section7mfu | "The Spies that go bump in the night," Part 3 for the Writer's Choice~7 Days of Halloween

Napoleon banged on the door several times before it finally opened. The two agents rushed inside just as some other people stuck their heads out of their rooms to see what the disturbance was.

They found the sister's huddled together in a corner of their room, dressed in their nightgowns and robes. There beds were facing each other end to end and their suitcases were stacked neatly on the beds.

They quickly ducked their weapons out of sight as they saw the women were unharmed.

"Oh my God!" Cried Jennifer as she ran to Napoleon's arms."I swear! We didn't do this! We just went into the bathroom to wash up and when we came out the beds...they were like this! Both the women were obviously shaken." Can we go to your room? We don't want to stay in this room. Please?" Begged Jennifer, "Yes, please?" Margaret pleaded as well.

Napoleon looked at Illya, who only shrugged.

"All right girls, just get your blankets. You can share a bed and Illya and I will take the other.”

The women grabbed their blankets and quickly followed Napoleon and Illya to their room. The hotel was indeed getting much colder as the wind howled wildly outside, and not due to some ghostly presence.

Napoleon found a length of clothes line in the closet, left by someone who must have surely hung some laundry there at one time or another. He tied it onto the wall sconces and stretched it across the room, and finally draped a sheet across it for privacy for the ladies; displaying his chivalrous side.

"Thank you Napoleon...Illya," the sisters called to them from the other side of the sheet."We really appreciate this."

"Not a problem" Solo answered.

"Good night ladies,” Illya called. He had already changed into a sweat suit and climbed into the bed, pulling the covers up around his head.

Napoleon opted for a sweatsuit as well, instead of his silk pajamas for the cold night ahead.

The rest of the night went without incident and when Illya woke in the morning the snow was beginning to taper off. Obviously the storm was almost over as he looked out through the curtains; he could now see a snow plow making it's way along the the street, and people beginning to shovel out the sidewalks. Perhaps if the airport was cleared, they could get out by the evening.

He really wanted to get home and into his own bed, and nurse his cold and thought he had a slight headache, it was not from the vodka as it was Stoli and not some cheap brand of vodka that always made his head pound, like a T.H.R.U.S.H. sleep dart.

He decided a bit of "the hair of the dog" as Napoleon would say, and he went to pour himself a shot of vodka; fetching the bottle from the dresser but found it and the bottle of J.D. both completely empty?

He was right; these two women were p'yanits_drunkards...he searched for the English word…”lushes,” he thought to himself.

Solo woke up, climbing out of bed, he whispered."Sleep well?"

Illya was not feeling particularly conversational at the moment and only shrugged. He grabbed clean clothes from his suitcase. I am going to shower in their room, "he spoke quietly" I do not think the ghosts will mind," he added with a smirk.

"Suit yourself," laughed Napoleon.Just don't scream like a girl if you see one."

"Very funny..."

Solo noticed the empty liquor bottles and wondered if Illya...no he was as sober as a judge, then he thought about Illya's comment about the girls, wondering if his partner might have been right about them.

Illya entered the girl's room, finding the beds still end to end, as well as the suitcases still being stacked. He shook his head in disbelief, figuring the women had done this, and wondered what their angle really was. Obviously not to try anything though as they went to bed and stayed there all night, but then again there was the empty liquor bottles.

He opened the light switch, but nothing came on and wondered if the power was out. He then stripped, turned the shower on and stepped into the tub. "Der'mo!_shit!" he cursed, jumping, as ice cold water shocked him. Obviously the heat and power had gone out during the night as there was no hot water. Illya was used to taking cold showers most of his life, so once he was over the initial shock, he simply disregarded the discomfort and bathed himself, though more quickly than usual.

He toweled himself dry, shaved and dressed into his usual black suit and turtleneck, but when he stepped from the bathroom adjusting his sleeve, he suddenly became aware of a presence in the room.

Drawing his gun from his holster; he suddenly saw a dark-haired woman sitting on the farthest edge of one of the beds.

Illya opened his mouth to speak as he aimed the Walther at her but she put her finger to her mouth, telling him silently to be quiet. She was clothed oddly in a dress with layers of fringe, that shimmered as she moved. The woman smiled at him, raised a glass to him...then suddenly she disappeared as if she had never been there.

Illya rubbed his eye in disbelief...then confusion, he walked over to the bed where the woman was and actually saw the indentation in the satin quilt where she had been seated.

He looked under the beds and in the closet, but found no sign of her. Looking at his wristwatch; he wonderded if it could not have been some sort of hallucinogenic gas, but noted he had lost no time. So there was no memory lapsse. Could he still have possibly been drugged?

Illya returned to his room completely bewildered and Napoleon noticed, looking quite pale. Kuryakin was not the type of man to let his imagination get the better of him...more so, he considered himself generally an unimaginative man. He has given up the flights of fancy from his childhood and became a realist, dealing in concrete facts, but lacking any fact that he could wrap his mind around to rationalize what he saw next door. Illya found himself thrown completely for a loss. He hesitated saying anything to his partner.

Napoleon decided to forgo the cold shower and simply washed up, shaved and dressed. When he emerged from the bathroom, Illya had their bags packed and the privacy curtain and rope taken down. He had walked the girls back to their room, assuring them they'd be unharmed.

"Illya, no pun intended,"said Solo," but you looked like you'd just seen a ghost when you came back from your shower...did something else happen in that room?"

"Yes," Illya paused," something did. I...I saw a woman sitting on one of the beds, sitting there having a drink... and then she just was not there. She was dressed rather oddly..." the Russian described the clothing to his partner.

"Sounds like she was dressed like flapper?" Napoleon said.

"A what?" Illya asked, unfamiliar with the term.

"It was a type of dancer from the 1920's. Women would wear fringed dresses that would shimmy and shake as they would dance. You know, tovarisch, I think you really just might have seen a real ghost. They said this place was a speakeasy...maybe one of the former ‘call-girls’ still haunts it?"

Kuryakin did not answer, not wanting to admit to his partner that he suspected that he just might be right.

"Can we just go Napoleon...they are plowing the roads; I just want to get home to my own bed. I have had enough of this place."

The two agents escorted Jennifer and Margaret downstairs to breakfast.

There had been a food and oil deliver so everything was fine and after eating a quick meal, said their goodbyes to the women.

They managed to find a taxi that was willing to take them to the airport. By the time they arrived there the runway had been cleared and they were able to catch an early evening flight back to New York.

It was an uneventful drop as far as the assignment was concerned so neither of them mentioned the eerie experiences in their brief report to Waverly, or anyone else for that matter.

Waverly's assistant Lisa Rogers, looked up at Illya as he walked past her desk as he and Napoleon left their boss's conference room; there having received the details of his next assignment.

He stopped in front of her, leaning forward resting on his his elbow.

"Tell me Lisa," he asked very softly with a twinkle in his bright blue eyes," "Do you believe in ghosts?"or perhaps, things that go bump in the night?"

FINIS

"The Spies that go bump in the night," Part 3 for the Writer's Choice~7 Days of Halloween

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