The Murder Hotel

What was meant to be an easy night before hitting the skies towards better times, became something much, much different.

We drove in from the rain, to this lonely, darkened hotel.

The long, dark hallways leaving us half expecting a boy on a plastic tricycle to come racing towards us.

We stand outside the locked door. Access denied to us. Cold, tired, and eager to be out of the hall. But unsure of what might be lingering in this room, barring us from entry.

Across the hall the news blaring through the door, the Do Not Disturb sign dangling from the handle. Who was in there? Was the blaring TV some sort of deterrent from what was inside? Was that the faint odor of rotting flesh?

Our door is never opened. The door across the hall is never opened. The news blares on, and the body inside remains undisturbed.

We are given another room.

The elevator points down, ready to take us… to Hell? The walls are covered in some sort of blood splatter, plastic protector. The door remains open despite repeated button pushing. I swear I hear someone limping down the hall dragging a hatchet with them. I slam my finger on the “door close” button and it immediately starts a high pitched wail, like the scream of prior elevator victims.

To our relief, the doors close.

When we finally enter a room, safe from whatever moved up and down the dark hallway, we breathe a sigh of relief once the door chain is in place. Father jokingly says we can place a chair infront of it for added protection.

Protection from what? Protection from whatever prowled the halls.

But maybe the danger was already in the room with us…