The Disappearance of Adam Lawrence
Adam Lawrence is in the Summit Hotel.
Upon listening to the local radio station, we discovered (sleepily) that school had not been canceled for the day. The powers that be evidently did not have the foresight to expect that an approaching weather system might bring snow—and a lot of it. I and my siblings went to school. Our parents, factory laborers, went to work. There was no discussion about leaving us at home in case of a hard winter storm. School, I think, was considered to be the best babysitter. We were thought to be too young to stay at home.
At around 8:45 AM, the snow began to fall. It did not take long for it to cover the ground. The snowstorm was so fierce that it was difficult to see when you were walking. I could only imagine how bad it was for the adults who were driving. It was a whiteout. Then came the news that should have been elementary, hours earlier: School was to be dismissed immediately due to the snowstorm.
Once we were released and able to go outside, we did what kids will normally do in the snow. Snowballs flew through the air and different versions of everyone’s favorite snowman began to be built. It was exciting, and even more so since the Christmas holidays weren’t too far away.
School buses soon began to arrive and it didn’t take long for them to be filled with passengers. They all pulled away from the school once they were loaded, leaving behind those of us who would get home in other ways. I, for instance, couldn’t ride the bus to my house. I was not allowed to be there alone. I didn’t even have a key for the door.
Rather than go home on the bus, I had been directed (and had always been directed) to walk to my aunt’s house and remain there until one of my parents arrived to pick me up. My aunt, aunt Darce, would be expecting me, but she wouldn’t be expecting me immediately because it was about a three mile walk to her apartment. It would take a long time to walk there during good weather. I didn’t know how long it would take during a snowstorm.
I set off walking toward my destination in the company of my classmates Olive Walker and Adam Lawrence. They lived a little farther than I was going to travel and, like me, they had no intention of going straight home. We headed to the halfway point of our journey, which was the Sloan Plaza gas station. The plaza was a convenience store that mainly sold fuel, but it also had a deli and it cooked fast food such as pizza and chili dogs.
I confess that I did buy a chili dog that morning, but back then I was young and wiry. After eating my chili dog, I joined Olive and Adam in what we had come here to do: The Plaza had old-fashioned arcade games that required exactly one quarter to play, and there was no time limit on how long you could play. As long as your gaming avatar stayed alive, you could play as long as you wanted to play. We played until we had no more change in our pockets, and then we headed back out into the cold storm.
We traveled on the sidewalk alongside South Wayman Street. At this point there were only homes and the Clarkston Cemetery on either side of the road. We passed the homes and the historic cemetery until another landmark loomed ahead of us: It was the Summit Hotel, a treasured monument to bygone days. Standing at an impressive eight stories, and a little over 80 feet high, the gigantic hotel now stood empty, but in the past it had been an important business.
In days gone by, it was not uncommon for the Summit to be operating at or near its maximum capacity. It featured its own restaurant, The Crest, and its location was within walking distance of the train station. For many years, the Summit was known as the outstanding feature of Clarkston, and it was still the tallest building in the county. Its beauty and elegance was second to none, long ago.
Unfortunately, the Summit would be gutted by fire at some point in the 1920s. After the fire, the glory days fell away and the old hotel went through several changes in ownership. Each new owner proudly announced that he would restore the hotel to working order. Despite the grand plans, little was accomplished and the hotel stood in various states of disrepair. Eventually, the “Summit” became synonymous with “bad luck.” One owner even committed suicide on the property, or so the historical marker outside of the building claimed.
Once, when I was with two other boys, we attempted to sneak into an abandoned house next door to the Summit. We were seen by a neighbor. She yelled at us and told us that we were on private property, and then she called the police. They were kind enough not to give us anything more severe than a verbal warning, and they sent us on our way.
With the fierce storm blowing the way it was, it would be very unlikely that anyone could see us if we attempted to enter a building. This time, though, I cared nothing about that vacant house. No, I had my eye set on the Summit Hotel. I was going in there today and I was glad that Olive and Adam pronounced that they were going in too. We were brave sixth-graders, and all of us were 11 years old: We were an unstoppable trio!
We began our urban exploration by heading to the double doors of the entryway. They were locked and also heavily chained. This mattered little, since practically all of the first floor windows had been removed or purposefully broken, and there were no bars on the windows. We crawled through the first open window that looked safe, and then paused for a few moments to let our eyes adjust to the dim light.
The first floor of the hotel had been gutted, except for some support pillars. Scattered around the floor was copper wiring and tubing—I assumed that it was to be used by electricians and plumbers. Also on the first floor could be seen generators and different kinds of power tools. We then noticed that we had missed seeing an antique hotel counter. With a little work, it could (and probably would in the future) be made to look as nice as the day it had first been installed.
Behind the counter was a full-length antique wall mirror. This is where we first became aware of some potential trouble. When we walked over to this area, the energy felt oppressive. There was a sense of dread in the air, and though it happened very quickly, I thought I saw a black shape in the mirror. I looked again, and longer, but it was gone.
I was not seeing things. Olive saw it too, and pointed. “Did you see that?” I confessed that I had. Adam hadn’t seen anything.
Olive, on that day, was the smartest in our group. “I don’t know what that thing was. It was black. Shapeless. Formless. And I’m out. Are you guys coming?”
“Be careful going home, Olive,” I said. “I’m going to look around a bit more.”
“Me too,” said Adam.
“Okay guys. See you later.” Olive went straight to the window, climbed through, and disappeared into the storm.
“It’s Olive,” said Adam. “She’ll be fine.”
After Olive left, I and Adam went to the second floor, which was a shambles. The third floor was as well. It was empty, but the place was strangely lit up, as though the electricity had been restored to the building. We knew that it had not been.
We opened a door and entered one of the guest rooms. It was like taking a step backward in a time machine. The room was in perfect order, with a large made-up bed and two nightstands. There were oil lamps on the nightstands, a chamber pot, and a pitcher and basin set. On a third table stood an old—well, maybe a new—record player. Later, when I was doing research, I would discover that it was probably a Victrola talking machine.
We entered the next room, but it was basically a disaster area. We were afraid to go too far inside because it seemed as though the floor might collapse at any time. The same thing happened when we opened the next door. The floor was weak, so we didn’t dare to venture inside. We decided to backtrack to the room that was in good order, but when we went back we found that the room had changed again. Now it was in bad shape, and probably unsafe to enter.
We should have left the building, but we didn’t. We went up the stairs to the fourth floor. On this floor our fun adventure ended. Here was the weird lighting, but there were other features as well. In the main, the entire floor looked like it might have looked on the day the hotel opened for business.
There were numerous mirrors hanging in the fourth floor hallway and the feeling of dread returned. Suddenly, the black shape that I and Olive had seen earlier made its presence known to us by appearing in front of us—it literally manifested from inside one of the mirrors. It was about 30 feet away from us. A rancid scent filled the air and my ears popped suddenly. I felt the sensation of vertigo as the thing folded into itself and out again, steadily making its way toward us.
We ran.
We almost made it to the stairs when it became apparent that we were not going to outrun the thing. At that time Adam threw open a door to one of the guestrooms. It was in pristine condition on the inside. “In here,” he said, and ducked into the room. I could not follow, for the thing suddenly blocked my way. With no other options available to me, I ran down the stairs.
I don’t know how long I sat at the staircase landing, but it was long enough to make sure that the black shape was no longer interested in taking my life (or whatever it had wanted). Slowly, I crept back up the stairs. This time, the floor no longer looked new.
I knocked softly on the door that Adam had entered into, but there was no response, even when I began to softly call his name. Finally, I mustered the courage to open the door. The room was completely empty. It had obviously been that way for decades, or so it seemed.
I made my way to the first floor and went out the window. The snowstorm had not let up one bit, so I was fairly certain that no one saw me make my escape. I walked to the home of my aunt Darce, who had not been worried about me at all. Apparently I had arrived at a reasonable time, though I thought I had taken hours to get there. About three hours later my mom got off work, picked me up, and took me home.
When the police questioned us about the events of that day, Olive told the truth: She was frightened when she went inside the building, so she left and went home. Wisely, she did not mention the thing in the mirror. My story was a bit different. Adam and I had gone as far as the fourth floor, but the building was in such disrepair that we thought we might be in danger. Both of us left the same way we came in, through a first floor window. He went his way and I went mine.
As far as I know, the authorities don’t have an official opinion concerning the disappearance of Adam Lawrence. The case is still open, though it is considered a “cold case.” There are no suspects.
I’m sorry that Adam is missing, and I can only hope that he will one day reappear. I have no clue as to exactly what happened to him that day. I don’t know where he is or even when he is. I do know, however, that he is trapped somewhere inside the Summit Hotel.
The End.
© 2023-2025 Ren Adama
