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Dreadhorse Chapter 18
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Margaret Thompson had always cherished the old Maplewood Hotel. Nestled on the edge of town, its grand façade and vintage charm held memories of laughter, love, and fleeting moments of joy. Now, at fifty-two, Margaret found herself returning only in her dreams, haunted by regrets that echoed through the silent, empty halls.
It had been twenty years since Margaret last set foot in Maplewood. Back then, she was vibrant and full of life, managing events and ensuring every guest felt at home. But ambition had driven her away, pulling her into a relentless pursuit of success that left little room for personal connections. Her marriage had crumbled under the weight of missed anniversaries and forgotten promises, and her children had grown distant, their visits rare and strained.
One stormy night, unable to shake the memories, Margaret decided to revisit the hotel. She stepped into the grand lobby, the scent of aged wood and lingering candles enveloping her. The air was thick with nostalgia and something else—an unsettling presence that sent shivers down her spine.
As she wandered the dimly lit corridors, the flickering lights cast long shadows that seemed to move with a life of their own. Margaret’s footsteps echoed, a lonely rhythm in the vast emptiness. She reached the ballroom, the very heart of her former world, where she had orchestrated countless celebrations. Now, it stood still, a ghost of its former glory.
In the center of the room, a figure began to materialize—a woman in a flowing gown, her eyes hollow and filled with pain. Margaret recognized her immediately: Eleanor, her best friend, who had mysteriously disappeared one fateful night. The guilt of never finding closure weighed heavily on Margaret’s soul.
“Eleanor?” Margaret whispered, her voice trembling. The apparition tilted her head, sorrow etched into every feature.
“I never left,” Eleanor replied, her voice echoing like a distant memory. “I was lost in your world, forgotten by time.”
Margaret’s heart ached. “I should have been there for you. I let ambition cloud my judgment. I’m so sorry.”
The ghostly figure’s eyes glowed with a painful light. “Your regret keeps me bound here. I cannot move on until you forgive yourself.”
Tears welled in Margaret’s eyes as she reached out, though her hand passed through Eleanor’s form. “I forgive myself. And I forgive you for being here, reminding me of what I’ve lost.”
A silent moment passed before Eleanor began to fade, the sorrow in her eyes softening into peace. The room grew warmer, the oppressive atmosphere lifting. Margaret felt a weight lift from her shoulders, the chains of regret loosening.
As she left the ballroom, the hotel seemed less daunting, its shadows less menacing. Margaret walked through the corridors with a newfound sense of closure, each step lighter than the last. When she reached the exit, the storm had subsided, and the first light of dawn broke on the horizon.
Stepping outside, Margaret took a deep breath, feeling the cool morning air fill her lungs. The Maplewood Hotel stood proudly behind her, no longer a place of haunting memories but a symbol of healing and forgiveness.
She turned away, knowing that while the past could never be changed, she could embrace the present with a heart unburdened by regrets. As Margaret walked into the new day, the echoes of Maplewood whispered a final farewell, a promise of peace for both the living and the lost.