Hot chemical filled air puffed out of the open drum and traced its thin scent across the pockmarked linoleum. The counter was a faded white expanse with a large ancient grey cash register sat in the middle like a smiling Buddha.

Mr Ali bustled around behind hanging up garments in plastic. Black suits, cocktail dresses, bridesmaids and wedding dresses all hung mutely from the uniform rails waiting patiently for human form to fill them

“Ayya Ha.”

 Mr Ali sighed to himself, and pushed his palms into his lower back.  His spine popped in protest, and he pushed his small round glasses back up on his nose.

“Paperwork, always paperwork.”

Since the large laundry company had bought his small dry cleaning business and offered him the franchise, he had felt more and more that things were moving away from why he had come from , India and worked so hard. Next week they were going to take the old cash register and replace it with a computer linked to the chip and pin network. “Ayya Ha.” He repeated and held the invoices further away so he could read them without it blurring.

His reading was interrupted by the door being pushed and a pale looking woman stepped in. her face was flushed from the cold, and it made her look bright despite the waneness of her features.

Ms Wilkins, He thought back for her suits. She had bought her suits in almost every week and he regarded this as a strange religious ritual. She was clean, so the suits had to be clean, or something, he thought.

“Good Morning my Dear, He smiled, come for your suits?” His smooth accent travelling intertwined with the gentle waft of dry cleaning chemicals.

Alison Wilkins smiled a small smile.

“Thank you, Mr Ali.” He leafed through the plastic covering the garments and lifted the sleeves like a doctor taking a pulse, “Not that one, not that one,” He muttered as he checked the tickets.

“Here you are, He smiled back at a pale Alison, four suits, and one dress.”

“A dress? Alison asked, I only bought in the four suits.“

Mr Ali checked the tickets and squinted against his small curled writing. “It’s your name.” He replied.

“There must be a mistake, she said. I definitely only bought in four suits.”

“But you show me the picture of you at the party, Mr. Ali replied. You remember, you look so happy to be wearing this lovely dress.”

Alison lifted the plastic over the dress and frowned. This definitely wasn’t her dress, and she didn’t remember any picture either. It was a black beaded vintage looking flapper thing, and despite the fact it had been freshly cleaned, it seemed to have an unpleasant odour that hung just below the dry cleaning smell.

Alison’s mind was still racing, but she decided to take the dress and see if she could work out how it had become part of her dry cleaning. Mr Ali rang the sale up on the Buddha of a cash register, and wished her a good day. Before she left, Alison asked Mr Ali if he remembered when she showed him the picture, and was it just her in it.

“It was you and another lady at a party, he smiled. I could tell it was a party as you had streamers around your neck, and a glass of wine in your hand. You looked very happy. The other lady had her arm around you. Do you not remember showing it to me?” He asked looking at her with his serious brown eyes.

“I can’t at the moment.” Alison smiled, but inside she felt the cold threads of disquiet unravel within her.

“Oh well, perhaps you remember when you get home, and you see the lovely photo.” Mr Ali smiled.

“Mr Ali, do the Indians still believe that taking a photograph steals the soul?” Alison asked and tried to keep the question light.

“Some cultures believe that, but we are in the modern age now. Most Indians love the camera – take my cousins wedding last month, we had hundreds of photographs, and we sat for a whole evening looking at them. Mr Ali laughed. Perhaps one day an Indian take a photo of God, you know. Don’t worry about superstition, most Indians like modern technology, look at all the call centres you know.”He laughed a big hearty laugh again.

Alison smiled and bid him a good day, but didn’t like the feel of the dress over her arm. If felt cold and alien underneath the plastic . Driving back to her apartment, Alison kept looking in her rear view mirror at the suits laid over the back seat, and underneath, just visible, the dress.

“You what?” Jo giggled

“Picked up someone’s dress in the dry cleaners.” Alison balanced her mobile between her neck and shoulder and muffled into the receiver. She had been home staring at the dress for twenty minutes before deciding to call her friend.  Laughter bubbled from the other en d. 

“You mean you stole a dress?” Giggled Jo.

“Oh, no, it apparently had my name on the ticket.“

“What’ s it look like ? enquired Jo, Is it a Designer?

“ Can’t tell, looks a bit vintage. Nice though. “ Alison mumbled looking absent  mindedly at the delicate fringing and black draped hem.

“Hey, Jo said suddenly, you could wear it at the  party. It would be fab, and classy at the same time. Do you know who made it?”

“No, there’s no label, but it is definitely an old dress. Can’t understand why someone would leave it in the dry cleaners.”

“It had your name on it remember, snorted Jo. Take it as a sign that you and this piece of fashion history are meant to be together.”

“Very funny.” Alison smiled, but still felt troubled over why the dress had wound up in her possession.

When she had finished the phone call, the mobile rested silently in her hand. The atmosphere became heavy as she stared at the plastic. Blinking to bring herself out of the hypnotic state, she decided she would try it on. Running her hand over the sumptuous beading she imaged who had worn this, and what fantastic parties it had carried its owner through. Laughter, champagne and fragrant midnight rose gardens filled her imagination, as she hooked it of the hanger. Slipping it over her head It fitted perfectly, and clung to her curves in a way she could only imagine dresses made for their owners do.

The standard off the peg sizes never felt the way this garment now felt, and standing in front of the mirror, her face looked flushed and alive, but underneath her amazement at the beauty and craftsmanship, she felt a disquiet that made her feel she was wearing someone else’s shroud, and suddenly felt revolted. Heaving the dress over her head, she stuck it back on the hanger and closed the door. Leaning against the wall, she waited for the feeling to pass, thoughts passing too quickly in her head.

The dress hung in her wardrobe for the next two weeks and she had been to see Mr Ali at least twice, and he hadn’t mentioned the dress  or if anyone had reported it stolen. She had almost asked him if he could really remember her showing him the photograph, after all, he was old and may have been confused over who actually showed him the picture but she stopped herself each time . It was as if a small voice had awakened inside her and soothed her conscience by telling her it was an honest mistake, and perhaps Jo had been right, it was meant to be hers.

For all of its beauty, Alison felt the dress had a cold atmosphere about it, and couldn’t understand why she had felt revolted. Her wardrobe seemed to shrink away from the vibrant black beading, and a couple of times she had  come home to find he wardrobe door open, when she swore she had closed it before leaving the house.

As the day of the party drew near, Alison felt unsure about wearing the dress, and worried something disastrous would happen like the real owner turning up and ripping it from her back in front of a room full of a hundred people.

Jo had been over and had scrutinised every seam and bead in an attempt to identify the maker. As there was no label, it was almost impossible and despite checking  vintage internet sites, they drew a blank.

“ You have to admit it is lovely, “ Jo sat with her knees tucked up on the sofa with a carton of rapidly disappearing Ben and Jerry’s.

“You wanna wear it and blow everyone away.” She smiled and licked the back of the spoon.

“I do like it, but I don’t like the fact it wound up in my dry cleaning, and I know nothing about where it came from,” frowned Alison.

“Look, it’s the biggest party of the year, and that dress is perfect. Who cares where it came from? Laughed Jo. You worry too much.”

Grabbing the dripping spoon from Jo’s hand she scraped it around the tub.

“Yeah, let’s blow ‘em all away! Giggled Alison dropping a huge blob of ice-cream onto her sweatshirt. Screw where it came from. If they are stupid enough to leave it with my name on it, then they get everything they deserve.”

The day of the party was cold and clear. Both Alison and Jo had taken the afternoon off and had sat in a small Italian café sinking cappuccino’s and almond biscuits whilst going over the final plans. Both were excited to be finally going after three years at the Company and everything had to be perfect. As she sat gazing out watching people pass by squinting at the low winter sun, Alison felt she had made the right decision in deciding to wear the dress, and secretly felt superior to Jo, which made her slightly ashamed.

“What time have you booked the taxi for?” Alison asked Jo to try and divert her thoughts away from their current path.

“Six forty-five, so that will give us time to have a cheeky drink at the bar before the Corporate Creeps slime all over us ha ha.”

“You speak for yourself” laughed Alison.

With the taxi time firmly in her mind, Alison drove home and felt real anticipation. She couldn’t put her finger on why she felt so elated, but deep down she knew it was because the dress was about to have its first outing in her possession, and it excited her in a dark way. The few clouds that had been drifting across the late afternoon now had a dark pink tinge to them signalling the imminent setting of the sun. It was going to be cold night, but Alison felt she wouldn’t  feel the cold, no matter how far the degrees dropped.

Sipping a glass of wine in the soft lamplight of her bedroom, she sat on her bed waiting for her toenails to dry. Suddenly Alison felt the temperature drop and the lamp light flickered minutely for a second, as if the power had been interrupted. She looked towards the window expecting it to have blown slightly open, but it was securely on the catch. The orange glow of the streetlight turned the branches outside her window into curious twisting shadows that seemed to beckon to her with their naked skeletal fingers .

 Alison reached to pull her dressing gown over her shoulders, and  looked up and down the street. It was unusually quiet for a Friday night. Taking another sip from her glass, she noticed the dress hanging  mutely on the back of the bedroom door, but couldn’t remember actually getting it out of the wardrobe.

“Strange,” she murmured.

Checking the clock, she unhooked the hanger off the back of the door, and the dress felt electric in her hands. The room had definitely dropped in degrees, and Alison shivered slightly. Running the material over her head, it fell about her form almost as if it knew where to find her curves. It nipped in at the waist, and gave off a subtle sheen. Catching sight of herself in the mirror, she caught her breath as in the lamplight it suddenly looked as if she had no face.  Her features had been eradicated and she looked like a plain pink tailors dummy. The dress had the whole of the mirror, and Alison stifled back a scream.

It can’t be, she thought , it’s just nerves that’s all. Although deep inside she felt a voice whisper , Come and find me. I am the time of rose gardens and indiscretions under silver moonlight. Suddenly Alison’s mobile rang and she visible jumped. Shakily holding it to her ear, she heard Jo’s familiar excited voice, “ I’m outside.”

“I’ll be there in a second.” replied Alison flatly. Checking the mirror once more she wished she hadn’t ever laid eyes on the dress.

The taxi drew up on a huge Gothic style hotel. Large gold writing announced it as the Majestic. Soft lamplight along the sweeping driveway lit the verges like a fairyland.

Jo excitedly pressed her nose against the glass and made it fog with her quick breaths. “ Wow, she gasped, it’s like the frigging Overlook hotel. You seen it?”

Alison had seen the way the hotel looked, and guessed like the hotel in Stephen King’s book it took on a whole new atmosphere during the day.  In the morning, she imagined the staff not being afraid to walk the corridors alone, or change the bed linen in empty rooms. It was when the Sun went down that she imagined the power happened, and she wished again she hadn’t worn the dress. Somehow, it seemed the dark looking hotel and the nameless dress were part of each other.

“That’s stupid.” Alison said out loud.

“No, Jo replied, it really does look creepy .”

“Sorry Jo-Jo, I wasn’t talking to you. “

“You ok? Jo asked suddenly looking concerned. You not still worried about that damn dress are you?”

“Of course not, lied Alison, I just need a large glass of wine that’s all.”

The hotel lobby was a throng of bright cocktail dresses and black ties. men stood at the bar laughing and enjoying pints of beer, and the women huddled in excited groups admiring each other’s dresses. Some were arm in arm, coming and going from the restrooms, touching up already perfect hair and faces, under soft flattering lighting.

Jo quickly navigated her way to the bar, and for a moment was lost among a group of wide shouldered men. Alison greeted colleagues and people she only briefly knew with the same enthusiasm, and each complimented her on how beautiful her dress was. She smiled graciously but was painfully uncomfortably aware she wasn’t supposed to be wearing it. She felt she was merely the dress’s mode of transport and it was using her. The strange voice she had heard was for now silent, but she was sure it was simply watching and listening waiting for the right time to show itself.

Handing her a large glass of wine Jo kissed Alison on the cheek and said she would be back in abit.

“Just gotta see Janice, back in a mo.” she said brightly.

Don’t leave me, Alison thought. Then decided it was stupid to feel this way, so headed for the rest room.

Inside it was quiet, a couple of women were touching up their lipstick craning their necks close to the mirrors. Alison turned to look in the mirror, and her reflection looked beautiful. The dress hung lovingly to her body, and shined under the vanity lights. Her bloom was high on her cheeks and her eyes sparkled with promise.

The women fixing their faces smiled at Alison and gave her admiring glances. They left with a soft click of the door Alison was alone.

The lights suddenly flickered and dimmed over the vanity unit’s. In the half gloom, Alison gazed at herself.  Everything was quiet. She strained to hear the music, but could hear no bass or notes filtering through the plasterboard. The lights flickered again and a low buzzing sound filled the air.

Gradually it gave way to the sweet, high notes of violin music.  The  sudden hearty laughter of men could be heard and Alison could smell the strong heady smell of cigars. The smell assaulted her nostrils and she marched towards the door to find out who was disregarding the new smoking ban. Pushing the door, the music and smoke wafted around her, and Alison stopped in midstride.

 She was standing in a different hotel, but she knew it was the same one. The aged plaster had a new sheen on it, and art deco sculptures and lighting were tastefully partnered to create the ambient mood. Men stood around puffing cigars and gave her admiring glances. They were dressed in the style of the 1920’s and she knew this was not fancy dress.

“My God.” she whispered and felt faint. The dress felt heavy and seemed to have become tighter around Alison’s ribcage. In a panic she half ran across the highly polished floor and almost slipped in her heels. Looking around the large ballroom door, she saw a crowded room of highly decorated tables and the overpowering fragrance of overheated flowers filled her nostrils. At each table sat women in vintage dresses and men in boot polish black tuxedo’s and all had no faces, just blank pink skin.

The reflection she had seen in her bedroom flooded back into her mind, and Alison clawed at her throat she tried to scream, but couldn’t open her mouth. She whirled around and looked in an ornate mirror, and the reflection staring back at her had no mouth. Flushed skin was in the place of where her mouth had been. The dress flashed under the art deco lighting, and seemed to constrict her further as if it was a giant python.

The faceless guests began to rise from their seats and in the slowness of nightmares began to advance on Alison. With her mind screaming, she ran towards the only exit, and the ghostly quests lumbered after her.   Her heels clicked across the ornate floor towards the reception desk, and turned. The guests stood in a circle around her their blank faces turned towards her .

A woman in a long fur stole and green silk gown stepped forward from the group and held out her hand towards Alison. The gesture was one of pleading rather than menace, and Alison tried to see where she was pointing

Wildly looking around Alison saw the woman was pointing outside to the grounds. The fog turned the lights outside to skeletal figures that seemed to beckon Alison through the grey cold.

Not knowing why, she slowly walked towards the door. The crowd didn’t follow. The ground was cold and she couldn’t see, but she walked across the winter grass to a crowd of trees just beyond the grounds. Kneeling in the earth, she began to dig, and it seems her hands were out of control in their ferociousness of digging. The earth was cold and hard, but she carried on. Gradually white bone began to gleam dully in the moonlight, and with a few more handfuls of earth a skull with rotting cloth bound around its mouth began to appear. Then a ribcage, Alison stopped digging and was aware she had been crying. Her mouth had returned, and she screamed at the top of her lungs. Looking back at the hotel, the crowd of ghostly guests stood in the entrance, almost aware they were at a threshold and would not be able to go any further.

Then, it all went dark.

 “Alison, Alison you ok?”

The voice was Jo’s and Alison opened her eyes with a start.

Alison sat up and realised she was in a first aid room, and it was modern. Up to date CPR charts hung from the walls, and more importantly Jo was there.

“It’s in the grounds!” Alison said breathlessly

“What’s in the grounds?” asked Jo gently

“The owner of this dress, replied Alison now crying. She’s in the grounds by the trees, I know it’s her.”

“What are you talking about? asked Jo. You slipped in the ladies and hit your head on the vanity unit. The paramedics are on their way now. You really had us scared.”

“No, no hospital, I need to go outside.” Pushing Jo out of the way Alison groped towards the door, and felt her head heavy and groggy.

“Ali, stop! You aren’t well.”

“Please Jo Jo, get them to go outside by the clump of trees. Call the police.” Slumping by the door Jo helped her back to the small bed, and stroked her hair.

The paramedics had arrived and were crowding around Alison with their bright relectorised green jackets filing her vision. Looking with the small light into her eyes, they checked her over, and asked her what day it was and her name.

“How do you feel now?” One asked when Alison had told them she must have blacked out.

“ I feel ok, no headache or anything”

“Blurred vision?” The bright green jacked asked?

“No, not at all.”

Her head hurt and she felt shaky, but she knew she was fine.

Having told Alison to rest up and get medical help if she blacked out or started vomiting, they packed up and left.

“Please Jo-Jo, the grounds.” Alison pleased with her friend, and now other party guests had knocked on the door to see how she was.

“Ok, I’ll get the Manager.” Jo reluctantly agreed.

The manager sat with his head to one side and did not interrupt Alison as she had recounted her experience in the ballroom, and then in the grounds. He had a solemn look with bloodhound eyes that were kind and encouraged Alison to continue her story.

When she finished her took a full few minutes before answering.

“There was a disappearance here in the hotel in the 1920’s, and the lady was never found.  The police suspected a jealous lover, as was the style of those times.” He smiled a thin smile.

“I am not one that readily believes in ghosts or phantom ballrooms, he continued, but since you have told me you suspect there is a body in the grounds, then I must follow procedure and call the police”

“Thank-you” Alison replied tearfully.

 The Manager took her hand and patted it lightly. “It will be alright My Dear he said gently. I will arrange for a taxi to take you and your friend home”

Alison didn’t want to go and protested to Jo, but she was exhausted and felt that it was best the authorities took over. As they curled around the magnificent drive away from the hotel, they passed two police cars, and Alison craned her neck to see them disappear around the bend.

A body was found in the grounds exactly where Alison said it would be, and from forensics the pathologist confirmed it was a woman of around thirty.

 They deduced the body had been there for at least sixty years, and having checked old police files for missing people, they suspected the body belonged to Eleanor Rose Mason who had been reported missing after a party at the Majestic in 1926. Efforts to trace her relatives to take DNA samples failed, so she was resigned to a number in a morgue.

Alison had been interviewed by the police, but after their initial questioning, she heard nothing more from them.

After she had returned home that night, she had taken off the dress, and had looked for signs of mud where she had been digging but there had been none. She felt that it was just a dress again, from another era, but there were so many unanswered questions.

After a couple of weeks she decided to go back to the hotel, and wandered around the ballroom. The staff were getting it ready for a conference, so no-one seemed to notice her. On the walls were pictures of parties from the last seventy years, each one a slice cut from another time. Smiling flappers and ruddy faced men laughed in the camera’s direction, and Alison imagined the old fashioned style flash being held aloft, before the photographer shouted, “This way Ladies and Gentlemen”

Moving from photo to photo, she glanced up at a yellowed and ageing snapshot of two women with bright steamers around their necks, their arms around each other.  Her heart jumped, as she realised it was her in the picture, looking happy and smiling. The other woman was smiling at her and Alison noticed the other woman was wearing the dress.

“Eleanor, she whispered, I will take good care of it.”

She turned to go, and something small and black caught her eye moving in the bottom of the photo frame. She thought a bug had got caught between the photo and the glass and was trying to get out

Walking back she stood in front of the frame, in small spidery writing were the words, Thank-you.