Convocation, page 2
“Help ussss. Pleassse, help us,” the whispering continued, but now multiple voices were in Jarek’s ears. “We need you . . . we see that you can help us,” some of the whispers said softly. “We can tell that you can see us . . . now help us.”
Jarek could see them. From his peripheral vision he could see several spirits surrounding him. All women, with dirt smeared all over their skin and clothing. Most appeared somewhat disfigured . . . dirty . . . beaten. Then suddenly they vanished in the blink of an eye.
Jarek began to turn the knob when a knock on the door made him pull back momentarily. He pulled open the door to see a man standing there, nearly twice his age, dark hair still messy from sleeping and blue eyes still waking up for the morning.
“Oh, excuse me,” the man said in a dry morning voice.
Jarek’s body gave another shiver, likely remnants of the spirits’ energies from just moments ago.
“No, excuse me. I am just leaving,” Jarek responded as he walked past the man and back to his room.
Once Jarek was finished shaving, he put a clean set of clothes on the bed and went back to the washbasin to ensure his face was free of shaving cream and his hair combed neatly. After he splashed water on his face, he reached for the towel and looked up from the basin, his eyes fixated on the mirror. The spirits of the dead women had returned. Five distinct women standing behind him, nearly fully manifested, barely even translucent. Energy was pulsating through the room. The woman from the hall was behind his left shoulder looking directly at his reflection in the mirror. It felt as if she were trying to talk to the depths of his soul.
“I will do what I can for you. I will try my hardest to help you,” Jarek said aloud to the women.
The woman near his shoulder nodded as they all vanished once again like a mist. Jarek checked to ensure he had his room key in his left pocket and some money in his right pocket. He left his room, closing the door tightly behind him and wiggling the knob to ensure it was locked. He took a deep breath. Jarek knew he had to figure out what these spirits needed. He was here in Deadwood for a reason, and maybe this was the purpose, or maybe it was just another opportunity to address during his visit.
Chapter 2
The Waitress
December 30, 1924, 7:27 a.m.
The smell of bacon frying in a skillet, boiling coffee, and bread toasting in an oven filled the air. Jarek sat at a small table in the hotel restaurant waiting for the waitress to be done in the kitchen so he could order food to calm his rumbling stomach. He examined the small restaurant admiring how well preserved everything seemed to be, even though nothing had clearly been updated in several decades. Well, except the electrical wiring. Mr. Clark clearly took pride in the establishment, Jarek thought to himself. The ambiance of the room was calming, dimly lit, and gave off a historical feel.
As his eyes moved around the room, Jarek noticed in the far corner at another table the man he had crossed paths in the hallway earlier. He was reading a newspaper and sipping a cup of coffee. As Jarek was staring, he saw a few dribbles of coffee miss the man’s mouth and land directly on his black wool suit coat. Jarek straightened up in his chair when he saw the waitress come from the kitchen and move in his direction. Her black uniform seemed old and tattered but appeared clean. She was carrying a cup of coffee in one hand, while she pushed her brunette braid over her shoulder with the other. She strode with an elegant poise, but her face seemed tired and worn. Jarek thought her to be a few years younger than himself, but it was difficult to tell.
“Good morning, sir. How are you doing today?” she asked with a forced smile between her blushed cheeks.
“Good morning. I am doing well. How about yourself?” Jarek responded, returning a smile.
“Quite all right, thank you.” She set the cup of coffee down in front of him. “Would you like some breakfast this morning? We have fresh bacon, fried eggs, toast, and oatmeal if you’d like.”
“That sounds splendid. I will have it all . . . except the oatmeal, please.”
“Okay. Do you take cream and sugar for your coffee?”
“No, thank you. Black coffee is just fine.”
“As you wish. I will be back with that food in a tad.”
The waitress left Jarek and walked back to the kitchen. As he sipped his coffee, he looked around to see where he could acquire a newspaper. Unfortunately, the other gentleman was already reading the only copy he could spot. Instead, Jarek reached into his pocket and retrieved the telegram he had received at the O’Connell mansion. Memories of the home and the events that transpired just a few short days ago began to pour through his head as he opened it and began to read it for about the fiftieth time it seemed.
NEW YORK
JAREK VIDENI
28 ST CLAIR AVE ST PAUL MN
YOU HAVE AWOKEN STOP I CAN SENSE IT STOP TIME FOR NEXT OPPORTUNITY STOP FAMILY NEEDS HELP STOP POSSIBLE DEMON STOP ULRIKA JOHNSTON STOP DEADWOOD SD STOP
LEONA
New York . . . What are you doing back there? That’s not where you should be.
Jarek was focused on the telegram so intently, reading it over and over, that he hadn’t noticed the person standing beside him.
“Excuse me,” the man said, causing Jarek to jerk back to reality.
“I’m sorry, I was . . . lost in thought. I didn’t even notice you come over,” Jarek replied.
“Oh, no, I am sorry. I didn’t want to impose on your reading. I wanted to offer you the newspaper. It is a few days old, but I figured you needed some reading material while you ate breakfast.”
“Yes, thank you. I was looking for another copy earlier but only saw the one you had.”
“Yeah, I don’t think they get the newspapers from the bigger cities until several days later here. We are out of the way and in the middle of nowhere now,” the man stated with a smile and brows raised slightly.
“Yes, very true,” Jarek said as he took the newspaper from the man’s outstretched hand. “Thank you again, it is much appreciated.”
“Of course, my pleasure,” he said as he was about to walk away.
“May I ask you something?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Well . . .” Jarek cleared his throat. “You just look familiar to me is all. However, I can’t place where I would know you from. Are you from New York?”
The man raised an eyebrow. “No, I am from the Chicago area, but I live in Washington DC, right now. But who knows?” he said, shrugging. “I don’t believe I’ve ever met you, but maybe our paths crossed at one time. My name is Marcus Livingston.” He crossed his arms and leaned back slightly, giving the impression he was intrigued by Jarek’s questioning.
Jarek eyed him intently, studying his face and trying to figure out where he recognized him from. Suddenly, Jarek gave his head a small shake, realizing he was awkwardly staring at the man without responding.
“Like I said, I’m from Washington. Just here visiting,” Marcus said.
“Ah, I see. Yeah, I am not sure where we may have crossed paths before, but anyway, I wish you luck here. My name is Jarek Videni,” he said extending his arm and shaking Marcus’s hand. “I am from New York City, but I’m here on . . . here on business.”
“Well, I wish you luck too, Jarek. I am sure I will see you around during my stay these next few days. Enjoy your day.”
“You as well,” Jarek said as Marcus and he exchanged nods.
Right as Marcus walked out of the restaurant, the door to the kitchen opened. The waitress had a plate of food in one hand and a small kettle in the other. As she walked toward the table, the lights in the entire room flickered a few times.
“Sorry about that. It used to only do that when the electric trolly ran between here and Lead.” She paused. “Lead is another city right next to Deadwood here. But now this damn flickering started up again just this week. Not sure why. Maybe it’s from the cold.”
“No need to apologize. It is nothing you can control,” Jarek responded, knowing it was likely due to all the energy from the spirits trapped here.
“Here we are, some nice hot bacon, fried eggs, toast, and some raspberry rhubarb jam for the toast,” the waitress said as she set the plate and kettle down. “And here is some more coffee if you would like.”
“Thank you, this all looks so delicious.”
“If you need anything else, just holler. I will be in the kitchen.”
“Certainly,” Jarek responded as she walked away. He took another sip of coffee, feeling the warmth on his lips, before he started eating his breakfast.
As he devoured his food, the lights began to flicker again, giving the dimly lit room an eerie feeling. The hair on his neck and arms raised slightly, confirming to him this was no normal faulty electrical issue. The spiritual activity in this building was high.
Jarek continued to eat his food until the plate was nearly cleaned off. Tiny hairs on his neck began to rise slowly once again. He set his fork down and scanned the room. His eyes stopped when they hit the far corner of the room. He could feel something was there, observing him. He then could hear soft footsteps on the wood floor coming closer toward him. The steps grew louder and louder . . . click, click, click. High heels meeting the hardwood floor of the eating area. Then they stopped abruptly. Jarek could feel a presence right next to him, but he couldn’t see anything.
He took a deep breath. He reached his hand back down toward his plate. As he was about to retrieve the final piece of bacon, the table jolted as if someone had slammed their hands down hard on the tabletop. The coffee kettle and flatware rattled. Jarek jumped from the unexpected angry interaction with the spirit. The presence seemed to fade away slowly, allowing the hair on his neck to settle back down and his breathing to slow. He felt the presence disappear entirely.
Jarek slowly ate the crispy meat as he heard someone moving down the staircase in the lobby rather quickly. He looked and saw the older gentleman from the washroom reach the bottom of the stairs and cross the lobby. He glanced over at Jarek briefly before walking straight out of the hotel.
“Well, you must have enjoyed it,” the waitress said as she walked up to the table.
“Yes, very much! That was exactly what I needed.”
“I am glad to hear that. Would you like your check, or are you going to stay a little longer?”
“I think I will have some more coffee while I read the newspaper. Thank you,” Jarek replied.
“I’m just going to take this plate from you, and I’ll be back in a bit with your check.”
The waitress took the plate in one hand as she raised the coffee kettle in the other. She shook it a bit to make sure there was still some coffee remaining before she refilled Jarek’s cup and proceeded back to the kitchen. Jarek took the copy of the Rapid City Daily Journal and unfolded it. His eyes began to move over the headlines: U.S. OCCUPATION IN HAITI CONTINUES, 94 DEAD IN JAPAN FROM DYNAMITE ACCIDENT, and COLLIDGE READY FOR INAUGURATION. He scanned each story, reading about the events occurring across the United States and around the world.
Jarek blew on his cup before taking another drink of the hot, bitter liquid and setting it down. As soon as the base of the cup touched the table, a figurine on a high shelf behind the old saloon bar fell to the floor and shattered. Jarek quickly turned his head in the direction of the noise. The lights again flickered a few times. The waitress came rushing from the kitchen.
“What in heavens was that?” she asked, completely baffled.
“Something from that shelf over there fell down,” Jarek replied, pointing toward the bar as he stood from his chair.
She bent down behind the bar for a bit before standing up. In her hands was a porcelain figurine of a woman that was in several pieces.
“Oh, darn it, this was one of my favorite things I brought here to work. I always thought she looked so elegant.”
“What a shame. My grandmother used to have a piece just like that,” Jarek said, remembering it above the fireplace at her home in New York. “She loved it.”
“It was a gift for me. I brought it from my home so I could have a few nice items around the restaurant to look at. It can be a bit gloomy here during these quieter months,” she said as her eyes got watery. Jarek knew immediately the figurine had tremendous sentimental value to the girl.
“Do you need any help cleaning it up?” he asked.
“Oh, no, that’s all right. I will do it. It might be reparable . . . I hope,” she said with a sigh. “No need to worry. Thank you, though.” As she went back into the kitchen, Jarek could see her wiping a tear off her cheek.
“All right, let me know if you change your mind,” Jarek hollered after she disappeared from his sight.
Jarek sat back down in the old wooden chair and resumed gazing over the newspaper. He read intently, focusing on each article. After several pages and several pours of coffee into his cup, he reached the last page of the paper. It was the regional section. Jarek set his coffee down and sat frozen, his eyes fixated on the top of the final page and he immediately began scanning the story.
FORTY-NINTH WOMAN MISSING IN DEADWOOD AREA
For the twenty-eighth year in a row, around Christmastime, another woman has gone missing from the Deadwood-Lead area. All have been single women, between the ages of sixteen and twenty-five. They all have vanished without leaving any indication of a struggle or where they might be. Any persons with information are to inform local authorities immediately.
“Are you all right, mister?” the waitress said from the doorway to the kitchen. “You look as if you’d seen a ghost.”
“I . . . I am okay,” Jarek replied, trying to compose himself quickly. “I am just reading the story about the women gone missing in this area. I hadn’t heard any details about it until now.”
“Oh! It’s the biggest mystery in these parts! Also, the reason why many of us probably seem on edge to you around here.” She walked slowly toward Jarek, her entire aura reduced. “And here I am, sad about a broken figurine when people out there actually have real problems,” she said while she set a glass of water down on the table near Jarek that she had been holding. She let out a long sigh as she pulled out a chair and sat next to him.
“Grief hits everyone differently. The loss of something special can hurt badly too. Don’t diminish that,” Jarek said.
“Well, losing someone you know, even if not close, is always hard. Certainly harder than losing a figurine. I just feel so badly for all the families of those missing women.”
“Yes, I understand that. Truly I do. I can tell that this community has had much loss. Just as I feel we both have suffered loss ourselves,” Jarek said before realizing he had said it out loud. He never intended to say aloud the feelings he was receiving from this young woman, but her sadness and pain were so apparent to him.
“You are correct, mister. I guess I must wear it on my face,” she said through another forced half smile. “But we must all pull through. It certainly is a story each year around here, since before I was born. Every Christmas a young woman or multiple women go missing. No one knows if they run away, or if someone takes them or murders them.” She leaned in and in a low voice uttered, “There is even a rumor that they were lured to the old mines and the devil himself swallowed them up, not leaving so much as a piece of their clothes.”
“It certainly is a strange occurrence. I hope the authorities can find an answer and maybe, just maybe the women can be brought home safely,” Jarek said, trying to sound optimistic but knowing the ghosts he had already seen would prove his statement wrong.
“The authorities have no idea what to do. It’s almost as if they don’t care anymore. I don’t believe they haven’t been able to find any hints of where they went.” The waitress stood, clearly getting frustrated thinking of the missing women. “Nevertheless, my friends and I always keep a watchful eye around Christmas. Something dark is here in this area. I’m not even sure how to describe it. But it’s here.”
“Is everything all right in there?” Mr. Clark poked his head into the doorway from the lobby.
“Yes, Mr. Clark. Thank you, something just fell earlier, but I cleaned it up,” she responded quickly.
“All right. When you are done with that guest, I need your help with a few things this morning.”
“You got it, Mr. Clark. I will be there in a moment. Thank you.”
“Is he a good boss?” Jarek asked, trying to take his mind off the immense amount of pain and sadness he was feeling from the energy coming from the waitress and the building itself.
“Oh yes, I love working for Mr. Clark. He took full control of this place from his brother after he . . .” She paused. “After he took his own life. He was a sleazy drunk that ran gambling out of this hotel for years, even though it is illegal. Mr. Clark has done a tremendous job at making this hotel a more reputable establishment, though. He tolerates a few visitors that used to be friends of his brother’s, but those are few and far between. And sometimes he is . . . a bit much, but he means well and seems to care. And Agatha, the maid you may have seen, she is a godsend. I dare you to find anyone that cleans a room as well as she does! She is just a genuinely kind woman, with a heart of gold.”
“That is good. How you are treated by your boss is so important. I was drawn to this place once I came into town. It seemed like a lovely place to stay while I am here.”
“I am glad you are here, mister. This time of year is often quiet. We greatly appreciate our guests that brave the journey here in the winter.”
“Of course, and I will be here a few days, so I look forward to the stay.”
“Well, if there is anything we can help you with, you just let Mr. Clark, Agatha, or myself know. The Terry Hotel is here to help,” she said with a smile.
“I will. I appreciate that.”
“Yes, you’re very welcome. Well, mister, I better get back to work here. I hope you enjoy your stay. Here is your check; you can just leave money on the table,” she said as she wrote on her pad, tore off the check, and set it next to Jarek. “Have a wonderful day. And welcome to Deadwood!”
