The Purgatory Hotel for Wayward Ghosts

Chapter 1

DELILAH

The last words Delilah’s mother had spoken to her had been, ‘Go to Hell.’ Despite their poor relationship, Delilah didn’t think her mother had meant it quite this literally.

Hell, apparently, was painted bright yellow, a square building with a single domed tower rising above the rest. It shone like a beacon in the heavy fog all around.

The half-moon windows had been shuttered closed with sandstone trim underneath.

This place could have passed for any old-fashioned hotel in London, if it weren’t for the uncanny silence.

There were no roads and no entryway for cars and taxis to pull up.

The dark ground underneath felt too squishy to be pavement.

Mist pressed against her, the chill reaching the marrow of her bones.

Delilah still felt alive: her palms sweated and her heart thumped like a rabbit on caffeine.

But she’d lingered long enough in the hospital with ten broken bones to know that all the sand had run through her hourglass.

The very last time she’d closed her eyes, she had not expected to ever open them again.

She should feel relieved to be anywhere at all.

Nothingness filled the space behind her – nowhere to go except forward. She inhaled the scentless air deeply, summoning her courage.

Her high heels seemed to sink into the insubstantial ground. Instead of the hospital gown in which she had last found herself, she wore her favourite little black dress, the one with the lacy sleeves and a V-neck. Was Hell truly the kind of place that would allow her to keep her favourite clothing?

This hotel had no stairs or door, only a curved iron portcullis with a decoration of two white doves on top. Just as Delilah was wondering how to get in, the portcullis rose to reveal a lift. Rusty gears groaned. The white doors behind the portcullis slid open with a ding, making Delilah leap back.

The man standing in the lift was willow-slender, with brown hair in a short businessman’s cut, a faint tan, a clean-shaven pointed chin and glasses. His gentle honey-brown eyes held an ancient weariness.

Delilah gaped. Satan is adorkable!

Then she noticed his red waistcoat, white shirt and black bow tie. Satan wouldn’t wear a lift-attendant uniform, complete with the old-fashioned red cap. A silver-spotted cat sat at his feet, with a marking resembling a scarab on its forehead. Satan didn’t seem like an animal lover either.

Probably-Not-Satan said, ‘Welcome to the Purgatory Hotel for Wayward Ghosts. We are a temporary resting place for people who have lived middling lives. Here you will face your final test to determine if you head to Heaven or Hell. My name is Damien, the lift attendant. I will take you to reception, where you will be assigned a floor based on your worst sin in life. Do you have any questions?’

Delilah had worked in retail during high school and college, so she recognised the customer-service voice of someone who had repeated those words a thousand times.

The familiarity cut through the creepy atmosphere.

Delilah burst out laughing. Once it started, she couldn’t stop.

She clutched her sides. It wasn’t that funny – she might be on the verge of hysteria.

‘Sorry, it’s just . . . I never expected my afterlife to be so bureaucratic. ’

Damien smiled, and the tiredness in his eyes lifted.

‘You’re doing better than most people. I’ve had to deal with a lot of screaming, crying and throwing up.

The worst guests hit me. Sometimes they insist they’re in the wrong place and demand to speak to management.

As if I had the ability to contact the Great Upstairs! ’

‘Customer service is even more absolute than death and taxes, huh?’ Honestly, Delilah had been offended to hear her life described as ‘middling’.

She’d always tried to be a good person, kind and polite, never causing any harm.

But she supposed she’d never done anything heroic or self-sacrificing either.

She’d only had twenty-four years to live.

She swallowed down a lump in her throat.

Delilah’s mother used to call her up at night to scream that she was a bad person and a bad daughter, then demand huge monetary gifts.

At the memory of the harsh, raspy voice, Delilah’s stomach tightened.

She refused to let her mother be right. She would ace this test, just like she’d been top of her year in every maths class!

‘Can you give me any hints to help me beat the test?’ Delilah asked.

‘Sorry, that would be considered cheating and strictly punished.’ Damien did look sorry about it too. ‘Besides, the tests are never quite the same for each person.’

‘I understand. Can I pet your cat?’

Damien looked cute when his eyes bugged out. ‘Sure. I’ve never met anyone quite so relaxed about this.’

‘Do I seem relaxed? I’m panicking on the inside.’ Hence why Delilah needed the dopamine fix of petting a furry animal. She knelt down and rubbed the cat under its chin. ‘What a rare and pretty colour.’

‘Thank you. She’s an Egyptian Mau. I call her Nefertiti since she’s the queen of me and this lift.’

‘Nice to meet you, Nefertiti.’ Delilah stroked her soft back.

Nefertiti said, ‘To keep this you must first give it to another.’

‘Gah!’ Delilah leapt up. ‘The cat talks?’

Damien rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. ‘I should have warned you. She loves riddles.’

They were in Purgatory. Why shouldn’t a cat talk? Delilah had heard this riddle before: ‘The answer is “your word”.’

Nefertiti purred and rubbed Delilah’s ankle.

‘You’ve won Her Majesty’s favour.’ Damien smiled. ‘Are you ready to go?’

‘As ready as I’ll ever be.’ Delilah swallowed. ‘Thanks, you’ve been kind and patient with me even though I’m apparently a sinner.’ She wanted to know who had decided that.

‘That’s my job.’ He blushed. ‘I’m here because I didn’t get an automatic pass to Heaven either, so I won’t judge. People who don’t want to take the test can get a job at the hotel and work here for seventy years to get into Heaven.’

‘Oh.’ Delilah had taken him for an angelic being, not another ghost like her. ‘Well, my mother would be too smug if it took me that long. Let’s go.’

He held out an arm to keep the automatic lift door open. ‘Come in, ma’am.’

‘We’re all dead here. Just call me Delilah.’ She stepped inside.

In order from top to bottom, the lift buttons were: Limbo, Reception, Lust, Cafeteria, Gluttony, Greed, Maintenance, Anger, Heresy, and Violence.

The hotel was bigger than it first seemed, with most of the floors underground.

Interesting, the floors were in the same order as Dante’s Inferno.

The fourteenth-century narrative poem didn’t list Cafeteria as a sin – but this was a hotel too.

The strangeness gave Delilah a sense of unreality, probably all that stopped her from panicking.

The lift also had an unmarked black button at the bottom and a white button at the top.

Both remained unlit. Damien pressed the button for ‘reception’ and pulled the lever.

A horrific groaning came from the steel cables as the lift rose.

A speck of dirt flaked down on Delilah’s head.

She flinched. Surely the equipment couldn’t break down – this was the afterlife.

The awful sound and smell of rust must have been deliberately designed to create a hellish atmosphere.

Her compliments to the architect; she spent the entire ride terrified she might plummet to her second death.

When the lift stopped, Nefertiti vanished. Cats who could teleport made as much sense as talking cats.

As the door opened, Damien said, ‘Heather is nice – no need to be anxious.’ It was a real expression of sympathy, not his customer-service voice. She waved in reply as she stepped out of the lift.

The small, cosy reception room had blue walls and potted palm trees.

There was a single white door at the back.

The framed picture of ocean waves looked as if it was straight out of a psychology textbook on calming art.

Delilah wondered how well it worked on people who had just died.

A coffeemaker rested on an ebony end table, with a water cooler next to it.

The scent of pumpkin spice rising off the candles reminded her of her favourite coffee shop and soothed her nerves.

‘Welcome to the Purgatory Hotel for Wayward Ghosts. My name is Heather.’ The petite, curvy woman behind the desk looked maybe ten years older than Delilah, judging by a few white hairs in her curly auburn locks.

Laugh lines extended from lush bright red lips.

Her blue eyeshadow stood out against a pale complexion with a rash of freckles. She also had a customer-service voice.

‘I’m Delilah. I’d say good morning except I’m dead, so it feels like a bad morning.’

Heather smiled slightly. ‘We’ve been expecting you. Give me a moment to pull up your file.’ She typed into her computer.

The lights flickered. ‘Gah!’ Delilah nearly jumped out of her heels.

A high-pitched voice spoke behind her: ‘We still haven’t got the lights fixed?’

‘AHHH!’ Delilah stumbled, grabbing the desk to catch herself. She might be more nervous than she wanted to admit.

The child behind her didn’t look intimidating at all: a heart-shaped brown face, black hair in two braids and wide round eyes. She sighed deeply. ‘Godfrey’s sin must have been laziness. Maybe they didn’t have a floor for him, just like me, so now we’re stuck with him.’

Heather called sharply, ‘Jaime, don’t sneak up on the guests.’

Jaime stuck out her tongue and waved two sugar biscuits in the air. ‘I guess you don’t want the sweets I swiped from Floor Gluttony.’

‘Gimme, you brat.’ Heather took a biscuit, then tousled Jaime’s hair.

Ghosts could eat? It came as a relief. Delilah wouldn’t have wanted to live – exist – for eternity without chocolate.

What sins could a child have committed to justify ending up in Purgatory?

At least Delilah knew the standards must be strict, so she didn’t need to feel too bad about failing to reach Heaven.

With a crinkle of plastic, Heather opened the pouch containing the biscuit. ‘Delilah, your test will be on Floor Greed.’

Unfortunately, Delilah had trouble arguing with that judgement.

She’d grown up poor, envying the brand-new clothing and white trainers on other children, while she walked to school in secondhand wellies with a hole in the toe.

First, she’d started winning snacks off other kids in Pokémon battles, because she never had money to buy her own.

As an adult, she’d applied her maths genius to poker and betting on the horses.

Slot machines didn’t interest Delilah – they only relied on luck.

She’d enjoyed making money, yes, but also the thrill of the game.

Her mother had badgered her about gambling being a sin.

But, then again, nothing she did ever made her mother happy.

Contrary to what her mother claimed, betting on horses took skill as well as luck.

Delilah used to sneak into the stables to check their hooves and teeth before the races to assess which horse was in the best shape.

She’d been trampled to death while inspecting a horse. Mum had the last laugh on that one.

Shoulders sagging, Delilah complained, ‘But I gave ten per cent of my winnings to charity.’ Should she have given more?

She hadn’t been rich! Would she truly be cast into eternal torment over buying her first-ever designer clothing after a lifetime of staring in the shop windows at what she couldn’t afford?

Heather’s face softened. ‘Don’t be too nervous. You get seven attempts at your test.’

‘Thank goodness.’ Delilah felt like the weight of the horse that had killed her had been lifted off her shoulders.

Now that she knew she could afford to spend one try on reconnaissance, she no longer felt afraid.

She’d beat this challenge just as she’d perfected the claw-machine game at the local carnival.

Jaime sat in a chair next to the reception desk to eat her biscuit. ‘You’re lucky you even get to try . . .’

Heather typed into her computer again. ‘We have many guests, and only one person is allowed to test at a time on Floor Greed. Normally, the waiting list is about a month.’

A month? Delilah could have screamed. She bit back any complaints. It wasn’t Heather’s fault. During her time in customer service, Delilah had always hated being berated by customers for problems outside her control.

Looking up with a smile, Heather said, ‘Fortunately for you, we had a cancellation today. Sometimes guests get cold feet. Floor Greed is free right now, if you hurry. Of course, if you’d rather wait, that would be understandable.’

‘I’d like to get it over with, before my nerves fail. Thank you.’ Delilah reminded herself she didn’t have to pass the first time.

‘Good luck,’ Heather said.

Delilah called for the lift and marched in. ‘Greed, please.’ She grinned at Damien. ‘I’ve got this in the bag. I’m not even particularly greedy.’

‘You’ve got courage. That may help you.’ He took her down to Floor Greed and opened the door. ‘Good luck.’ His eyes held a sadness older than his body.

The lift bell dinged, and the doors closed as soon as she stepped out.