Chapter 1:- 1
It wasn’t my ideal summer but it would be the last summer we would get to spend together as a family. The mangled face of a phantom is a haunting vision, and when it's your own father it is even more disturbing.

Night after night, he terrorized my mother. Sneaking up on her and wrapping his spidery arms around her to squeeze all the air from her lungs. He struggled to strangle her, but then she turned and yanked the mask away from his face to reveal a hideous monster.

The stage lights darkened and the crowd cheered in horror. My parents rushed toward me where I stood with the others backstage. Mother gave me a kiss on the cheek as she waited for a scenery change.

“Tonight is a good show, don’t you think Lucinda?” she asked.

“One of the best yet!” I said. I watched dad peel the horrific prosthetic scar from him face before handing it to the makeup lady. He played Eric, the Phantom, in the traveling road show musical production of Phantom of the Opera. My parents had been cast in the lead roles for the summer tour and asked Oz and I to join them.

My brother, Oswald Bingham Witchwood, was leaving for college overseas to major in history at Cambridge this fall. He didn’t like Oswald, said it made him sound stuffy. So we shortened it to make him feel better. I told him it was the turtleneck sweaters and the square glasses that made people think that.

Although there wasn’t much sight seeing going on for my parents during the tour, my brother and I were left to do most of the exploring. The only problem was, Oz would rather read about the sights than see them in person. I thought the giant house of Swiss cheese was amazing. It was a two-story stink fest of architectural goodness. The best was that you could break off a piece of the front door and eat it. Oz was jealous when I told him that.

“Lucinda darling, would you be a cupcake and help me with this zipper?” asked Midge Farmer.

She was the heavy-set woman and show regular that had taken a liking to me the first week of the tour. I thought she was very sweet at first, but now she acts like some sort of over-bearing aunt. I do my best to avoid her like the plague. My cheeks could use a break from all the pinching.

I gave the zipper a couple of tugs and finally got it to close over her fat freckled back. She had walked a few feet before the seam on her dress split open like a banana peel. She sighed, then stormed off toward the wardrobe department squawking like a bird.

That night, we settled into the historic Salem Inn in the heart of downtown. From the website it looked pretty nice. Unfortunately, it was anything but when we got there.

“I’m real sorry about the confusion Mr. and Mrs. Witchwood," said Miss Kepler, the innkeeper. She flipped wiry strands of silver hair away from her vivid blue eyes. “We thought all this construction would have been over by now. But the fire did more damage than we thought.”

“Usually hotels will give discounted rates for this sort of perilous situation," dad said. He stood firm with his arms crossed gazing at Miss Kepler.

He loved to haggle and use big words. Once he spent an hour getting a woman to drop the price of a rake at a garage sale because it had a broken tooth. The woman was so exhausted she finally agreed to drop the price from fifty cents to twenty five.

Dad would stand there all night to get a good rate if that’s what it took. I thought for sure I would reach my thirteenth birthday waiting for this standoff.

“I think that’s fair,” Kepler said. “Let me put you in our best rooms for the regular rate. How does that sound?”

Dad’s eyes lit up. It was like he had won the lottery. My mother, Oz and I were a bit relieved she gave in so quick. We were really tired from a long day of travel.

Miss Kepler had a funny way of walking around corners. She always rubbed her back against them as we passed. And occasionally, she would stop and listen for something that the rest of us could not hear.

“So how did the fire happen?” I asked.

Miss Kepler looked back at me. “Oh you know, someone probably left a curling iron on or something."

“You don’t know for sure?”

She raised an eyebrow. “You writing a book?”

“She likes to be nosey,” said Oz. His face was buried in a copy of Salem History: The Slaughter and Salvation.

“Oswald, don’t talk about your sister like that,” mom said. “Lucinda is a very curious girl."

Miss Kepler grunted and kept walking. She pushed through a drape of plastic sheeting that covered up a section of gutted walls. The wood was burnt to a crisp and the smell of smoldering ash still hung in the air. Most of the blue wiring had melted together and looked like a giant blob of blueberries running down the wall.

We passed through another drape of cloudy plastic into a long hall. The walls were plastered with funky silver and pink wallpaper. My mom thought it was very warm and inviting. I thought it looked liked someone threw up all over tin foil.

The lights flickered on and off.

“Don’t worry about that. Since the fire, the lights have been a little twitchy," Kepler said. Dad gasped but she cut him off. “Working on that too. I’ll knock off a couple more bucks per night and throw in some muffins for breakfast.”

My parents seemed pleased with that. I didn’t want to tell them that muffins were free every morning. I read that on the website. Kepler had figured out my dad already, she was good.

“Are we the only ones staying here?” I asked.

“Yes, I’m afraid you are,” she said. “I guess I overlooked your reservation when canceling all the others. But that means you have the place all to yourself.”

“My book says this hotel is haunted. Is that true?” asked Oz. He took a second to stop reading and gave Miss Kelper a hard stare. She returned his gaze. Something he was not used to. He quickly buried his nose back in the book.
 
“Can’t believe everything you read son,” Kepler said. She turned the key and unlocked the door to the first room. She pushed it open and pointed a crooked finger inward. “This room should be good for the girl.” She turned and walked to the next room. “This one will be good for the boy."

The room smelled like old furniture and the carpet was thick and sticky. I decided to leave my shoes on. Occasionally I liked to take them off and scrunch my toes in the fabric. There was a small window tucked into the corner overlooking the street. A small table and squeaky bed occupied the rest of the room.

I wasn’t really all that interested in spending much time in this cramped box, so I went back into the hall. I wanted to investigate the burnt area. It was the closest I've been to fire damage and now would be my only chance to snoop around before we left for dinner.

The strange thing about fire damage is that it can destroy everything and leave certain spots untouched. I wasn’t sure why that happened. But I’m sure Oz would know and would give me an hour dissertation on why and how it happens. I decided I would save that question for when we were stuck in the RV somewhere toward the middle of Kansas.

“You shouldn’t be in this area, young lady, it is too dangerous,” said Kepler. I turned to see her rubbing her back against a sturdy wooden beam. She stopped and glared at me. “There are plenty of other things to see outside, where it’s safe.”

“Sorry,” I said and walked farther down the hall and around the corner. I looked back to see if she was still staring at me, and she was. A smooth move on my part. What did she mean outside where it was safe? Isn’t it usually more dangerous outside?

I explored more of the Inn. The water stained walls were covered with old photos of families and landscape. One picture really caught my eye. It was a crinkled black and white photo of a tall lonely tree the rested at the peak of a rocky hill. The branches were long and twisted. They reached up like flexed muscled arms. There was a small brass plaque under the photo that read Salem Tree. 

A small gray cat rounded the corner and looked up at me. “Hello kitty, what's your name?” I reached out to pet him but he scampered off. I followed him down a couple flight of stairs into a large dark dinning room. I couldn’t see much farther than my face. I searched for a light switch and stumbled over a chair. I heard the kitty mewing. “Here kitty.”

The lights flickered on, then off. The room was cluttered with old wooden tables and chairs. A heavy scent of mold lingered in the air. From the corner of my eye I watched the kitty hide under a chair.

The lights snapped on again and a cold breeze washed across my skin. Reflected in the mirrored wall behind me was Miss Kepler, sitting in a chair. The lights flashed off and on again. She was gone.

A scream and loud crash from around the corner startled me. I made a hasty retreat and rounded the corner. That is when I saw it.
 
Oz and a young man were sprawled on the floor -- covered in blood.