The invitations went out on Tuesday afternoon, because statistically speaking, that’s the best time to offer someone a weekend getaway. Or that’s what Mr. Barclay’s advisors told him (he had a lot of those). These advisors took very expensive and extensive polling and did research (actually, it was mostly asking random people at the mall). The letters were printed on fancy, thick parchment, the kind of paper that adults use for Very Special Occasions like weddings, or birthday parties with lots of guests and bouncy castles and bands.
But this invitation was not for a party. It was for a weekend at the historic Barclay Hotel. Some said it was haunted, but there was no actual proof. Mr. Barclay owned the hotel, and he had a plan.
He wanted these invitations to be sent out on Tuesday. Five invitations only. No more, no less.
They were delivered by a courier—which was even more expensive than those advisors and the research. This was so that Mr. Barclay could make the whole thing seem important and official. He didn’t want anyone to think that this was some sort of scheme! Even though it was. His advisors told him that it’s one thing to get a letter in the regular old mail, in the box, mixed in with the grocery store flyer and the electric bill. It’s quite another to get a letter with a real embossed seal to close the envelope, delivered by a courier, where you have to sign for it. So mysterious.
Five envelopes, with five invitations. Mr. Barclay guessed that there would be some stragglers—there always were. But the five main guests had been chosen carefully. A cowboy, a librarian, a CEO (that stands for chief executive officer—which is a big deal), an actress, and a detective all got their invitations that Tuesday.
Dear [insert esteemed guest’s name here],
Congratulations! You are a winner. “What did I win?” you might ask. An all-expenses-paid weekend getaway to the historic Barclay Hotel, from Friday, April 3, through Sunday, April 5.
From the moment you arrive, you will find yourself enchanted by the newly renovated dining hall, where you will feast on a five-course meal included in your prize winnings.
Enjoy the (also newly renovated!) indoor pool, hot tub, bowling alley, and extensive multilevel library if you fancy an afternoon read by the fireplace. All meals and entertainment (expect surprises!) are included in your stay. Did we mention it’s all expenses paid?
We will see you promptly at five o’clock Friday evening to start your glorious getaway!
RSVP by Thursday to Gregory Clark, butler of the Barclay Hotel.
Disclaimer: The pool and hot tub may or may not be open. The Barclay Hotel is not responsible for any encounter you may have with vermin, errant staff, wonky elevators, leaky ceilings, ghosts, or unstable antiques. Cellular phone service is not available at the Barclay Hotel. Do not use the white room towels for pool attendance; bring your own pool towel. Five-course meal may actually be a one-course meal. There is no room service available at the Barclay Hotel.
Not everyone read the fine print—not when there was a free vacation at stake. Some guests read it later, but by then it was too late.
No, each and every one of the five people invited felt very special when they received the letter, even if not all of them were all that excited to go. Congratulations! You are a winner, the letter said.
Everyone likes to be a winner. Mr. Barclay counted on it.
Part i
Liars, Liars or, The Players
1
JJ wasn’t supposed to read the letter, but he did anyway. He couldn’t resist the thick paper and the chance to break the seal on the back of the envelope. It all looked so important. You really couldn’t blame him. His mom had already forgotten about the letter and left it unopened on the kitchen counter. She rarely had time for anything these days.
JJ, on the other hand, had nothing but time.
He had just gotten out of school, and Tuesday was his most hated day of the week. He was always forced to go to Book Club and Battle of the Books, which was like the grand master of misery for those who are not into books. JJ didn’t like reading very much (that’s an understatement—he despised it, everything about it, from the quietness to the dancing letters and the book reports afterward).
What JJ really loved was ghost hunting. He got excited at the thought of collecting evidence of haunting activity with his infrared camera, voice recorder, and electromagnetic field (that’s EMF for short) detector. The camera would catch temperature fluctuations, since ghosts show up as cold spots. The voice recorder could catch a ghost’s voice (this was harder, JJ thought), and the EMF detector would reveal a ghost’s electrical current—the detector would spike. Ghost hunting can be exciting or monumentally boring, depending on how the ghosts are feeling that day.
The week before the invitation came, JJ and his friend Tristan had caught signs of a (possible) haunting in the attic. JJ lived in an old house that made squeaky noises and had lots of dark, mysterious corners. But JJ had reason to believe that those little orbs he and Tristan caught on camera were not dust. The EMF detector spiked, and there was some garbled noise on the voice recorder—sure indicators that a ghost was present. You never knew what evidence you might find. It was why JJ loved ghost hunting.
And now there was this envelope, on a regular (most hated) Book Club Tuesday. Unfortunately, JJ’s dad was an English professor at the local college, and he loved all things books, which was why his dad had volunteered to run the Book Club and Battle of the Books at Aspen Springs Middle School. It made the whole situation with JJ hating books a little sticky.
JJ could hear his mom on the phone in the other room. Just troubleshoot it, guys, just troubleshoot it. It was her favorite phrase. JJ’s mom was very good at her job as CEO—a little too good, if you asked JJ. He wished she would take a break from her phone every once in a while.
JJ scratched his mop of curly red hair as he read the invitation.
Jackie Jacobson was written in cursive letters across the front of the envelope. It looked like the writer had used one of those old-fashioned ink pens. JJ couldn’t resist. He looked at the letter, read it twice (except for that tiny print—you needed a magnifying glass to read that). And smiled to himself.
This was his moment.
Around the same time that JJ found the envelope addressed to his mother, he’d been hatching a plan to convince his parents to let him visit the spookiest places in Aspen Springs, Colorado. The Barclay Hotel was at the top of the list of most haunted places within a twenty-mile radius of his house. The trouble was it had been closed for years. No one was allowed in. Not even professional ghost hunting crews.
Even JJ’s favorite online show, Ghost Catchers, had tried and failed. This guy named Hatch (even his name was cool) would go to haunted locations and investigate. Hatch had been to Alcatraz, the Winchester Mystery House, and a whole bunch of other creepy places. But never to the Barclay Hotel. The show had tried to get access (they even just showed up once), but the owner, Mr. Barclay, always declined.
And here was an invitation, a fancy one at that, to give JJ access to the place for a whole entire weekend. He could ghost hunt while he was there!
Maybe he’d even send his video footage and other evidence (there had to be lots!) to Hatch, and then JJ would definitely be invited on the show. And then maybe his parents wouldn’t think ghost hunting was “silly fake science” (his mom’s words) anymore.
Access to the Barclay Hotel—for a whole weekend, no less. An opportunity like this one comes along rarely. Once in a lifetime, one might say.
“Are you ready for Book Club, JJ?”
“Did you see this?” he asked his dad, waving the invitation.
His dad squinted (he really needed glasses but was avoiding a trip to the eye doctor). “An invitation?”
“Mom won a trip to the Barclay Hotel.”
JJ’s dad smiled. “How fun.”
“I want to go to the Barclay Hotel,” JJ blurted out, knowing that with parents, it was better to tell them what you actually wanted sometimes. Except when it came to Book Club. “And you know Mom owes me one.”
JJ had been saving this IOU for a few months now, waiting for the best opportunity. See, JJ’s mom was always so busy running her restaurant franchise (PB&JJ—because everything’s better with peanut butter!) that sometimes she missed important stuff, like parent-teacher conferences, award ceremonies, and science fairs.
Not that JJ was an award-y kind of kid. But there had been an art exhibit back in December that his mom was supposed to come see. And she’d missed it, because she had a PB&JJ emergency in Kansas. JJ’s mom apologized—a lot—and gave JJ a big IOU.
He decided it was time to cash it in.
The invitations went out on Tuesday afternoon, because statistically speaking, that’s the best time to offer someone a weekend getaway. Or that’s what Mr. Barclay’s advisors told him (he had a lot of those). These advisors took very expensive and extensive polling and did research (actually, it was mostly asking random people at the mall). The letters were printed on fancy, thick parchment, the kind of paper that adults use for Very Special Occasions like weddings, or birthday parties with lots of guests and bouncy castles and bands.
But this invitation was not for a party. It was for a weekend at the historic Barclay Hotel. Some said it was haunted, but there was no actual proof. Mr. Barclay owned the hotel, and he had a plan.
He wanted these invitations to be sent out on Tuesday. Five invitations only. No more, no less.
They were delivered by a courier—which was even more expensive than those advisors and the research. This was so that Mr. Barclay could make the whole thing seem important and official. He didn’t want anyone to think that this was some sort of scheme! Even though it was. His advisors told him that it’s one thing to get a letter in the regular old mail, in the box, mixed in with the grocery store flyer and the electric bill. It’s quite another to get a letter with a real embossed seal to close the envelope, delivered by a courier, where you have to sign for it. So mysterious.
Five envelopes, with five invitations. Mr. Barclay guessed that there would be some stragglers—there always were. But the five main guests had been chosen carefully. A cowboy, a librarian, a CEO (that stands for chief executive officer—which is a big deal), an actress, and a detective all got their invitations that Tuesday.
Dear [insert esteemed guest’s name here],
Congratulations! You are a winner. “What did I win?” you might ask. An all-expenses-paid weekend getaway to the historic Barclay Hotel, from Friday, April 3, through Sunday, April 5.
From the moment you arrive, you will find yourself enchanted by the newly renovated dining hall, where you will feast on a five-course meal included in your prize winnings.
Enjoy the (also newly renovated!) indoor pool, hot tub, bowling alley, and extensive multilevel library if you fancy an afternoon read by the fireplace. All meals and entertainment (expect surprises!) are included in your stay. Did we mention it’s all expenses paid?
We will see you promptly at five o’clock Friday evening to start your glorious getaway!
RSVP by Thursday to Gregory Clark, butler of the Barclay Hotel.
Disclaimer: The pool and hot tub may or may not be open. The Barclay Hotel is not responsible for any encounter you may have with vermin, errant staff, wonky elevators, leaky ceilings, ghosts, or unstable antiques. Cellular phone service is not available at the Barclay Hotel. Do not use the white room towels for pool attendance; bring your own pool towel. Five-course meal may actually be a one-course meal. There is no room service available at the Barclay Hotel.
Not everyone read the fine print—not when there was a free vacation at stake. Some guests read it later, but by then it was too late.
No, each and every one of the five people invited felt very special when they received the letter, even if not all of them were all that excited to go. Congratulations! You are a winner, the letter said.
Everyone likes to be a winner. Mr. Barclay counted on it.
Part i
Liars, Liars or, The Players
1
JJ wasn’t supposed to read the letter, but he did anyway. He couldn’t resist the thick paper and the chance to break the seal on the back of the envelope. It all looked so important. You really couldn’t blame him. His mom had already forgotten about the letter and left it unopened on the kitchen counter. She rarely had time for anything these days.
JJ, on the other hand, had nothing but time.
He had just gotten out of school, and Tuesday was his most hated day of the week. He was always forced to go to Book Club and Battle of the Books, which was like the grand master of misery for those who are not into books. JJ didn’t like reading very much (that’s an understatement—he despised it, everything about it, from the quietness to the dancing letters and the book reports afterward).
What JJ really loved was ghost hunting. He got excited at the thought of collecting evidence of haunting activity with his infrared camera, voice recorder, and electromagnetic field (that’s EMF for short) detector. The camera would catch temperature fluctuations, since ghosts show up as cold spots. The voice recorder could catch a ghost’s voice (this was harder, JJ thought), and the EMF detector would reveal a ghost’s electrical current—the detector would spike. Ghost hunting can be exciting or monumentally boring, depending on how the ghosts are feeling that day.
The week before the invitation came, JJ and his friend Tristan had caught signs of a (possible) haunting in the attic. JJ lived in an old house that made squeaky noises and had lots of dark, mysterious corners. But JJ had reason to believe that those little orbs he and Tristan caught on camera were not dust. The EMF detector spiked, and there was some garbled noise on the voice recorder—sure indicators that a ghost was present. You never knew what evidence you might find. It was why JJ loved ghost hunting.
And now there was this envelope, on a regular (most hated) Book Club Tuesday. Unfortunately, JJ’s dad was an English professor at the local college, and he loved all things books, which was why his dad had volunteered to run the Book Club and Battle of the Books at Aspen Springs Middle School. It made the whole situation with JJ hating books a little sticky.
JJ could hear his mom on the phone in the other room. Just troubleshoot it, guys, just troubleshoot it. It was her favorite phrase. JJ’s mom was very good at her job as CEO—a little too good, if you asked JJ. He wished she would take a break from her phone every once in a while.
JJ scratched his mop of curly red hair as he read the invitation.
Jackie Jacobson was written in cursive letters across the front of the envelope. It looked like the writer had used one of those old-fashioned ink pens. JJ couldn’t resist. He looked at the letter, read it twice (except for that tiny print—you needed a magnifying glass to read that). And smiled to himself.
This was his moment.
Around the same time that JJ found the envelope addressed to his mother, he’d been hatching a plan to convince his parents to let him visit the spookiest places in Aspen Springs, Colorado. The Barclay Hotel was at the top of the list of most haunted places within a twenty-mile radius of his house. The trouble was it had been closed for years. No one was allowed in. Not even professional ghost hunting crews.
Even JJ’s favorite online show, Ghost Catchers, had tried and failed. This guy named Hatch (even his name was cool) would go to haunted locations and investigate. Hatch had been to Alcatraz, the Winchester Mystery House, and a whole bunch of other creepy places. But never to the Barclay Hotel. The show had tried to get access (they even just showed up once), but the owner, Mr. Barclay, always declined.
And here was an invitation, a fancy one at that, to give JJ access to the place for a whole entire weekend. He could ghost hunt while he was there!
Maybe he’d even send his video footage and other evidence (there had to be lots!) to Hatch, and then JJ would definitely be invited on the show. And then maybe his parents wouldn’t think ghost hunting was “silly fake science” (his mom’s words) anymore.
Access to the Barclay Hotel—for a whole weekend, no less. An opportunity like this one comes along rarely. Once in a lifetime, one might say.
“Are you ready for Book Club, JJ?”
“Did you see this?” he asked his dad, waving the invitation.
His dad squinted (he really needed glasses but was avoiding a trip to the eye doctor). “An invitation?”
“Mom won a trip to the Barclay Hotel.”
JJ’s dad smiled. “How fun.”
“I want to go to the Barclay Hotel,” JJ blurted out, knowing that with parents, it was better to tell them what you actually wanted sometimes. Except when it came to Book Club. “And you know Mom owes me one.”
JJ had been saving this IOU for a few months now, waiting for the best opportunity. See, JJ’s mom was always so busy running her restaurant franchise (PB&JJ—because everything’s better with peanut butter!) that sometimes she missed important stuff, like parent-teacher conferences, award ceremonies, and science fairs.
Not that JJ was an award-y kind of kid. But there had been an art exhibit back in December that his mom was supposed to come see. And she’d missed it, because she had a PB&JJ emergency in Kansas. JJ’s mom apologized—a lot—and gave JJ a big IOU.
He decided it was time to cash it in.
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