by Norman A. Rubin

Created on: February 10, 2009

"Memories of the past are usually quite pleasant but one bit of memory that was and still is constantly retained in my mind sent a cold finger of terror down my spine and left me in a cold sweat. About a year ago I was staying overnight at the old Bristol Hotel, an aged rather obsolete lodging centered in a large city along the Atlantic coast. There a strange incident occurred that was beyond my expectations. A ghostly figure was my companion that night through a frightening nightmare, but was it only a terrible dream or an actual happening.

"A business engagement called and I was obliged to make a stopover in that city. The choice of hotels was limited as the city played host to athletic games and hotel rooms were filled to capacity with the participants and fans to the games. Thus I was obliged to register for a room at that hostel, an ancient edifice of four stories, weather-darkened and solitary of brick and stone squeezed in every side by the overgrowing of the great city.

"But the mysteries that happened that night still haunt me. Listen to my story and you will understand.

"When I registered at reception desk I was given the key to a room on the second floor, which seemed to be the only vacant one in the entire hotel. Yet, when I walked to the dimly lit corridor to the creaky elevator I saw no one about, not a soul greeted me. When I alighted from the lift on the second floor and made my way to my room through the dimly lit corridor I heard no sounds to suggest occupancy of the rooms. It was strange as it was early in the evening when people usually prepared for their nightly entertainment or whatever engagement awaited their interests.

"The room that I entered for my evening's lodging was as ancient in furnishing as the hotel itself. When I switched on dimly lit overhead light I noticed a bed of solid oak, a heavy armchair for another era, night table with a lamp, and the wardrobe heavy and cumbersome. One thing that was disturbing was a large painting facing the bed that was of rather strange dimensions, it picture a scene with a flowery garden with nymphs dancing to the pan pipes of the satyrs; other strange mythical creatures were all around in the canvas. The disturbing part of the painting was a black attired figure centered in that garden, grim in facial features and his black hair long and stringy like strands of willow sprigs; he looked like a haunted man that endured ridicule and chafing during his life. He seemed to be the devil incarnate that

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