” Captain Carl grumbled to himself. “The last time I had to go in there, it turned out that old Frank and Ryan were up to their cock-a-Maymie schemes. That one was about robbing a bank. Yeesh! I wonder what it is this time.”

Captain Carl panned his big Maglight® torch around the lobby. Its beam caught some college kid with a cell phone plastered to her ear. She froze like a deer caught in head-lights. When she thawed, she pointed to Billy, slumped over the check-in counter.

Captain Carl cleared the lobby of milling people, by herding them into the back dining room. I escaped upstairs to look for the Lady.

I found the Lady up in her cupola, crumpled in the musty rocking chair.

“I had to do it. That reprobate was letting my beautiful hotel disintegrate into disrepair and degradation,” she sobbed. “I had to stop his black heart from not caring. I can’t rest in peace until it’s all settled.”

Since I’d already visited this place in the future, I’d seen the shabby man come into the lobby and what he eventually did. I shared the future of the Macedonia hotel and the Town of Macedon with her.

She put her pale hand lightly on mine, she whispered, “Thank you.”  as her thin, blue veined lids closed over her vivid, crystal green eyes for the last time. I traveled with her for a short while on her journey, but, I had other times to travel to and other parallel worlds to explore.

 

Author Bio:

Kate Chamberlin

kathryngc@juno.com

“Dream it. Write it. Read it.”

www.katechamberlin.com

 

Wayne Writers Guild

Meets at 7:30pm – 9:00pm, on the 2nd and 4th. Tuesday of each month

Books, Etc. of Macedon, NY

John Cieslinski, Owner

78 W. Main ST. Macedon NY 14502

Phone 585-474-4116

 

15 Sep 2016, 3:57am
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The Macedonia Hotel, Chapter 9

Macedonia HotelThe Macedonia Hotel

A NANOWRIMO

Relay writing project

 

 

By the Wayne writers Guild

Completed July 2016


The Macedonia Hotel

(This fictional piece is the product of a relay writing project by the Wayne Writer’s Guild In honor of NANOWRIMO-2015.  Any resemblance to real events, people, places, or things is a coincidence and neither intended nor implied to be real and accurate.)

 

 

 

I extend my thanks and gratitude to the contributors who shared their time and talents to make this NANOWRIMO Relay Writing Project possible.

 

The individual chapters are the intellectual property of the author.

 

Special thanks are extended to John Cieslinski for his generous use of the book store’s back room.

–Kate Chamberlin, Coordinating Editor

July 20, 2016

 

 

Wayne Writers Guild

Meets at 7:30pm – 9:00pm, on the 2nd and 4th. Tuesday of each month

Books, Etc. of Macedon, NY

John Cieslinski, Owner

78 W. Main ST. Macedon NY 14502

Phone 585-474-4116

 

 

Chapter 9:

Rosa

By John Cieslinski

 

Seven years ago, Raul Ortiz passed away. Every day Maria thought of her husband, especially as she did her chores at The Macedonia Hotel.

She was the housekeeper.  She worked with another woman, Agnes.  Agnes tended to be a little dour, but the two of them were decent to each other and often took their coffee breaks together.

As she ripped the soiled linens off the bed, she would think about the nights she and Raul spent together. They didn’t have any children, but not from lack of trying. When she put the clean sheets on she thought about how gentle and loving Raul was and how she missed his simple touch or the bear-like hugs he would embrace her with.

She was very careful about her work. She knew Raul was watching and she did everything for him.

And now she was very bothered and as she vacuumed the rugs she had a great wave of guilt rush over her, but she tried to push it away and remember how Raul would bring her a rose.  He loved Saint Theresa and prayed to her.  He told Rosa that every rose was a sign; a sign from God. A sign from heaven that blessings are there for each of us.

She had asked Agnes about the problem she was having; not exactly an easy thing to understand or put into words. but Agnes got the idea, and of course, she spoke her disapproval very strongly. Yet, Rosa couldn’t stop thinking.

As she cleaned the bath tub, Rosa thought about their hands touching, but, it wasn’t Raul’s hand that made her blush and feel guilty again. She was loyal to Raul and she loved him and now this something else was forcing its way into her thoughts…into her very being.

“Raul, please, please forgive me. He touched my hand, but, I will always be loyal to you. He says he loves me. He is a good man. His name is Hughey and he says he will take care of me. What should I do?”

She wiped out the sink and replenished the little bottles of toiletry items, placing each one carefully in the tray, almost with love as if trying to send love to Raul, but, her eyes were filled with tears.

When her work was finished, she went to her locker in the basement and tried to avoid Hughey’s eyes as he looked so longingly toward her. Near the handle of her locker there was a little heart sticker that she knew he’d put there.

As she walked home, her mind was racing. “Raul, let me know what to do. You have always guided me. You are always there.”

Rosa unlocked the door to her apartment and took off her jacket. She turned and then gasped. Her hands flew to her heart. She had her answer: on the pillow on her bed was a long stem red rose.

 

Author Bio:

John Cieslinski is a gregarious and warm man who hosts our Wayne Writers Guild in his small, but mighty store, aptly named Books, Etc. in Macedon, NY. He is not only a published poet and playwright, but, a retired teacher and tutor of Spanish, French, German and Latin. He is a proponent of the Abundance Theories. John knows putting books, writers, and coffee together will spark something that is electrifying and magical every time.

www.books_etc.com

 

Wayne Writers Guild

Meets at 7:30pm – 9:00pm, on the 2nd and 4th. Tuesday of each month

Books, Etc. of Macedon, NY

John Cieslinski, Owner

78 W. Main ST. Macedon NY 14502

Phone 585-474-4116

 

8 Sep 2016, 3:50am
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The Macedonia Hotel, Chapter 8

Macedonia HotelThe Macedonia Hotel

A NANOWRIMO

Relay writing project

 

 

By the Wayne writers Guild

Completed July 2016


The Macedonia Hotel

(This fictional piece is the product of a relay writing project by the Wayne Writer’s Guild In honor of NANOWRIMO-2015.  Any resemblance to real events, people, places, or things is a coincidence and neither intended nor implied to be real and accurate.)

 

 

 

I extend my thanks and gratitude to the contributors who shared their time and talents to make this NANOWRIMO Relay Writing Project possible.

 

The individual chapters are the intellectual property of the author.

 

Special thanks are extended to John Cieslinski for his generous use of the book store’s back room.

–Kate Chamberlin, Coordinating Editor

July 20, 2016

 

 

Wayne Writers Guild

Meets at 7:30pm – 9:00pm, on the 2nd and 4th. Tuesday of each month

Books, Etc. of Macedon, NY

John Cieslinski, Owner

78 W. Main ST. Macedon NY 14502

Phone 585-474-4116

 

 

Chapter 8

Frank’s Plan

By Alex S. Reid

 

They sat drinking coffee and enjoying a cheeseburger with extra fries at the Hungry House Cafe.

Frank was tall, slim, and serious looking. He wore glasses and had a wild mop of graying hair. His blue dungaree jacket matched his jeans. He was the more adventurous of the two. Ryan was quieter, more thoughtful, and slow to make decisions. He was twenty pounds overweight with a chubby, red face, and a shaved head. He fiddled nervously with a plastic spoon.

These two guys, old friends from High School, were broke, unemployed and divorced. One had two daughters in Nursing School; the other had a son in the Military. They had a few things in common, such as, they were both in their early fifties and real losers. For a number of reasons, good fortune had somehow passed them by.

“Ever wonder where we went wrong?” Frank asked, while still chewing and watching a pretty waitress wiping off nearby tables. “We had big plans, remember? Neither of us were the sharpest knife in the drawer, but not the dumbest either.”

“Yeah right,” Ryan agreed. “I was a pretty good mechanic. Remember that old ’59 Chevy Impala? I bought it for next to nothing, rebuilt the engine and transmission, sold it and made a bundle. So where are we going Frank? How come we are such failures?” Ryan asked, as ketchup ran down his chin.

Frank passed him a napkin, and then continued. “Where are we going? Well I have a plan. It’s pretty obvious we need to make changes in our lives. Hell we’ve used up most of it already and here we sit, feeling sorry for ourselves. I live in a rented Mobile home. When it rains I catch water in a bucket from my leaking roof. Then there’s you, living in the rat-infested, ramshackle Macedonia Hotel with a bunch of weirdo’s. Hell, you’re probably the most normal tenant. So, we need to make dramatic changes. Ones that will make us rich…and fast. How are we gonna do that? Very simple. We rob a bank,” Frank said leaning back and waiting.

Ryan gave a look of sheer disbelief. “Yeah sure. Why the hell not. We need a little excitement, right? Let’s get the cops to chase us down the street like Butch

Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.”

“I mean it,” Frank continued. “Listen, I’ve figured it all out. Spent weeks working out the details. I’ve cased the bank and even studied other bank jobs. The successful ones, and those which were not. The secret is all in the planning. Our bank job will work. It’s the perfect location: quiet, low traffic, no cops, ideal for a quick getaway,” said Frank.

“Oh God, he’s really serious. Listen to him. He invites me to The Hungry Café for a burger and now he’s talking me into knocking over a bank?” Ryan said, holding his head with both hands in a gesture of exasperation.

“Here’s my plan,” Frank continued. “We buy a wheelchair from Goodwill for say $30. Clean it so we don’t leave any fingerprints. I’m dressed as an old lady wearing a dress and a white wig. I’m pushing your wheelchair. You’re disguised in a hat, obviously to cover that bald head. Plus a beard, sunglasses and a huge white foot bandage. That’s a clever distraction so everyone feels sorry for you. We wait patiently in line. Then we hand the teller a note telling her to fill our black plastic bag with twenties, tens and fives. We show the teller our gun. Once our bag is filled I drop it on your lap then wheel you out the door. We then dump the wheelchair and your foot bandage and ride skate boards around the block. We then dump the skate boards, old lady’s dress and plastic bag with the money in a garbage can. We then stop in the nearby McDonald’s for coffee and a cheeseburger then sit and watch as cops drive around like crazy stopping cars and throwing up road blocks. We sit and wait until everything has quieted down, stroll outside, collect our money from the trash can, stuff it into my back pack, and head home. Is that brilliant or what?” Frank stopped, smiled, took a deep breath and waited for his friend’s response.

“Are you done?” Ryan asked. “Are you out of your small mind? Have you any idea how many things could go wrong? We’d get twenty years if we got caught. Armed robbery? Listen, I’m too good looking to go to prison. Those cons would pass me around like a peace pipe. You think our lives are miserable now? Try prison life?”

“I knew you’d find fault with my idea for getting rich,” Frank said. “You’re too negative. You have to learn to trust my judgment.”

Ryan grinned nervously. “Trust you? Are you crazy? He wants me to trust a guy who’s planning on robbing a bank. Listen. Maybe you are ugly enough to survive twenty years in jail, but not me. Sorry buddy, count me out. No sir, no thanks. I’ll take my chances flipping hamburgers.”

“That’s exactly the reason you were never successful. You’re too negative. You never learned to think outside the box. You have to be creative, use your imagination.” Frank said.

“Oh yeah. Well, imagine this. Fifteen hundred violent hairy cons in Attica. Tattoos, pumping iron, muscles like Schwarzenegger, haven’t seen a woman in years, and suddenly you are thrown in amongst them like raw meet in a lion’s cage. What are your chances? God I hate to think about it. No imagination you say? Oh boy, yes I do and it’s a damned nightmare. I’m sorry friend but I’m staying back at the Macedonia Hotel collecting my unemployment. I may have a few really strange neighbors, weird noises at night and even a ghost or two but its home. And what’s even stranger, I like the place,” Ryan said, standing suddenly before grabbing his jacket and heading out the door.

 

Author Bio:

Alex Reid has written stories since a small boy. His submissions to magazines met with ridicule, scorn and rejection. Finally, he self-published two books which he gives away to friends. Who’d buy them?

Mary, his wife of 53 years, is still his best friend. They have two sons, seven grandchildren, and a great-grandson. Retired, they live nearby in their old farmhouse on three acres of woods, fruit trees, wild flowers, and overgrown weeds.

areid3@rochester.rr.com

 

Wayne Writers Guild

Meets at 7:30pm – 9:00pm, on the 2nd and 4th. Tuesday of each month

Books, Etc. of Macedon, NY

John Cieslinski, Owner

78 W. Main ST. Macedon NY 14502

Phone 585-474-4116

 

1 Sep 2016, 4:54am
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The Macedonia Hotel, Chapter 7

Macedonia HotelThe Macedonia Hotel

A NANOWRIMO

Relay writing project

 

 

By the Wayne writers Guild

Completed July 2016


The Macedonia Hotel

(This fictional piece is the product of a relay writing project by the Wayne Writer’s Guild In honor of NANOWRIMO-2015.  Any resemblance to real events, people, places, or things is a coincidence and neither intended nor implied to be real and accurate.)

 

 

 

I extend my thanks and gratitude to the contributors who shared their time and talents to make this NANOWRIMO Relay Writing Project possible.

 

The individual chapters are the intellectual property of the author.

 

Special thanks are extended to John Cieslinski for his generous use of the book store’s back room.

–Kate Chamberlin, Coordinating Editor

July 20, 2016

 

 

Wayne Writers Guild

Meets at 7:30pm – 9:00pm, on the 2nd and 4th. Tuesday of each month

Books, Etc. of Macedon, NY

John Cieslinski, Owner

78 W. Main ST. Macedon NY 14502

Phone 585-474-4116

 

Chapter 7

Renters and Circumstances

By Mert Bartels

 

Working in a multi-story building to handle all maintenance problems from painting to fixing plumbing to cleaning out unoccupied apartments and suites allows me to hear a variety of conversations. Some are normal between couples while others vary from minor disputes to vicious arguments.

Other times people do not notice me in the hallways as I proceed to do daily maintenance requests from the building dwellers. Because of this, most pay minor attention to ol’ Hughey, the hotel’s maintenance man for over 30-years. Luckily, most of my work is within the hotel and not outside. I wear a shirt with the building name on it over my left breast pocket so the newcomers know I am part of the staff. Some think I hear poorly due to my age; however, that is absolutely untrue.

Why just the other day, Mrs. Olson, a 65-year old widow, called the office for a request to have the toilet fixed as the water was running steadily.

By the way, plumbing facilities were added to The Macedonia Hotel in the late thirties.

Upon arriving and knocking at the door, Mrs. Olson showed me the toilet which was malfunctioning. So as I am searching for the part that needed adjustment or replacing, Mrs. Olson commented, “Oh, how I’d like to take a bath.”

That comment startled me as she looked physically healthy for her age to take a bath any time she wanted. My next words queried her as to why she couldn’t take a bath.

Her reply, “The stopper is stuck.”

“Well,” I answered, “it is certainly fixable.”

She said, “You don’t understand the problem.” So I queried her why she thought taking a bath was not a possibility. The answer I received was surprising, well at least to me. She had been told the stopper in a bathtub was not fixable so no water would collect in the tub. She was pleased to know a stopper could be replaced in a quarter hour. So I collected some tools and supplies and within 25 minutes I had it fixed.

Several days later Mrs. Olson and my paths crossed again in a hallway. She abruptly stopped me in the hallway to say in her fancy way. “Oh, how wonderful it was to take a bath again.” Well, ol’ Hughey knows satisfaction often comes from making somebody happy.

Why people simply don’t ask for maintenance to keep their apartment in top working order when it is necessary…sometimes, this stumps ol’ Hughey. That’s my job by golly!

By the way, there isn’t much I can’t fix.

What one hears while walking through the hallways is always enlightening. A few weeks back, a young newly married couple came home from work, quickly engaged in disrobing in the living room to make a rush to engage in making whoopee, but, they forgot the vent over their apartment entrance door was open. Oh, what I heard. It brought back fond memories of long ago as a young buck myself.

This couple is Harold and Irene. I like Harold, a friendly guy who stops to talk with me for a few minutes if he has time to spare. Several days after that love making afternoon, I spied Harold taking trash bags to the outside dumpster. He is currently employed as an auto race car designer at Nashcar Works. Anyhow, I couldn’t help but chide Harold some. He caught my meaning when I dropped this line, “Is there any truth that your next super racer is to be named ‘Hot Irene’?” He smiled and turned a bright crimson.

The Macedonia Hotel employs an Assistant Maintenance man by the name of Willie or more explicitly William Truckee, a friendly helpful black man that all residents like quite well. Willie came north from Tennessee before the civil rights eruption of last century. If he is left alone one can hear him singing softly these lines:

A black man I am, I do what I can

One day I’ll be completely, totally free

Ah, the seven boys from Harlem, gee

Globe Trotters will earn my respect man

 

Unlike some white folks, Willie is not only polite but more honest than the longest day of the year. Nearly fifteen years back Willie found the wallet of local insurance agent Bradley T. Bishopp, who lives on the top floor. The wallet had dropped from his coat after a very long night of playing poker in the upper floor game room. Mr. Bishopp almost turned snow white when he had his wallet returned by Willie with the remaining money still there. Willie chuckled and talked a lot about the ten dollar reward Mr. Bishopp had given him for being honest as the day was long.

Another time I recall a maintenance call on water coming out of the second floor hall ceiling fixture. You know that is not a common thing seen, while being a safety concern too, and many of the residents were concerned about a fire hazard. Some of those residents were quite excited and discussed this matter with the others.

With a toolbox and flashlight in my hands I trudged up to the water emitting fixture which was near an end stairway, located about midway between two rooms above. Obviously, the water had to be from the floor above, but where. Up another flight of stairs I proceeded so I could find this disguised water source. With no water visible anywhere on that floor, my next move was to knock on apartment doors to ascertain if the leak was somewhere within.

At Mr. Peter’s apartment he let me in to verify if any water noises or flooding within condition existed. After careful examination I found no water issue, so I thanked him for allowing me in to check. He chuckled, “Good luck! By the way let me know if I need to soon buy a canoe.”

Next, I knocked on the door of the adjacent apartment. No reply. The second time I knocked much louder and waited for two minutes. Still no one appeared at the door. Holding my ear to the door I could hear nothing—no radio, no TV and no talking. Since I needed to check that apartment I took my pass key from my pocket and unlocked the door before entering. As soon as I entered the hall, the sound of running water was surprising and very easy to hear.

Three times I yelled, “Hello, anyone here!” No answer.

Advancing into the room I noticed sound asleep in a large easy chair was Mr. Andrew Samuel Johnston-stone, a bachelor who hoarded books of all sizes on a myriad of subjects. He was a professor at a nearby college and quite knowledgeable on an array of topics. Well, I bypassed him to enter the bathroom when I notice water running over the top of the sink, and that nearly an inch and a half of water on the floor there and some of the living room carpet soaked.

Mr. Johnston-Stone slowly awoke after I shook him. So I told him there was a water problem here.    With a startled look on his face, he ejaculated, “Damn it! I must have fallen asleep. I planned to wash my socks in the sink, but apparently I fell asleep before shutting off the water.”

Only thing left for me to do was clean up the mess and leave a very embarrassed Mr. Johnston-stone.

One of the matters being the only maintenance man is the dreaded nightly call over a complaint not an immediate, critical emergency. There were occasions when some renters were terrified as bats flew throughout the building with ease, speed and intermittently. Oh, how I disliked those 11 or 12 midnight calls. Thus I had to get out of bed, get dressed, get in the car and get to the building. One would think flying bats would be easy to locate; however, they, the bats, were never cooperative.

With flashlight in hand while walking through the hallways, the task of finding the nuisance bat was a combination of luck and close examination of walls, especially stairways with dim overhead lighting. I never took a test or course on how to trap and remove bats.

The first time a bat nearly buzzed me I ducked. That accomplished nothing. Next time I was buzzed I clapped my hands loudly which apparently distressed the bat. I soon learned I could drive the bat down the hallway to a stairway, but then what?

Time for a coffee and make a plan. Simple plans are always the best. I asked myself what does a bat prefer—coolness and darkness. I eventually located the bat on the second floor, so I opened a window, went for another coffee and returned to see the bat was gone. By that time it was to begin my normal shift. Oh hum.

I have other bat stories but not now. There’s not a lot ol’ Hughey has missed as far as human concerns go. Bless the renters for they provide me with continuous exploits of things humanity shouldn’t do.

 

Author Bio”

Merton Bartels, a long time Macedon resident, believes there is so much more to tell in crisper detail than with much of today’s electonic media. An infinite amount of knowledge can be obtained by reading and much more depth on the main subject can be derived than from watching the proverbial silver screen. He likes to write to describe past experiences whether with family or summarize uncommon but intriguing historical tidbits

mbartels1@rochester.rr.com

 

 

Wayne Writers Guild

Meets at 7:30pm – 9:00pm, on the 2nd and 4th. Tuesday of each month

Books, Etc. of Macedon, NY

John Cieslinski, Owner

78 W. Main ST. Macedon NY 14502

Phone 585-474-4116

 

26 Aug 2016, 2:57am
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The Macedonia Hotel, Chapter 6

Macedonia HotelThe Macedonia Hotel

A NANOWRIMO

Relay writing project

 

 

By the Wayne writers Guild

Completed July 2016


The Macedonia Hotel

(This fictional piece is the product of a relay writing project by the Wayne Writer’s Guild In honor of NANOWRIMO-2015.  Any resemblance to real events, people, places, or things is a coincidence and neither intended nor implied to be real and accurate.)

 

 

 

I extend my thanks and gratitude to the contributors who shared their time and talents to make this NANOWRIMO Relay Writing Project possible.

 

The individual chapters are the intellectual property of the author.

 

Special thanks are extended to John Cieslinski for his generous use of the book store’s back room.

–Kate Chamberlin, Coordinating Editor

July 20, 2016

 

 

Wayne Writers Guild

Meets at 7:30pm – 9:00pm, on the 2nd and 4th. Tuesday of each month

Books, Etc. of Macedon, NY

John Cieslinski, Owner

78 W. Main ST. Macedon NY 14502

Phone 585-474-4116

Chapter 6

Dark Times

By Mary Stanton (aka Claudia Bishop)

 

Ivory jerked awake into darkness, and for one terror-stricken moment, she was back in that house, and he was coming, she knew he was coming and there was nothing she could do to save herself or her sisters.

She gasped and sat up. The lights on her laptop glowed orange/white in the gloom. The familiar, musty smell of the cupola at the top of the Macedonia hotel washed over her. She wasn’t home. She’d fallen asleep over her work, and her shabby room, her refuge, was just two floors away.

She sighed and stretched. She was safe. For now.

Or was she? The sounds of the party below had reached shrieking heights. Somebody had turned on a boom box, and the bass rumbled of unidentifiable music shook the floor under her feet. Wild laughter spiraled up the stairs.

Ivory picked up her cell phone, hesitating. Should she call the cops? Even that fat police chief ought to be able to do something about it.

Ivory had discovered the cupola the first week she’d moved into the hotel, and quickly made it her own. The space was small—no more than eight feet square, and the only furniture were a shabby velvet arm chair, and a wobbly card table. She’d shoved the table in front of the little window so she could look out over Main Street while she worked and dreamed of better times.

She looked out the window now; Chief of Police Wardle spent a lot of time at the Hungry House Café across the street, scarfing up French fries doused in gravy and if all he had to do was stump across Main and wave his badge around, the reprobates would go home and she could go to bed in peace.

But she couldn’t see Main Street. She couldn’t see anything. White fog obscured the air outside. She rubbed heavy condensation from the glass with the sleeve of her hoodie.

Snow. Inches and inches of snow. Not unexpected in an upstate New York November, but a real pain in the butt nonetheless. The snow plow hadn’t made it out yet, and the street was slushy with tire tracks and ice. The few cars parked in front of the Hungry House were draped with sheets of white. Nobody trudged down the snowbound sidewalks.

A faint yellow glow from the cafe windows told her the place was still open. Ivory sat back, scrubbed her face with both hands, and then closed her lap top. The thump of the bass beneath her feet changed to a faster beat. She had to do something. There was that pretty girl, Grace, to think of; Ivory wasn’t at all sure Randy had gotten her out of there safely. And there was that constant, maddening maelstrom of noise. Ivory hated noise. Noise meant her drunken step father cranking the TV volume up to intolerable heights, her sisters screaming when he swung his fists, her mother sobbing helplessly. Nope. That wasn’t going to happen here, in her refuge. Ivory wouldn’t let it. She’d shut that bunch of fools up herself.

“Reprobates,” the Lady’s voice whispered in her ear. “In my hotel….”

With the suddenness of a slammed door, the party stopped. The voices and the laughter cut off as if a knife had severed them. Somebody jerked the electrical plug on the music, or it sounded like it.

Reprobates….

Ivory smiled to herself. It’d be pretty darn cool if she could depend on the Lady for a bit of help now and then. Maybe she’d stop at Big Bertha’s 3rd floor ‘suite’—and what the heck had Social Services been thinking of to get that sloppy little witch a suite?!—and see if the Lady had struck them all mute, or something.

She tucked her lap top under her arm, slipped out the door, and paused at the top of the landing.

The lights were out along the stairwell. Billy Beckwith was a slob, but he was more scared of the Macedon code officer than he was of a little work, and the forty watt bulbs along the stairwells were always on at night. She sighed. So maybe the Lady hadn’t worked some magic after all; maybe it was that reliable upstate New York phenomenon, a power outage. She’d have to go down to the lobby and roust Billy out of bed so he could get the generator going.

Ivory tucked her laptop more firmly under her arm and felt her way carefully down the stairs. She figured the last time the carpet at the Macedonia had been replaced was maybe 1902, or even earlier, maybe, and the worn spots could trip you up. The last thing she needed was a broken leg. No way to help her sisters if she was laid up in a cast.

The third floor was dark, quiet, and silent. Ivory hesitated, not sure if she should check on the party-goers. If Grace were still there—Ivory laughed a little. Of all people, Grace would be just fine.

Ivory crept down the next two flights, pushing down panic. She didn’t like the dark, She’d never liked the dark. She stopped on the first floor. She’d been in the lobby earlier that afternoon when that salesman had checked in. Brad? That was the name he’d given Billy. He’d looked like a pretty decent guy, and Ivory was sucker for a Southern accent. Billy had put him in 13B. If she tapped on his door, maybe he’d be willing to give Billy a hand with the generator.

And maybe not, Ivory thought grimly. She’d watched that sequel to the X FILES and Agent Muldar had it right: Trust No One.

She made it to the lobby, and heart slowed back to normal. A pale light steeped in from the front windows, and she could see Billy at the front desk, slumped over, fast asleep, the slug, oblivious to the blackout. She stepped up to the desk, and thumped her knuckles on the splintered top. “Mr. Beckwith.”

He sat there, unmoving.

“Mr. Beckwith!”

Exasperated, Ivory pulled out her cell phone and switched on the flashlight.

There was a very good reason Billy didn’t answer. He wasn’t asleep.

It looked like he was dead.

 

Author Bio:

 

Mary Stanton is a well-traveled American author known for her children’s fantasy series Unicorns of Balinor and adult mystery series Beaufort & Company. Writing as Claudia Bishop, she authored The Hemlock Falls series.  Born in Florida, raised in Japan and Hawaii, and educated in Minnesota, Mary has lived in the Rochester area since the mid-1970’s. Prior to her writing career, her experiences include being a nightclub singer, medical examiner, claims adjuster, and Director of Volunteer Services. www.marystanton.com

mmwstanton@aol.com

 

Wayne Writers Guild

Meets at 7:30pm – 9:00pm, on the 2nd and 4th. Tuesday of each month

Books, Etc. of Macedon, NY

John Cieslinski, Owner

78 W. Main ST. Macedon NY 14502

Phone 585-474-4116

 

18 Aug 2016, 4:11am
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the Macedonia Hotel, Chapter 5

Macedonia HotelThe Macedonia Hotel

A NANOWRIMO

Relay writing project

 

 

By the Wayne writers Guild

Completed July 2016


The Macedonia Hotel

(This fictional piece is the product of a relay writing project by the Wayne Writer’s Guild In honor of NANOWRIMO-2015.  Any resemblance to real events, people, places, or things is a coincidence and neither intended nor implied to be real and accurate.)

 

 

 

I extend my thanks and gratitude to the contributors who shared their time and talents to make this NANOWRIMO Relay Writing Project possible.

 

The individual chapters are the intellectual property of the author.

 

Special thanks are extended to John Cieslinski for his generous use of the book store’s back room.

–Kate Chamberlin, Coordinating Editor

July 20, 2016

 

 

Wayne Writers Guild

Meets at 7:30pm – 9:00pm, on the 2nd and 4th. Tuesday of each month

Books, Etc. of Macedon, NY

John Cieslinski, Owner

78 W. Main ST. Macedon NY 14502

Phone 585-474-4116

 

chapter 5

The Crystal Dragon

By Alex Rea

 

The Macedonia Hotel is the best place to be if you want to hear tales about the yesteryear and the people that formerly dwelled in that location. The woman in room number eight, Mrs. Bonnie Black, was the original proprietress of the edifice. One can resolve that she stays around hoping for someone to restore the hotel to its early glory. She often said that the hotel was one of the best things to happen to the area.

In that location, with the Canal nearby, there is a great deal more story to add to the stories one might try. Not everyone is able to hear the stories, but to the ones that do they are unforgettable. tales are narrated by the spirits that inhabit the building and the surrounding regions. They are telling us about their lives and how life was way back when.

There is a young lady that sits in a rocking chair that has been seen rocking her baby, making sure no one can take her away. They died in the cold of a harsh winter, asleep in the chair. To this day some can still see the chair moving when no one is in it. Off of the upper balcony, some can see the gallows where many were hanged. Because the wrong person was put to death, none that was hung can successfully move on. The person who did the crimes, had gotten away, never to be caught.

The judge that had tried them had lost his mind completely and was put into an insane asylum. He passed half a dozen years in the mental institution and finally committed suicide. He returned to the hotel as the most familiar place from when he was alive.

If you can hear them talk about their stories, you hear the same theme: It was the judge. The Judge is the soul that performed all the crimes, that is the reason he lost his mind. The people he had condemn to death was for profit. They were forever telling him what was going to occur to him after he died. He did not believe them at all.

The best story though, is about two women often seen in the great room having tea. These women were iconic to the area as they both had wealthy husbands and were a contributing influence to the Palmyra- Macedon area. They are Bonnie Black, the original owner of the Hotel and Mrs. Barbara Blocket, lady of the famous Blocket House in Palmyra. When these ladies get together for tea in their dresses and gloves, it is a sight to see. Mrs. Blocket often can be heard talking about how her house has undergone many changes throughout the years. The last time they were spotted having tea, they were speaking about the people that live in or utilize the buildings that used to be theirs. Mrs. Blocket smiles at the music that is being put back into her place. Her house is being filled with love and light as the Spark Of her former church’s Congregation has given the old house life again. She is delighted with the direction they are conducting themselves within her sacred space and are using up the riff-raff off the streets by spreading the love and light into the community the way that she used to. The dead are no longer in the streets.

The lady of the Hotel says to Mrs. Blocket, that they have done the same for her space in Macedon as well.

They walk through the Butterfly Trail to see what has been done to clean the place up. It was a place to picnic by the water and see the boats go through the channels and Canal Locks. I know that when I hear their stories, I am going back through time right there with them.

Others at the Hotel are from all walks of life. There’s some good and some bad. They are the ones to watch out for as they can drain every single drop of energy from your body to manifest themselves. One of them is named Jason.

Jason, his wife and child, and his wife’s sister all shared a room that was barely big enough for even one individual. Jason had cancer while he was still alive. They went from room to room doing drugs with other past tenants. They consume the life force out of people without them knowing. This brought out the big guns rather recently when one traveler stopped in. This mortal, not knowing their birthright or where he hailed from was unbeknownst to him and others, very powerful in magic.

He was losing time from being drained by Jason. When it was found out, a stronger force was sent in to protect him. This would have been to be considered an unlikely love story, considering that both bodies were male. But the force that was sent in has many people and spirits within the individual physical structure.

One being from 1890, she is very beautiful, with period dress and gloves of white. It was explained that a woman from that time period could not let her ankles be seen or marriage was a must by the man who had seen them.

The courting started slow at first, and then Sir Robert regained his memory, from another life that he had been. The woman was none other than his darling wife Maria, just as he had remembered her. Sir Robert has experienced many lives because he is a Dragon in human form and because the dragons are all but gone from this world, a very special gift was bestowed upon Maria. She had been granted the gift of becoming a Crystal Dragon.

 

Author Bio:

Alexander Rea is a 50-year-old man. He was born in Chambersburg, PA. Grew up in Moss Point, MS for part of his life, then moved to Shippensburg, PA. Presently, he lives in NY. In a master’s program for alternative medicine. He writes short stories to relax.

magicwillow365@gmail.com

 

Wayne Writers Guild

Meets at 7:30pm – 9:00pm, on the 2nd and 4th. Tuesday of each month

Books, Etc. of Macedon, NY

John Cieslinski, Owner

78 W. Main ST. Macedon NY 14502

Phone 585-474-4116

 

 

11 Aug 2016, 8:08am
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The Macedonia Hotel, Chapter 4

Macedonia HotelThe Macedonia Hotel

A NANOWRIMO

Relay writing project

 

 

By the Wayne writers Guild

Completed July 2016


The Macedonia Hotel

(This fictional piece is the product of a relay writing project by the Wayne Writer’s Guild In honor of NANOWRIMO-2015.  Any resemblance to real events, people, places, or things is a coincidence and neither intended nor implied to be real and accurate.)

I extend my thanks and gratitude to the contributors who shared their time and talents to make this NANOWRIMO Relay Writing Project possible.

The individual chapters are the intellectual property of the author.

Special thanks are extended to John Cieslinski for his generous use of the book store’s back room.

–Kate Chamberlin, Coordinating Editor

July 20, 2016

 

Wayne Writers Guild

Meets at 7:30pm – 9:00pm, on the 2nd and 4th. Tuesday of each month

Books, Etc. of Macedon, NY

John Cieslinski, Owner

78 W. Main ST. Macedon NY 14502

Phone 585-474-4116

 

Chapter 4

A Light in the Darkness

By Kc Meyer

 

Ivory made her way carefully toward the door to get away from the crowded apartment and dangers it held. She wished she could take her friends with her and get away from it all.

“These people are driving me crazy” she muttered to herself. “All I wanted to do was get away from home…the yelling, the screaming, the beatings, the mess, the drudgery and the people who never really cared whether I lived or died, and what do I end up getting myself into? Social Services seemed to think that a rundown, filthy, two bit, flop house was some kind of a solution! I would have been fine if they had let me go with my real dad as I pleaded for them to do.  This place is full of dirty old…reprobates.”

That made Ivory smile a bit. Vocabulary was her forte…she loved to read and write.  Mrs. Scotsman, her English teacher, had been the one who encouraged her to pursue her literary gift. Now she was lucky if she could find a quiet, safe place to study at all.  She quickly stopped talking to herself when she saw Randy. They were both Seniors in school.  He’d also been here before. He was a really nice guy but he didn’t always choose the best friends to hang around with.  Ivory saw that he was walking toward the door with Grace, Sandy’s younger sister. Grace was using her white cane.

“She doesn’t belong with that crowd” she thought.  “I hope he watches out for her.”

As she inched closer to the door, through the boisterous, inebriated and sometimes lecherous crowd, Ivory noticed that Grace looked ill and scared.  She also looked young and vulnerable. But at least Randy seemed to be leaving with her. Thank goodness.  Soon they were out the door.

A protective instinct washed over Ivory as she thought about her younger sisters at home.  She missed them so much sometimes she could hardly stand it.   She worried about them all the time and took every chance she could get to see them at school text them or meet up with them when they weren’t at that house she used to call home.  She wasn’t allowed to go there, not that she had done anything wrong. But her mother was so afraid and dominated by her abusive boyfriend, and he was so clever at being a conniving fun drunk, that she chose to believe him over her daughters.  One of these days she was going to change all that for her sisters.  He was so cruel when he was drunk.  He’d hit them as well as emotionally abused them; they were all scarred.  She was now an emancipated minor and able to make decisions about her own life with approval of her social worker, but in a few months she would be 21 and old enough to sue for custody of her much younger sisters.  She had plenty of evidence and knew she could count on her social worker to help.  She intended to raise them right. She had already talked to Social Services about it and had even met with a Legal Aid lawyer to find out what her options were.  The plan was in the works.  Just a few more months and she would be of age and then she would begin the long process. But what chance were they going to have if she couldn’t make a good enough living to support them?

She needed to graduate and find a good job while going to college part time. It was all about her sisters now. Somehow she was going to get them out of that house.

“In the meantime maybe I can at least keep this girl out of danger” she said to herself.  “I’m going to talk to Randy on Monday and see what I can do to convince him to watch out for her.

Finally, Ivory also slid out the door and into the dark hallway, able to head, unseen, for the stairs and then to the cupola. If there was one place in this flea-bitten excuse for a hotel where she felt safe, it was in the cupola. Oddly enough, everyone else stayed as far away from there as possible…it was rumored to be haunted. Actually, Ivory knew it was haunted because she had met the woman who haunted it.

As a matter of fact, they had become great friends.  Ivory went there during the week after she was finished with school for the day and done with her shift at Hamburger Hut.  She often bought her supper before she left for the evening and took it with her up to the cupola.  She had set up a cozy niche with a lamp and old overstuffed chair she found, where she could curl up and study without being bothered by anyone.  She only came down when it was safe to be in her own room…except tonight some jerks had decided she and her suite mates were fair game.  Well, tough luck boys…you can say whatever you want about us but we know the truth and someday, when all of this is behind me and I am in a college dorm studying my heart out, your misadventures and disgusting, misogynistic behavior will be great fodder for my first and highly successful novel. The thought of that put a small smile on her face.

Ivory reached the cupola and there she was…her only true earthly, or should we say “other-worldly” friend, The Lady in the Cupola. She was staring out the eights in the window, hovering a foot or so above the floor, and when she turned, she smiled beatifically  at  Ivory as tears shimmered down her translucent face.

“Ah, my friend, I see you have escaped the throng of revelers and, what do you call them…”reprobates” unscathed, yet again.”

“Yes, and I truly get so sick and tired of it. But it won’t last forever.  Someday, not too long from now…”

her voice trailed off. She didn’t need to finish her sentence.  The Lady knew all about her and her life, her sisters, her hopes and her dreams.  They had been friends since the first Saturday evening they met when Ivory escaped the first wild party someone decided to hold in the suite.

“You’re crying, my lady.  What can I do to help?”

“Oh my dear young friend, you are so dear and so sweet.  With all you have to worry about, you fret over my tears.”

“You are the best friend that I have,” smiled Ivory.  “And I want to help you however I can.”

“It’s my same concern, the one we’ve talked about ever since we met.  But it seems to be getting worse. The thing we have to do is change this run down, dilapidated, sad, sad hotel back into the glorious inn that it was when I first opened its doors over 125 years ago.” the lady sighed.  “How can we do that, dear, lovely friend?  What can we do to find the beauty, hope, joy and kindness that once inhabited these rooms?  How do we bring back the fellowship, respect and camaraderie that once made this hotel the shining star of the Finger Lakes area? How do we do that, my dear, dear girl?”

“Well, we will find a way, my Lady, we will.  I know you won’t rest until we do and I will help you. Just as I won’t rest until I get my sisters to a safe place and just as this town won’t be prosperous or happy again until we turn some things around. “Actually”, said Ivory, I have a plan.  “It’s only in the planning stages, but I think it just might work. ”

“Then you’d best get busy with your studies my friend, because the future lies in the hands of you and people like you who can mold it and make the world better. You won’t be able to do anything for the Macedonian, for me, for you or for your sisters if you don’t graduate.  And there will be a reckoning for those who have destroyed this beautiful place.  Oh, I don’t mean to do anything horrible or violent…but I do have some thoughts on how to rid ourselves of unwelcome and unwanted…”

“Reprobates” they both said simultaneously, laughing as they did so.

At that, the Lady vanished and Ivory switched on her laptop and began to review what she had written:

“The Macedonia Hotel was a charming, three story hotel with a beautiful wrap-around porch, gardens overflowing with color and draperies hanging at the windows made of the finest damask.  It was a jewel of hotels in the upstate region of New York State, in a quaint little village not far from Rochester.  But in the ensuing years, it was ruined by “reprobates.”  Until, one moonlit night, a face peering out through the windows in the shape of 1888 was illuminated for all to see.  Startling many, it only held mystery and intrigue for the girl from the Third Floor.  She knew she had literally found a kindred spirit.”

 

Author Bio:

Kc Meyer has lived in Wayne County most of her grown up life, but she’s been writing since she was in grade 2. Prose, poetry and short essays are her favorite genres.  She and her husband/best friend live on a farm in Wayne County. Kc was happy to join WWG in 2006 and has published with the Guild in three collective anthologies.

(contact information withheld upon request)

 

Wayne Writers Guild

Meets at 7:30pm – 9:00pm, on the 2nd and 4th. Tuesday of each month

Books, Etc. of Macedon, NY

John Cieslinski, Owner

78 W. Main ST. Macedon NY 14502

Phone 585-474-4116

 

 

4 Aug 2016, 4:14am
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Comments Off on The Macedonia Hotel, Chapter 3

The Macedonia Hotel, Chapter 3

The Macedonia Hotel

A NANOWRIMO

Relay writing project

Macedonia Hotel

 

By the Wayne writers Guild

Completed July 2016


The Macedonia Hotel

(This fictional piece is the product of a relay writing project by the Wayne Writer’s Guild In honor of NANOWRIMO-2015.  Any resemblance to real events, people, places, or things is a coincidence and neither intended nor implied to be real and accurate.)

 

 

 

I extend my thanks and gratitude to the contributors who shared their time and talents to make this NANOWRIMO Relay Writing Project possible.

 

The individual chapters are the intellectual property of the author.

 

Special thanks are extended to John Cieslinski for his generous use of the book store’s back room.

–Kate Chamberlin, Coordinating Editor

July 20, 2016

 

 

Wayne Writers Guild

Meets at 7:30pm – 9:00pm, on the 2nd and 4th. Tuesday of each month

Books, Etc. of Macedon, NY

John Cieslinski, Owner

78 W. Main ST. Macedon NY 14502

Phone 585-474-4116

 

Chapter 3

Stranger in a Strange Town

By Jeffrey Thomas Cook

 

The road had grown somewhat narrower and the sunlight had long drifted behind the horizon. Bradley Bemiss had been driving much longer than he had planned that day. On his way from Syracuse, he was disappointed that he hadn’t quite made it to Rochester yet. But his eyes had started to lose their focus and the Town of Macedon looked friendly enough to stop and spend the night; ‘if’ he could locate a Holiday Inn, Best Western or something of that sort.

After a few fruitless miles, he had just about reached the outskirts of town when the lurid and indecorous sign of the “Macedonia Hotel” happened to catch his weary, bleary eyes. The snowflakes were falling now and for lack of a better choice, Bradley pulled into the patched parking lot and located an available parking spot.

Despite the hotel’s unattractively rugged exterior, much to his surprise, the Macedonia Hotel actually appeared to be teeming with life. As the old saying goes, the more the merrier! However Bradley had the overwhelmingly odd feeling that he had perhaps made an error in his choice of lodging. He never really enjoyed traveling outside of his home state of South Carolina. Still, being a road warrior salesman for the Southern Belle’s Clothing Company, he had been on many a sojourn to the north. How bad could this place be?

Before he had even made it to the front door, Bradley needed to stop short, as an empty soda bottle skimmed loudly across the walk in front of him. In the dark of the cold night, it appeared that it had come out of nowhere. It wasn’t 10 minutes earlier that an aggressive driver had cut him off on Main Street., not to mention the three deer that nearly took out his Prius two minutes after that; this place certainly seemed to have Bradley in its sights. Nonetheless, he couldn’t wait to get to his room, throw himself down on a clean mattress and unwind before bed.

The front desk attendant seemed more interested in his NY scratch & win tickets then he was anything else. As Bradley stood at the counter, he made every effort to make himself noticed. After he rapped his knuckles and vehemently cleared his throat, the unshaven man grunted something unintelligible to his potential patron.

Bradley considered walking back out the door when the man put down his tickets and his dirty scratching penny and spat out, “One room?”

“That would be just fine,” quipped Bradley. “I’m from out of town. I’ve been on the road most of the day and really just need a place to finally lay my head down.”

Billy squinted, “Yer a country boy, aren’t ya? I could tell by your accent.”

It always amazed Bradley how many people from the north proudly identified his accent before he could actually utter two sentences, because in this neck of the woods, it really was about as obvious as a pumpkin in a strawberry patch. Yet they would always amuse him with their keen knowledge anyway.

Pointing over his shoulder to the worn room key wall behind him, Billy uttered, ”Yer in luck, I got two rooms left.” He turned, “You say you want just one roo?

Bradley looked around, winced and nodded, “I’m pretty tall and all but, yeah, I’m pretty sure I can fit into just one room, sir.”

Billy nonchalantly gestured past Bradley, “Just thought that one might be with you….”

Bradley turned his head, roughly 10 feet behind him, there appeared to be a remarkably young and sullen-looking girl staring at him. She did not avert her stare when Brad turned and looked at her. She seemed to be clueless and without inhibition. Bradley had an uncomfortable feeling that he had walked into a really odd, modern episode of the Twilight Zone.

He turned and stated, “I’m sorry, sir, she’s not with me. I’ve never seen her before.”

“Well, I have,” Billy spat. “She lives here in Macedon, and she’s here with a bunch of other kids. There’s a little gathering goin’ on here. Since you ain’t from around here, I guess you haven’t noticed.” He paused and looked at the clock on the wall behind him. “Don’t worry, them kids oughta’ be outta’ here by … 1 or 2 am.”

Bradley grunted with some disappointment.

Billy continued, “Why don’t you take room 13B. Between rooms 13A and 13B, people tend to complain a lot less about 13B.” Willy offhandedly snorted and turned back to his quick win games.

Bradley exhaled. ”Okay, let me go to my car and grab my cell phone before I head in.” Looking over his shoulder to see if the girl was still lurking, he saw no sign of her and wasn’t quite sure if that was a really good thing or a really bad thing. He turned back to Billy & asked, “Do you, by chance, have a porter or a bagboy to help me out, sir?”

Billy forced a wince and scoffed, “Everyone’s got a dream, son. Everyone’s GOT a dream.”

Bradley stared at him for a moment. He started for his car and quipped, “I will take that as a NO.”

When outside, he unlocked his car and snatched up his phone. Bradley had noticed one thing about this sparkling town they called “Macedon”; people here were a bit short on southern hospitality. This was a no nonsense kind of place.

He locked his car up tight and trudged back to the hotel entrance. This time around he couldn’t help but notice the distant rumble of some over-played Bad Company song as teens’ voices crackled from high up above. The snow had quickened and Bradley instinctively looked up to see four or five girls having a belch competition on the roof of the fine establishment. This place, to his recollection, was a lot more interesting than anything he had ever encountered. Macedon was enticing yet somehow … forbidden.

Bradley had almost reached the building front when something caught his eye.  The hotel had a huge tower; a cupola, if you will. Its grandeur seemed slightly out of character, but what really seemed to unnerve him were the garish and unsightly numbers scrawled under it. “Est. 1888”. It was an ‘old’ building, no question, but what made matters worse, was when he stopped and stared hard at the numbers. There appeared to be something moving up there; between the 8’s. Something or someone was actually in the cupola. Brad shuddered.

His attention was broken by two unwieldy and apparently inebriated teen boys who nearly knocked him over from behind. They brushed past him as they darted into the front door of the Macedonia Hotel. Bradley thought it best to get inside unscathed before he got bounced onto his Southern Belle keester. He dearly wanted to make it out of this state without contusions, stitches or negative mental hygiene arrests.

Once inside, the lobby now had a collection of more boisterous individuals. From their demeanor, it seemed clear to Bradley that they were quite comfortable in these confines. He pushed his way back to the counter, “If you don’t mind, I’d just like to get my key and call it a night as quickly as possible. I could make mention of some other weird things that are going on with this place, but I’ll just save it for another time.”

Billy seemed preoccupied. Nonetheless, he methodically turned, grabbed the key to 13B and dropped it on the old wooden counter. Bradley took the key, made sure to put it in his pocket.

Billy mumbled, “That’ll be $50.00 cash, son. No checks, no plastic.”

Bradley cocked his head, frowned and fumbled into his pocket. He fished out the fee for one night’s stay and plopped it in front of Billy. “Y’all have a great night now.”

Bradley turned with his baggage, but then stopped. “Hey, one last thing, sir…” Billy huffed and waited irritably with one eyebrow raised. Bradley continued, “Why does it seem like some of these people – I don’t know…” He looked back and forth uncomfortably, “Um, well it seems like some of these folks…live here?”

Billy had fielded this question before. And without hesitation, he flatly exclaimed, “Son, you can check out from this hotel at ANY time, but, you are correct, some of these people never really leave.”

 

Author Bio:

Jeff Cook worked for fourteen years at the Town of Penfield scripting many meaningful productions as well as some entertaining narratives. Upon resignation, he’s flourished as a freelance contractor, writer and multi-media 3-D artist. Through the Macedon Players, he is currently finishing editing of an original script for a full-length stage play with the working title of “Cake and Brandy”. He is proud and honored to have contributed to the Wayne Writers Guild’s most recent collaborative work.

jeffreythomascook@gmail.com

 

Wayne Writers Guild

Meets at 7:30pm – 9:00pm, on the 2nd and 4th. Tuesday of each month

Books, Etc. of Macedon, NY

John Cieslinski, Owner

78 W. Main ST. Macedon NY 14502

Phone 585-474-4116

 

 

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The Macedonia Hotel, Chapter 2

Macedonia HotelThe Macedonia Hotel

A NANOWRIMO

Relay writing project

 

 

By the Wayne writers Guild

Completed July 2016


The Macedonia Hotel

(This fictional piece is the product of a relay writing project by the Wayne Writer’s Guild In honor of NANOWRIMO-2015.  Any resemblance to real events, people, places, or things is a coincidence and neither intended nor implied to be real and accurate.)

 

 

 

I extend my thanks and gratitude to the contributors who shared their time and talents to make this NANOWRIMO Relay Writing Project possible.

 

The individual chapters are the intellectual property of the author.

 

Special thanks are extended to John Cieslinski for his generous use of the book store’s back room.

–Kate Chamberlin, Coordinating Editor

July 20, 2016

 

 

Wayne Writers Guild

Meets at 7:30pm – 9:00pm, on the 2nd and 4th. Tuesday of each month

Books, Etc. of Macedon, NY

John Cieslinski, Owner

78 W. Main ST. Macedon NY 14502

Phone 585-474-4116

 

 

Chapter 2:

The Zipper Creep

By Kate Chamberlin

 

“C’mon, Sis. It’ll be fun, Grace’s 18-year old brother, Sandy, cajoled her shortly after their parents had gone to see a movie in the West Wayne Plaza Theater. “You spend way too much time alone in this house. Mom won’t mind. You’ll be with my friends and me.”

He playfully punched her arm. He was 13-months older than her and his friends were her friends, too, especially Randy. Sandy loved being the life of every party and couldn’t understand why, just because she was blind, being in a crowd made her nervous.

“You know my friends and there will be other’s there to meet, too. It’s only a short walk to the hotel,” he persisted.

They were suddenly startled by a loud Bam! Bam! Bam! As the front door of their home at 12 Stone Street nearly splintered.

“Let’s go, guys,” their friends, Dan and Randy yelled as they pounded on the front door.

“Here’s your long, white cane. C’mon,” Sandy said as he pulled her out of the faux-leather lounge chair, shoving her braille book onto the end table. “It’s only a short walk to the Hotel where Big Bertha is living.”

Grace knew the party would be noisy and wasn’t so sure there wouldn’t be drugs. The Macedonia Hotel wasn’t known for its “good” reputation. It was even said that it was haunted. The other three really wanted to go, so Grace didn’t feel she could just say no. Besides, Randy would be there. Grace quickly fluffed her long, curly brown hair with her fingers, swiped lip gloss on her full lips, nestled the stylish, reflective lenses on her small pert nose, and tapped her way over to answer the door.

***

They’d climbed the rank smelling stairs to Big Bertha’s 3rd floor room and could hear the loud, thudding music. It seemed to shake the whole building. As they came closer to her suite of two rooms provided by the Social Services Department , there were bursts of loud, raucous laughter. Grace tried to calm the uneasy feeling that was growing in the pit of her stomach.

They walked into the suite and were immediately sucked up by the crowd. People were shoulder to shoulder, butt to belly, and only smoky air to breathe. Randy and Grace became separated from Sandy and Dan, although, Grace couldn’t tell who was where anyway. She was glad Randy had a strong hold on her hand. She could barely hear Randy when he yelled into her ear, “Here’s a chair. I’ll try to find us a soda and be right back. Okay?”

She nodded her agreement and sat down. She checked her talking watch for the time, but could not hear the tiny voice. She thought ruefully how loud it sounded in church when she’d accidently bumped the time button.

“Hi, Grace,” a nameless voice hollered and passed on before she got out her, “hello.”

As people passed by her, she detected a sweet smell. She’d heard that marijuana has a sweet smell and wondered if this was the real thing.

She reached out her hand to try to figure out what was near her. To the left she felt a wall with flocked paper on it. Her chair was a caned back and seat with curved wooden arms and straight legs.

From the arm of her chair, she gently reached to the right. Her fingers felt denim. It was just a quick touch but she recognized the feel of fabric over a zipper. With her face flushed and turning redder, she stammered, “Oh, excuse me.”

A stranger’s thick, deep voice mumbled, “That’s Okay, Honey, I’ll give you a half-hour to stop!”

Grace rushed to get up out of the chair and felt a cold liquid slosh on her head.

“Grace, for crying out loud. Where are you going in such a hurry?” Randy asked trying to keep hold of the red Solo cup of soda she had just smashed into.

“Oh, gosh, what a mess. Do you see a napkin or something?”  She yelled at him to be sure he heard her above the noise.

“I’ll go get something. I found the kitchen on my way to the drinks,” he hollered back.

Grace didn’t know what else to do but to sit back down in the chair and hope the zipper creep had moved on. She sipped her soda but found that it made her queasy. She bit her lip to calm her stomach. She checked her watch again but, of course, it did not speak any louder than the first time she tried it. Her cold, sweating hands stuck on the wood arms of the chair as her fingers rubbed up and down on them. How long had Randy been gone. And, for that matter, where were Sandy and Dan?

To take her mind off her rising frustration and panic, she tried to eavesdrop on the conversations that were around her. The smoke was making her feel sicker.

She heard a boy say, “Randy’s pretty lucky. He can leave this one out here and make it with Big Bertha, too.”

“Yeah,” came a reply. “Big Bertha really knows what she’s doing. What a piece of…” but, the rest of his comment was lost as another conversation burst into loud laughter.

Grace needed to get to a bathroom very quickly. She had no idea where the bathroom would be. She didn’t even know where the door was to get out of the apartment. She stood up and took a step. She felt someone’s foot pull out from under her foot just as she put her full weight on it.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Could you tell me where the bathroom is?” she said as she steadied herself.

“Why sure, Gorgeous, it’s just down the hall. I’ll go with you.”

At first she thought he recognized that she was blind and he was being helpful, but, the way he draped himself on her and sloshed his drink on her, she changed her mind. With a quick “no thanks.” she twisted out of his grip. The twisting motion disoriented her even more.

She really had no idea which direction to go to get to the door. Her panic was heightened as she bumped from person to person. Her shoulder hit something hard and her hip slammed into something even harder; a doorknob.

As she turned the knob, she prayed that this was the door out of the apartment and not a closet. Grace tried to remember if they had turned left into Big BerthaÆs apartment or right. Her breathing was shallow and irregular with her heart thudding in her breast, she opened the door. The cooler, stale air of the hallway hit her face. Once she let go of the door, she’d be in limbo. Her mind was a blur, her hands were sweaty and cold, and she thought she would surely throw up. She tried to think. Did we turn left after coming down the hall or did we go right?

Grace pulled the apartment door closed behind her and stumbled to the right. Big, Rough hands steady her.

“Whoa, too much to drink, little lady?”

Her mind raced as his hands began to massage her arms and pull her in for a hug or something more intimate. She felt the saliva begin to well up in her mouth, her palms began to sweat again, and there was that awful taste in her mouth as all the contents of her nervous stomach shot up and out all over the stranger. Grace never heard the apartment door being flung open.

“Get your hands off of her, fella!” yelled Randy, as he put an arm around her shaking shoulders. “Grace, are you Okay? Why did you leave the party?  I told you I’d be right back.”

“I’d like to go home. I’m not feeling well,” was all Grace could mumble.

***

Alone and curled up in her pho-leather lounge chair at home, her mind wandered from the braille lines her fingers tracked. Grace was confused. She wanted to believe Randy’s explanation of being delayed by giving Big Bertha a helping hand with getting another case of sodas or did he really go up on the roof with her? Everyone knows how easy it is to fool a blind person. So much depends on trust. Could she trust Randy or, for that matter, her brother and Dan again?  Maybe it just wasn’t worth the emotional investment.

A key clicked in the door latch. Grace’s parents had returned home from seeing the movie and sharing a soda at The Hungry House Cafe. Her mom flipped on the light switch.

“Grace!” she said, “Why are you sitting here in the dark? You need to get out more!”

 

Author Bio:

Kate Chamberlin, BS, MA and Dave were married in 1970 and raised three children plus two grandchildren in Walworth, NY. Many of her stories were inspired by family, teaching career, and six guide dogs. When she became blind in 1985, the screen reader on her computer enabled her to become a free-lance writer, newspaper columnist, an on-line literary magazine staff editor, published author, and keep in touch with her ever expanding family. www.katechamberlin.com

kathryngc@juno.com

“Dream it. Write it. Read it.”

 

Wayne Writers Guild

Meets at 7:30pm – 9:00pm, on the 2nd and 4th. Tuesday of each month

Books, Etc. of Macedon, NY

John Cieslinski, Owner

78 W. Main ST. Macedon NY 14502

Phone 585-474-4116