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The Mauberville Hotel

The establishment of the Mauberville Hotel dates back to the 18th century, when a man by the name of Jeffrey Davis bought the land from the state of Pennsylvania. He built the hotel for his wife, Helena Davis, who he loved with his life. The hotel was very popular during its day visitors from all over the country drive hundreds of miles to stay in its decorated walls, beautiful hardwood floors, and stunning scenery.

Around 20 years after the hotel was built, Mr. Davis dies mysteriously. His wife dies a year later of cancer. After their death, the hotel became obsolete. It was abandoned and decrepit until a man named John Henry bought and restored the hotel into a melancholy but habitable condition.
Mr. Henry was a strange man who became even stranger after the death of his beloved wife. He became isolated, he quit his job, and cut all ties with his friends and family. He started to read devilish books. Books with enchantments and rituals of the devil. After a month of the loss of his wife, he purchased the decrepit hotel.
The hotel received little publicity, and the only guests it had were last minute travelers and drunkards. It has a remote location off the side of an obsolete highway. Mr. Henry spends most of his time in the basement of the hotel and takes care of all the housekeeping himself, since there are so few guests.
On a particular gloomy day when the sky seemed ready to rain but never does, a lonely traveler stopped at the hotel. Mr. Henry greeted him personally and stayed to chat, which he has never done before. The two men staydd up and talked for an hour before the traveler started up for his room to retire. Just as he was climbing the stairs, Mr. Henry snuck up behind him and knocked him out with a bat.
Mr.Henry dragged the body down to the basement with a bit of a struggle. He then lifted him up and layed him down on a wooden rectangular table. The basement was dank and filthy. There was mold on the walls, books all over the floor, and old candles on the tables. The guest was laid on one of two tables, on the other table there laid a slightly rotten but nonetheless serene figure of Mr. Henry’s wife.

She was wearing a black satin dress that was slightly torn. Her face was dead white and her skin was wearing away. She smelled of a mixture of oils and rotten flesh. Beside her were blood red candles, which Mr.Henry lit as he began the sacrifice.

He cut open the chest of the guest and took out his heart. Next, he let the blood drain into a chalise. He placed the heart next to his wife and poured the blood into her mouth as he chanted the devil's spell.

The heart turned to ash and the candles flickered in a strange gust of wind. The wife’s body started to jerk and spasm out of control until she suddenly sat straight up.

Her face was still dead pale and gaunt but her eyes were wide open and only their whites were visible. She turned her head towards her husband and picked up the knife used to cut out the heart. She stood up and started walking towards him, knife pointed at his heart.

Mr. Henry was horrified yet mesmerized at the revival of his wife. His face turned as pale as hers as he backed up into the corner of the room.

“Margeret?” he asked, hoping that his wife will remember who he is.

“Margeret is dead!” the wife croaked, “and the dead are meant to stay dead!”

She plunged the knife into Mr.Henry's heart and twisted it, allowing the blood to flood out onto the floor.

Mr. Henry was too paralyzed to scream as his former wife stabbed him. He looked at her for the last time and saw her dead, vicious grin. He fell to the floor and died.

The corpse then slit her own throat, returning back to the hell from whence it came.

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