The Purgatory Hotel for Wayward Ghosts

by Katy Nyquist

Genres: Ghost

Synopsis

With a cast of quirky ghosts stuck in malfunctioning hotel (otherwise known as purgatory), Katy Nyquist brings us a warm tale about Delilah's quest to reach the top floor of heaven - as she begins to find a family and redemption in the afterlife.

👻 Welcome to the Purgatory Hotel . . . where you must take your test and meet your fate 👻

Seven floors. Seven trials.

Limbo, lust, gluttony, greed, anger, heresy, and violence.

The Purgatory Hotel for Wayward Ghosts is a temporary passing place, and the final test for those who lived middling lives. Passing through your floor fully reformed means going up to heaven, but succumb to temptation, and it's straight to hell . . .

Delilah has successfully completed her test on the floor of Greed, her worst sin whilst alive, and is ready to be taken up to heaven in the rusty elevator that runs through the hotel.

But before Damien, the elevator boy, can press that glorious white button, the lift breaks.

As the number of guests rises, unable to pass through the hotel as intended, chaos ensues. Heather, the receptionist, finds herself dealing with the discontented dead, disappearing ghosts, and a glitching hotel.

Can a rag-tag team of workers and guests navigate their way through the hotel and discover the problem festering at its heart before it's too late?

👻 cosy fantasy
👻 magical hotel
👻 found family
👻 sprinkling of romance
👻 who-dunnit mystery

Fans of T. J. Klune, The Good Place, and Only Murders in the Building will love curling up with this novel by Katy Nyquist, who readers can't get enough of!

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

'A fantastic twist on classic fantasy themes'
⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

'Whimsical'
⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

'I don't remember the last time I laughed so much'
⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

'Deep, rich, colourful . . . fun'
⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

'Worldbuilding is unique and incredibly thought out'

Release date: October 8, 2026

Publisher: Headline

Print pages: 352

Sample

The last words Delilah’s mother had spoken to her had been, ‘Go to Hell.’ Despite their poor relationship, Delilah didn’t think her mother had meant it quite this literally.

Hell, apparently, was painted bright yellow, a square building with a single domed tower rising above the rest. It shone like a beacon in the heavy fog all around. The half-moon windows had been shuttered closed with sandstone trim underneath. This place could have passed for any old-fashioned hotel in London, if it weren’t for the uncanny silence. There were no roads and no entryway for cars and taxis to pull up. The dark ground underneath felt too squishy to be pavement. Mist pressed against her, the chill reaching the marrow of her bones.

Delilah still felt alive: her palms sweated and her heart thumped like a rabbit on caffeine. But she’d lingered long enough in the hospital with ten broken bones to know that all the sand had run through her hourglass. The very last time she’d closed her eyes, she had not expected to ever open them again. She should feel relieved to be anywhere at all.

Nothingness filled the space behind her – nowhere to go except forward. She inhaled the scentless air deeply, summoning her courage.

Her high heels seemed to sink into the insubstantial ground. Instead of the hospital gown in which she had last found herself, she wore her favourite little black dress, the one with the lacy sleeves and a V-neck. Was Hell truly the kind of place that would allow her to keep her favourite clothing?

This hotel had no stairs or door, only a curved iron portcullis with a decoration of two white doves on top. Just as Delilah was wondering how to get in, the portcullis rose to reveal a lift. Rusty gears groaned. The white doors behind the portcullis slid open with a ding, making Delilah leap back.

The man standing in the lift was willow-slender, with brown hair in a short businessman’s cut, a faint tan, a clean-shaven pointed chin and glasses. His gentle honey-brown eyes held an ancient weariness.

Delilah gaped. Satan is adorkable!

Then she noticed his red waistcoat, white shirt and black bow tie. Satan wouldn’t wear a lift-attendant uniform, complete with the old-fashioned red cap. A silver-spotted cat sat at his feet, with a marking resembling a scarab on its forehead. Satan didn’t seem like an animal lover either.

Probably-Not-Satan said, ‘Welcome to the Purgatory Hotel for Wayward Ghosts. We are a temporary resting place for people who have lived middling lives. Here you will face your final test to determine if you head to Heaven or Hell. My name is Damien, the lift attendant. I will take you to reception, where you will be assigned a floor based on your worst sin in life. Do you have any questions?’

Delilah had worked in retail during high school and college, so she recognised the customer-service voice of someone who had repeated those words a thousand times. The familiarity cut through the creepy atmosphere. Delilah burst out laughing. Once it started, she couldn’t stop. She clutched her sides. It wasn’t that funny – she might be on the verge of hysteria. ‘Sorry, it’s just . . . I never expected my afterlife to be so bureaucratic.’

Damien smiled, and the tiredness in his eyes lifted. ‘You’re doing better than most people. I’ve had to deal with a lot of screaming, crying and throwing up. The worst guests hit me. Sometimes they insist they’re in the wrong place and demand to speak to management. As if I had the ability to contact the Great Upstairs!’

‘Customer service is even more absolute than death and taxes, huh?’ Honestly, Delilah had been offended to hear her life described as ‘middling’. She’d always tried to be a good person, kind and polite, never causing any harm. But she supposed she’d never done anything heroic or self-sacrificing either. She’d only had twenty-four years to live. She swallowed down a lump in her throat.

Delilah’s mother used to call her up at night to scream that she was a bad person and a bad daughter, then demand huge monetary gifts. At the memory of the harsh, raspy voice, Delilah’s stomach tightened. She refused to let her mother be right. She would ace this test, just like she’d been top of her year in every maths class!

‘Can you give me any hints to help me beat the test?’ Delilah asked.

‘Sorry, that would be considered cheating and strictly punished.’ Damien did look sorry about it too. ‘Besides, the tests are never quite the same for each person.’

‘I understand. Can I pet your cat?’

Damien looked cute when his eyes bugged out. ‘Sure. I’ve never met anyone quite so relaxed about this.’

‘Do I seem relaxed? I’m panicking on the inside.’ Hence why Delilah needed the dopamine fix of petting a furry animal. She knelt down and rubbed the cat under its chin. ‘What a rare and pretty colour.’

‘Thank you. She’s an Egyptian Mau. I call her Nefertiti since she’s the queen of me and this lift.’

‘Nice to meet you, Nefertiti.’ Delilah stroked her soft back.

Nefertiti said, ‘To keep this you must first give it to another.’

‘Gah!’ Delilah leapt up. ‘The cat talks?’

Damien rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. ‘I should have warned you. She loves riddles.’

They were in Purgatory. Why shouldn’t a cat talk? Delilah had heard this riddle before: ‘The answer is “your word”.’

Nefertiti purred and rubbed Delilah’s ankle.

‘You’ve won Her Majesty’s favour.’ Damien smiled. ‘Are you ready to go?’

‘As ready as I’ll ever be.’ Delilah swallowed. ‘Thanks, you’ve been kind and patient with me even though I’m apparently a sinner.’ She wanted to know who had decided that.

‘That’s my job.’ He blushed. ‘I’m here because I didn’t get an automatic pass to Heaven either, so I won’t judge. People who don’t want to take the test can get a job at the hotel and work here for seventy years to get into Heaven.’

‘Oh.’ Delilah had taken him for an angelic being, not another ghost like her. ‘Well, my mother would be too smug if it took me that long. Let’s go.’

He held out an arm to keep the automatic lift door open. ‘Come in, ma’am.’

‘We’re all dead here. Just call me Delilah.’ She stepped inside.

In order from top to bottom, the lift buttons were: Limbo, Reception, Lust, Cafeteria, Gluttony, Greed, Maintenance, Anger, Heresy, and Violence. The hotel was bigger than it first seemed, with most of the floors underground. Interesting, the floors were in the same order as Dante’s Inferno. The fourteenth-century narrative poem didn’t list Cafeteria as a sin – but this was a hotel too. The strangeness gave Delilah a sense of unreality, probably all that stopped her from panicking. The lift also had an unmarked black button at the bottom and a white button at the top. Both remained unlit. Damien pressed the button for ‘reception’ and pulled the lever.

A horrific groaning came from the steel cables as the lift rose. A speck of dirt flaked down on Delilah’s head. She flinched. Surely the equipment couldn’t break down – this was the afterlife. The awful sound and smell of rust must have been deliberately designed to create a hellish atmosphere. Her compliments to the architect; she spent the entire ride terrified she might plummet to her second death.

When the lift stopped, Nefertiti vanished. Cats who could teleport made as much sense as talking cats.

As the door opened, Damien said, ‘Heather is nice – no need to be anxious.’ It was a real expression of sympathy, not his customer-service voice. She waved in reply as she stepped out of the lift.

The small, cosy reception room had blue walls and potted palm trees. There was a single white door at the back. The framed picture of ocean waves looked as if it was straight out of a psychology textbook on calming art. Delilah wondered how well it worked on people who had just died. A coffeemaker rested on an ebony end table, with a water cooler next to it. The scent of pumpkin spice rising off the candles reminded her of her favourite coffee shop and soothed her nerves.

‘Welcome to the Purgatory Hotel for Wayward Ghosts. My name is Heather.’ The petite, curvy woman behind the desk looked maybe ten years older than Delilah, judging by a few white hairs in her curly auburn locks. Laugh lines extended from lush bright red lips. Her blue eyeshadow stood out against a pale complexion with a rash of freckles. She also had a customer-service voice.

‘I’m Delilah. I’d say good morning except I’m dead, so it feels like a bad morning.’

Heather smiled slightly. ‘We’ve been expecting you. Give me a moment to pull up your file.’ She typed into her computer.

The lights flickered. ‘Gah!’ Delilah nearly jumped out of her heels.

A high-pitched voice spoke behind her: ‘We still haven’t got the lights fixed?’

‘AHHH!’ Delilah stumbled, grabbing the desk to catch herself. She might be more nervous than she wanted to admit.

The child behind her didn’t look intimidating at all: a heart-shaped brown face, black hair in two braids and wide round eyes. She sighed deeply. ‘Godfrey’s sin must have been laziness. Maybe they didn’t have a floor for him, just like me, so now we’re stuck with him.’

Heather called sharply, ‘Jaime, don’t sneak up on the guests.’

Jaime stuck out her tongue and waved two sugar biscuits in the air. ‘I guess you don’t want the sweets I swiped from Floor Gluttony.’

‘Gimme, you brat.’ Heather took a biscuit, then tousled Jaime’s hair.

Ghosts could eat? It came as a relief. Delilah wouldn’t have wanted to live – exist – for eternity without chocolate. What sins could a child have committed to justify ending up in Purgatory? At least Delilah knew the standards must be strict, so she didn’t need to feel too bad about failing to reach Heaven.

With a crinkle of plastic, Heather opened the pouch containing the biscuit. ‘Delilah, your test will be on Floor Greed.’

Unfortunately, Delilah had trouble arguing with that judgement. She’d grown up poor, envying the brand-new clothing and white trainers on other children, while she walked to school in secondhand wellies with a hole in the toe. First, she’d started winning snacks off other kids in Pokémon battles, because she never had money to buy her own. As an adult, she’d applied her maths genius to poker and betting on the horses. Slot machines didn’t interest Delilah – they only relied on luck. She’d enjoyed making money, yes, but also the thrill of the game. Her mother had badgered her about gambling being a sin. But, then again, nothing she did ever made her mother happy.

Contrary to what her mother claimed, betting on horses took skill as well as luck. Delilah used to sneak into the stables to check their hooves and teeth before the races to assess which horse was in the best shape. She’d been trampled to death while inspecting a horse. Mum had the last laugh on that one.

Shoulders sagging, Delilah complained, ‘But I gave ten per cent of my winnings to charity.’ Should she have given more? She hadn’t been rich! Would she truly be cast into eternal torment over buying her first-ever designer clothing after a lifetime of staring in the shop windows at what she couldn’t afford?

Heather’s face softened. ‘Don’t be too nervous. You get seven attempts at your test.’

‘Thank goodness.’ Delilah felt like the weight of the horse that had killed her had been lifted off her shoulders. Now that she knew she could afford to spend one try on reconnaissance, she no longer felt afraid. She’d beat this challenge just as she’d perfected the claw-machine game at the local carnival.

Jaime sat in a chair next to the reception desk to eat her biscuit. ‘You’re lucky you even get to try . . .’

Heather typed into her computer again. ‘We have many guests, and only one person is allowed to test at a time on Floor Greed. Normally, the waiting list is about a month.’

A month? Delilah could have screamed. She bit back any complaints. It wasn’t Heather’s fault. During her time in customer service, Delilah had always hated being berated by customers for problems outside her control.

Looking up with a smile, Heather said, ‘Fortunately for you, we had a cancellation today. Sometimes guests get cold feet. Floor Greed is free right now, if you hurry. Of course, if you’d rather wait, that would be understandable.’

‘I’d like to get it over with, before my nerves fail. Thank you.’ Delilah reminded herself she didn’t have to pass the first time.

‘Good luck,’ Heather said.

Delilah called for the lift and marched in. ‘Greed, please.’ She grinned at Damien. ‘I’ve got this in the bag. I’m not even particularly greedy.’

‘You’ve got courage. That may help you.’ He took her down to Floor Greed and opened the door. ‘Good luck.’ His eyes held a sadness older than his body.

The lift bell dinged, and the doors closed as soon as she stepped out.

Floor Greed looked like a place straight out of Disney’s Aladdin: a dark cave with gold piled against the curving walls. The only light came from the lichen glowing on the stalactites, casting greenish shadows across the golden statues, jewelled archways and chests overflowing with treasures. A damp, mouldy scent filled the air.

While Delilah’s jaw hung open, a pair of disembodied black gloves floated over and handed her a stack of gold coins.

‘Oof!’ She barely kept her grip. What was the test? Not to steal the treasure? Delilah felt offended. She’d never been a thief. Was it acceptable to keep the stack of gold coins or should she find some poor orphan to give it to? Did Aladdin and his monkey lurk around here requesting handouts?

‘Excuse me, can I have a clue about the test?’ Delilah called. The hands floated away.

Delilah pursued, walking carefully across the scattered coins. Each step made a metallic tinkling sound. Her heel caught between coins, and she shook her foot free. In the middle of the cave, a spotlight shone over a round green table with a deck of cards on top. The backs of the cards had an Impressionist-style drawing of the yellow hotel with The Purgatory Hotel for Wayward Ghosts written underneath in cursive.

A poker game! Delilah’s foot tapped on the ground eagerly. Did she need to win in order to pass the test? That would be too easy. Poker was her passion. It had been her very first game of luck and skill, learned from an old man at the public park.

Placing the coins on the table, Delilah grinned like a pirate spotting a merchant galleon with a broken rudder. ‘Deal me in.’

The familiar snap of cards calmed Delilah’s nerves for the first time since her death – bar the pumpkin-spice candle, of course. She felt as if she’d returned home. The hands served as both dealer and her opponent. They appeared to be playing Basic Texas hold ’em rules. She’d always naturally been able to do large maths sums in her head and memorise long lists. Based on her hand, she calculated the outs, i.e. the cards still in the deck or in the opponent’s hand that might help her win. Probabilities flashed across her mind with each tap of her fingers on the table. Her mouth felt dry, her senses heightening until she could smell the ink on the cards. This would be the ultimate high-risk game, with her eternal fate at stake. The trembling in her legs should have been fear, but she mostly felt excitement.

Three games in a row, she won easily. No one in this strange miniature casino cared if she counted cards. Clearly, those hands could have used a brain, because they didn’t play very well. Her joy for her favourite game was starting to be replaced by boredom.

Delilah grew bolder in her bets. Five games later, she’d doubled her stack of coins. Surely that must be enough?

‘This was fun, thank you. You’re quite skilled.’ Hopefully, a white lie would not be a sin. She pushed the coins at the dealer. ‘I would like to donate all my coins to this hotel. Please fix the lights in reception. Then could you replace the lift with a new one? The lever seems easily stuck and hard for Damien to pull.’

The hands did not reply, but they took the coins, which Delilah believed meant her request had been accepted.

She left the cave with a spring in her step. By giving away all her winnings, surely she must have proven her generosity.

After three decades as lift attendant at the Purgatory Hotel for Wayward Ghosts, Damien had grown to hate the creak of the lever. He’d been up and down the same route so many times that he’d started to wonder if maybe he’d been trapped in Hell without realising it. Monotony made each day stretch longer than the last. But he was almost halfway through his required service to enter Heaven – he couldn’t give up now.

Today he didn’t even have Nefertiti’s company. She came and went as she pleased, just as she’d appeared in his lift one day out of nowhere. Her riddles were his greatest source of entertainment.

The doors dinged as they opened on Floor Greed. Damien often fantasised about taking a hammer to that cheerful chime.

Delilah beamed as she sashayed into the lift. ‘I had fun! I aced the test.’

Damien truly hoped so. His favourite part of the job was taking people up to Heaven, and he always felt miserable when he dropped even the most unpleasant guest into Hell. But, in his experience, the tests were never easy.

‘As soon as the door closes, we’ll be able to tell if you passed. See these two buttons?’ He pointed above the panel containing the floor numbers. ‘If the white button lights up, then I can press it and take you up to Heaven. If the black button lights up, then you failed – but that’s okay! You have six more tries. I would then take you to reception so that Heather can assign you a room, and you can put your name down for the next free slot. The waiting time can be anywhere from a week to around a month for your next attempt, but time flies down here!’

‘Then you’re both the first and last face that every guest here sees.’ Delilah winked. ‘It’s a charming face too.’

Damien’s ears heated up. He had not expected a compliment from someone as lovely as Delilah, with her heavy-lidded sparkling grey eyes and rosebud lips vibrant against creamy skin. Her hair had been dyed purple at the roots, with trailing locks of bright red and gold, blazing like a phoenix’s tail. Her smile burned just as bright, a ray of sunshine in this dingy, mouldy box.

The doors closed, and the black button lit up.

‘Why?’ The beautiful smile dropped off Delilah’s face, to Damien’s sorrow. ‘I gave away all the money I won playing poker back to the hotel. I told them to upgrade the lift.’

‘You did?’ Damien’s breath hitched. In the thirty-two years he’d operated his lift, not once had a customer ever given him a gift. ‘Money doesn’t have any value here – you can’t make donations – but it’s the thought that counts. Thank you.’

‘Oh.’ Delilah’s head drooped. ‘I thought . . . I guess I was wrong about everything.’ Her voice became small.

Damien wanted to slap a hand over his big mouth. Stupid, he should have saved that news for when she felt less down. ‘Almost no one passes the first time. Don’t beat yourself up. I’m taking you back to Heather. She’ll get you a cup of water or coffee and arrange a room for you.’

‘Thanks.’ Delilah’s smile was a ghost of her old joy. As the lift moved, she muttered, ‘Maybe I didn’t win enough money. I got bored too easily. Yes, that’s it. I need to prove that I have the willpower to play longer so I can give away an even greater fortune . . .’

When the lift doors opened, the reception desk had been blocked from view by a tall man whose girth strained the buttons on his suit. Blond hair had been cropped in a crew cut. He slammed his fist down on the desk. ‘I’ve been waiting half an hour for the lift! This is outrageous. I demand to speak to the management.’

‘We don’t have any way to contact the creator of this hotel.’ Heather sounded exhausted. ‘We only have one lift in this entire building and no stairs. Waiting times can be long.’

The man puffed out his chest. ‘I’m a CEO. I should get top priority.’

‘That doesn’t matter here.’ Heather took a deep breath, then her polite voice returned. She pushed forward a cup. ‘Would you like a drink of water while you wait?’

The man grabbed the cup off her desk, about to throw it in her face.

Damien flinched, wanting to do something but unable to leave the lift.

Delilah ran forward and grabbed the cup. ‘Be careful.’ She slung an arm round the man’s shoulders and faux-whispered, ‘The secret watchers might see you.’

He froze. ‘Secret watchers?’

‘The mysterious people who spy on us to see how we’re behaving outside the tests.’ Delilah patted his cheek. ‘Abusing the staff could get you sent straight to Hell.’

All colour draining from his face, he mumbled something about being tired and ran for the door at the back, leading to the guest rooms.

‘You should apologise to Heather!’ Delilah called after him. She set the paper cup back on the desk without spilling a drop.

Heather burst out laughing. ‘I’m impressed you thought up such a clever lie on the spot.’

Behind his hand, Damien hid his own smile. Delilah was not only beautiful – she was cool.

‘My lying skills come from having a strict mother.’ Delilah’s smile faded. ‘I failed my test, and I need to sign up for another slot.’

‘Oh, honey, don’t stress out. You’ve got six more tries.’ Heather typed on her computer. ‘Greed is a popular floor, but I can fit you in thirty-five days from now, if you don’t mind being here at two in the morning. You don’t need to sleep now.’

‘In that case, I’ll take it. Thank you.’

‘We all get rooms so we can have a bit of privacy. Even if you don’t need the bed, it feels good to lie down sometimes. You can have room 106 because I like you. It’s an extra-big room in the corner.’ Heather handed over a key attached to a wooden keyring with the room number. ‘Just go through the doo. . .