text: As I tie up the trash bag in the can next to the TV table I count six empty Guinness bottles and an empty half-pint of Captain Morgan rum. Whoever stayed in this room last night must feel fantastic this morning. (Yes, that was sarcasm.) I am not surprised to find a wide brown liquor stain in the dead center of the white and green bedspread. Oh well, it's not the worst kind of stain I've ever found on the bedding in the three weeks I've worked here. I strip off the bedspread as well as the sheets and pillowcases. Distracted by a sudden flash of lightning, I walk over to the window to glance outside. The rain is coming down in relentless torrents and the water-heavy branches of the trees are whipping back and forth in the insane wind. After drawing the curtains closed across the rain lashed window I gather up the bundle of dirty bedding and step out of the room to throw it on the bottom of my cart. I grab the clean towels and toiletries from my cart before returning to the room. Based on the contents of the trash can, I am less than enthusiastic about entering the bathroom. To my slight surprise and immense relief, however, it is clean and in good order. I leave the door to the room open as I push my cart down the hallway toward the elevator. This is my least favorite part of the job, going down to the laundry room to retrieve fresh bedding. It's not the laundry room itself that I dislike, but due to severe claustrophobia I don't enjoy sharing the limited elevator space with my cleaning cart. "Hey Chrissy," Claudia greets me, popping her head out of one of the rooms as I trundle past with my cart. "This's some storm, isn't it?" "It's crazy," I agree. We both glance up at the lighting fixtures as they all flicker at once, down the entire length of the hallway ceiling. "You don't think the power's going to go out, do you?" Claudia shrugs her shoulders. "It might. It happens sometimes in bad storms." She disappears back into the room she's cleaning with a little wave. The lights flicker again just as I reach the elevator, this time staying off for a full count of three seconds before coming back on. If I was on the second or third floor I would be tempted to forego the elevator and wrestle my cart down the stairway. I am, however, on the seventh floor so that's not going to happen. I push the 'call' button and wait for the whine of the approaching elevator. When the doors slide open I push my cart in and wedge myself into the corner closest to the door, reminding myself to breathe. I realize, of course, that I'm only going to be in this box for a minute or so but claustrophobia is a real affliction. I let out an involuntary little shriek when the elevator shudders to a complete standstill and the light goes off, plunging me into utter darkness. Once I am able to force myself to breathe again I reach out with one hand and feel around for the panel of buttons, pushing several of them at random. None of them light up. The elevator's dead. The hotel must have lost power after all. I pound on either the door or the wall (it's hard to tell which without any light) with my fist. "Help!" My voice cracks and breaks. I clear my throat and try again, "Help! Please, I'm stuck in here! Can anybody hear me? Please help!" When I press my ear against the cold steel silence is all I hear. No one moving around or talking in the hallway outside (if there even is a hallway outside. For all I know I could be stuck between floors.) No one responding to my frantic pleas. Fuck. I'm going to die in here. I am well aware that panicking will only make it worse, but that knowledge is not enough to help me to calm down. My heart is thudding, there is a sharp pain in my chest, and my breath is tearing in and out of my lungs in ragged little gasps. I bang on the steel and call out again, still with no result. I sit down and concentrate on trying to breathe. Since my cleaning cart is taking up most of the elevator I am not able to extend my legs all the way, so I hug my knees to my chest. The tears slide unbidden down my cheeks despite the fact that crying is not only useless and unhelpful, but is also liable to trigger a bout of hyperventilation, which I'm already dangerously close to. "There's no need to cry, Missus," a child's voice whispers close to my ear. My head snaps up from my knees as I gaze around in panic. My eyes are beginning to adjust to the darkness by now and I can make out the dim bulk of my cart, but nothing more than that. There's no one in the elevator with me, which I had already known. "H...hello?" Is all I can think to say. Am I going crazy now? I thought it would take longer for that to happen. "You don't need to be frightened, Missus." There is a gentle stirring of the air near my face and I can feel something like a feather brushing against my cheek. I cringe away from it without intending to. "Don't be frightened," the voice admonishes me again. "Who...who are you?" "My name is Marybeth." "Why can't I see you?" "Not everyone can see me, Missus. A few people can, but not most. Even those that can't see me often know I'm around. Have you ever felt like you were being watched when there's no one there?" "That...that's you?" I whisper. I have indeed felt that very sensation of being watched on several occasions while cleaning rooms, although it has never made me feel unduly frightened or uncomfortable. I always just assumed it was my imagination. "Yes, Missus. I like to watch people. But I've never harmed anyone. I wouldn't ever." "So are you...were you a guest here? Did you..." I can't quite bring myself to ask the question did you die at the hotel? I don't even believe in ghosts. "Oh no, Missus," Marybeth answers my unasked question. "I've been around here long before the hotel was built. I worked at the textile mill that used to be here." I was aware that the hotel has only been on this site for six years or so, and before that there was a poorly-managed nightclub that was only here for a few months before the owner went bankrupt. I don't remember what was here before that. A barber shop or hair salon, I think. I don't remember ever hearing that there had been a textile mill built here at any point, but that doesn't mean there hadn't been one. Her voice, however, sounds like that of a child far too young to have worked anywhere. "Did you say you worked at the textile mill?" I ask her. "Yes, Missus." "But you...how old are you?" "Eleven, Missus. The textile mill used me and the others from the orphanage for cheap labor." I don't know whether this makes me more sad or angry. "There was a fire at the mill one day," she tells me, her voice flat and emotionless. "I'm still not sure how it stared. I never made it out. Most of us didn't." Maybe it's a good thing that I can't see her. Does she look blackened and disfigured, with charred bones poking through seared flesh? I don't think that's something I should ask her. "So are the others still here too?" I question instead, curious. The irony is not lost on me that I feel far less panicked trapped in a dark elevator with a dead little girl than trapped in a dark elevator by myself. Maybe that's why she came to me, she knew I needed a distraction. "No, Missus," she responds, "They all crossed over. At least, I think they did. I haven't seen any of them since the fire." "Crossed over? Like white light and harps and halos?" "Well, I don't know anything about harps and halos. But there was a bright white light." "Why didn't you cross over?" "I was afraid to, Missus. I didn't know what was on the other side and I was not ready to leave. I wanted to go on living life here, even if I'm not alive. And I'm glad I stayed. I've seen so much more than I ever would have seen in my lifetime." "So you just...what...hang around and watch people at the hotel?" "Yes, Missus. Sometimes I talk to them like I'm talking to you. Sometimes there's someone who can see me, usually children younger than me, and I play games with them." I have never received any complaints from the guests that the hotel is haunted, and to my knowledge neither have the rest of the staff. Maybe that's because it's quite obvious that Marybeth's presence is in no way malevolent. I suppose guests don't mind sleeping in a haunted hotel as long as the spirit is friendly. The sudden hum of the elevator mechanism accompanied by the light flickering back on brings me back to my feet. Oh, thank God. I still have the sensation that someone is watching my every move with the curiosity of a child. "Marybeth?" I whisper into the empty elevator as I push the button for the laundry room. "Yes, Missus?" Her voice replies. "Thank you. You helped calm me down." "You're welcome, Missus." When the elevator doors open at last I pull my cart out into the laundry room. "Oh, Chrissy," Darla greets me with a smile on her wrinkled face. She is the senior of the housekeeping staff, a pleasant litte old lady whom the rest of us refer to as 'Grandma', but not in her presence of course. "It's good to see someone else!" "Were you stuck down here?" I ask her. "Yes." "I was stuck in the elevator." "Oh, you poor thing. Are you all right?" Her concern is genuine. Everyone on the staff is aware of my claustrophobia, due to the incident on my first day of employment. One of the housekeepers had thought it would be funny to lock me in the broom closet as some sort of 'initiation prank'. He was fired immediately afterward. "Yeah, I'm okay. It was pretty rough at first." I toss the dirty bedding on my cart into the huge half-empty hamper, then walk over to grab some fresh sheets from another hamper. "Darla, can I ask you something?" "Of course. Anything," she answers. "Have you...have you ever seen or experienced anything...anything weird here?" "Oh, you've met Marybeth, haven't you?" The corners of Darla's blue eyes crinkle up in a smile. "Isn't she the sweetest little thing?"