Ayonna is a busy little beaver cleaning house before her same-day visit with Jamahl and her court sentencing of 15 or 90 days. Her friend, Lexi, with the mini springy Slinky-like curls is helping her round up her daughter, Ahmira, and her son, Darien, who maybe not so surprisingly doesn’t live with his mother full-time, but visits on weekdays. Otherwise, Darien stays at his grandmother’s, Keisha’s, house. Starting early to avoid responsibility, Ayonna had her son when she was 17 years old and wasn’t ready to be a mom so that arrangement became a comfortable habit. But for all her fake mommy-hood vibes, she only has eyes and time for boopie who gets an ass load of thonged buttock décolletage because Romeo’s Juliet is as happy to gratify her man as to piss off the guards. Girlfriend don’t care who sees her jump up and down to chizzel so that thing sits right. Clack clack on the track – all a-bord while her tongue is hanging out waiting for a traffic signal to retract back into its mouth. She wants to be a slut for Jamahl (like Camilla wanted to be a tampon for Prince Charles.) No worries, honey, you already are his 4-ever ho giddy with the prospect of your felon drilling you with his motorized gearbox snugly aiming for your precisely-sized diameter. He’ll miss her over her “dumb ass bid” – a sentiment she shares with Keisha when she flings herself onto Mom’s couch after the kids are safely tucked away. Jamahl is human so he’ll speak to other people just not any other females – like Clinton’s famous 1998 quote about Monica Lewinsky, “I did not have sex with that woman,” because he knows she’s jealous. Both misbegotten lovers are in the same boat and need to keep a watch on each other’s sanity - the same two people who jumped into their respective boats with little foresight and a lot of alacrity. Keisha, softer, younger, and prettier looking than her stumpy daughter – she of the bad choices, stoically listens as Ayonna continues to blame her situation on the police who confoundingly penalized for the “dumbest charge they made in America” setting in motion a chain reaction of events over which she has no control. Doesn’t Mommy get it? Apparently not because when Mommy says she’s been further discommoded and won’t be around forever to assist, Ayonna nearly jumps off the couch on which she had so lazily been resting to screech that she better be there to pick up the pieces because that’s what mothers are for, ironically disregarding the fact that she isn’t picking up the pieces for her children; she’s smashing them to bits as she waits for her man to come home to pick up the rest of her pieces. I mean if someone doesn’t hand her a broom and a dustpan, what is a selfish girl supposed to do?
True, standing so proudly in the jail’s culinary art kitchen with his sunglasses perched on his head ready to avoid the glare of fluorescent and LED lighting, his popping chest straining against the white-on-white undershirt and shirt, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet unable to contain the fineness of himself, is playing with recipes to possibly outcook Shonta. He’s just now encountering squid and mixing it with crab and mozz-a-rella to make a seafood omelet – a dish many on the outside can’t afford to eat – assuming they would want to. The restaurant is Shonta’s long-held idea for which she saved 25K, but it was stolen and now True is to be the invisible (in more ways than one) restaurant manager – as sound an idea as LaTisha and Keith’s loan business - so she visits Fannie’s African restaurant for advice while True is on the phone. Fannie had to wait two years to see a profit – typical for that industry, but True wants to see it in two months. Fannie wisely suggests that Shonta ensures that one-half the restaurant is officially hers as partners, in love and life, can change as easily as a seasonal menu. Later, Fred, her sticky-fingered, pimp-vibing stepbrother with as checkered a past as True, even having been fellow inmates in the same jail for 6 months, comes limping in to try and salvage some trust in their relationship. He’s the 5K safe stealing equivalent of the cookie thief who denies, denies, denies stealing cookies even as the crumbs fall from his lying lips. Why would this addict rob his relative of a golden opportunity just because the situation unfolded itself in his lap with the exuberance of a dandelion’s fluffy seedhead? Furthermore, he adds that she doesn’t know what she’s getting into when she gets with True, awakening Shonta’s Spidey senses, and they need to be quivering as she is as surrounded by victimizing men as Conestoga wagons in the untamed West.
Outdoors man Rick is shopping with his nieces, Dyana and Veronica, a corrections officer, to spice up his wardrobe. He’s supposed to be a ladies’ man. Kind of Kevin Bacon-ish. Divorced, he decides to try and find his high school crush, Samantha, recently released and now working at a re-entry center. She’s still blond and attractive, three granddaughters and resisting/obstructing officers and two felony DUI offenses later. They’ve been “dating" for over 3 months. Can we digress for a minute here? Old-fashioned dating wasn’t a blanket term used as a fig leaf for surfing through dating apps, speed-dating strangers in a neutral space, having quickies in the front seat of a car in a Compton-like neighborhood like Hugh Grant, or timed jail calls. Well, that’s ok, Rick has also had an alcohol and party problem himself, like Sammi, until 2 ½ years ago. In fact, he was a functional drunk until he started blacking out, which was when he started getting help. They have that in common. He awkwardly confesses that he’s been sending her money, never mind how much, 25K, and intends to marry her. The nieces are shocked, and Ronnie explains cons’ cons while Rick is scrunched in embarrassment looking wretched as his younger relatives admonish him for his naïveté.
That family video chat didn’t go that well. Conflict-avoidant Joey was outed by his sister’s minor bombshell of his prior relapse. As he relates this to a cavalier Michael on their phone chat, a fight is going down in the jail background as pepper spray cuts off their communication temporarily, perfectly illustrating Joey’s concerns about their communication skills. It’s not so much that as the ubiquitous secret one partner always has. This time it’s the release date. Pre-board in three months and parole board in 6 months before finding the recommended release date, and if parole is denied, Michael can wait from 6 months up to a year before being reconsidered. In fact, he could be in for another 6 years and that’s the straight answer he doesn’t want to give Joey, as well as the number of his past lovers, in and out of stir, and who knows what else. Of course, the silver lining to an extended sentence could be either time for honing those skills, which will require every one of those minutes, or the chance to reconsider throwing in with a fellow addict whose spent more time behind bars than in front of them.
It's a Joan Rivers, “Can we talk”? moment or coming to a gunfight unarmed as Kate begins to unwind, like an ectothermic snake after the equinox, feeling the warm sun spilling from the rock it’s hiding under. That’s because Tennie tells Kate some hard truths like her initiating a petition to address excessive sentencing that Kate wouldn’t assist with or even sign. Tennie explains but doesn’t apologize for her past. Cheyenne’s dad died when she was 1-years old and Mi’yah’s dad is MIA. When Kate discovers that Tennie isn’t a spoiled selfish boogie hogging the spoils to which Kate feels she’s being rightfully denied, she reluctantly admits, “I might like her,” but it wouldn’t do to like her right away, of course. They both walk away unsettled; Tennie concerned that Rob hasn’t called to find out how the visit went so Tennie decides to weaponize those insidious cameras to have a night to herself. Rob is incredulous and turns the convo into telling her his case manager suggested turning down parole and staying in longer which Rob unilaterally decided to do. He doesn’t tell her he’s got a portrait-sized tattoo of a past girlfriend on his arm he somehow needs to erase and that’s more important than disrupting other peoples’ plans. Well, it’s what happens when you decide to become a permanent living art installation with few chances of rotation. And speaking of art, the slightly tilted looking piece over Tennie’s bed looks like either a crude attempt at Pointillism or mold spreading like cracked black pepper flung on a crumpled Saltine.

My friend May and I have been friends since high school. We’re both in our early 30s now. May doesn’t take her personal hygiene seriously and thinks it’s funny.
As an example, once after a multiple day hiking / camping trip, she went to the airport and boarded her flight immediately after coming out of the woods. Those in her row were understandably very unhappy to be seated with a muddy, grubby person and gave her disgusted looks, even asking the stewardesses to change their seats but got denied as there were none to spare. May was laughing while telling me this story, as though it were funny while I was horrified.
(I had asked her why on earth would she go straight to boarding her plane not having showered throughout a 4 day hiking and camping trip and she said she had no time. But seriously, shouldn’t any sane person have accounted for this and not booked your flight the same afternoon your camping trip would end?! Also FYI this is not the only incident)
It may be shallow but I also can’t help but to be embarrassed by some of the other things she does, such as chew with her mouth open and bits of food fall out onto the table, burp loudly and glaringly pick her teeth with her fingernails to dislodge bits of food particles stuck in her molars after we are done eating. When I mentioned how inappropriate and ill mannered it is, she thinks I need to chill and not take things too seriously.
By extension, she also thinks that dressing and grooming are vanity and wears oversize button down checkered shirts, ripped stained jeans, and ratty sneakers everywhere. She has also had the same bowl haircut since we were 8. When I’ve tried to encourage better styling (she’s told me numerous times she wishes she could have a better sense of style), she thinks it’s too much effort and expensive.
Anyway, she had expressed her interest in going to some nice upscale classy bars and restaurants which coincidentally had also been on my list (but I’ve never mentioned to her, cos I wouldn’t wanna go with her) and suggested we check them out together. I told her ‘maybe’ then ended up going with some other friends and she saw it on Instagram. She then messaged me about blowing her off.

SE Ranking is a comprehensive SEO platform that has been gradually carving out a substantial niche in the competitive landscape of digital marketing tools since its inception. Designed initially to track and improve keyword rankings, SE Ranking has evolved into an all-encompassing suite of SEO tools that supports digital marketers, SEO professionals, and agencies in enhancing their online visibility across various search engines. This progression from a singular focus on keyword tracking to a full-fledged SEO toolkit underscores SE Ranking's commitment to adapting to the ever-changing demands of the SEO industry.
At its core, SE Ranking's primary objective is to provide an intuitive and powerful toolset that enables users to perform detailed search engine optimization tasks effectively. This includes everything from standard keyword research and monitoring to more complex functions such as competitor analysis and backlink evaluation. The platform’s robust nature is further validated by its widespread adoption and favorable reviews from users worldwide, reflecting its effectiveness and reliability in boosting search engine results. Its reputation as a versatile and user-friendly solution makes it particularly appealing to both novice marketers and seasoned SEO professionals looking to streamline their SEO workflows and achieve measurable results.

Exploring the Key Features of SE Ranking

Building on its robust foundation as an essential tool for SEO professionals, SE Ranking offers a multitude of key features designed to enhance search engine optimization efforts comprehensively. These features are tailored to address various aspects of SEO, from keyword tracking to site audits, competitive analysis, and backlink checking.
Keyword Rank Tracking
Keyword rank tracking is one of the core functionalities of SE Ranking. This feature allows users to monitor the positions of keywords in search engine results pages (SERPs) on a daily basis. Users can track keywords globally or locally down to the city level, across different search engines like Google, Bing, and Yahoo. This granular tracking helps users understand how well their keywords are performing in different markets, which is crucial for optimizing SEO strategies. For example, an SEO manager can observe how the rankings of specific keywords fluctuate over time and adjust content or on-page SEO factors in response to these changes to optimize ranking positions.
Website Audit
SE Ranking’s website audit tool provides a comprehensive analysis of a website's health. This feature scans an entire website and flags issues that could be hindering its search engine performance, such as slow page load times, broken links, duplicate content, or poor mobile usability. The audit tool categorizes issues into errors, warnings, and notices depending on their potential impact on SEO, making it easier for webmasters to prioritize fixes. The site audit results include actionable recommendations for each identified issue, thereby guiding users on how to correct problems and improve overall site health and performance. For instance, after conducting an audit, a site may find that it has numerous 404 error pages; the tool would suggest creating redirects or fixing the links to enhance the user experience and SEO.
Competitor Analysis
Understanding the competitive landscape is vital for any SEO strategy, and SE Ranking excels with its competitor analysis feature. This tool allows users to identify who their direct SEO competitors are, track their keyword rankings, and analyze their backlink profiles. Additionally, it provides insights into competitors' advertising strategies and budget. By analyzing these elements, SEO professionals can discover gaps in their own strategies and uncover new opportunities. For example, if a competitor is ranking highly for a keyword that a user’s site is not yet targeting effectively, the user can decide to focus more resources on this keyword.
Backlink Checker
Backlinks remain one of the most critical factors in SEO. SE Ranking’s backlink checker tool helps users monitor and analyze the backlinks pointing to their website. It provides detailed information about each backlink, such as the anchor text, the trust score of the linking site, and whether the link is dofollow or nofollow. Users can use this data to assess the quality of their backlinks and identify potentially harmful links that could lead to penalties from search engines. Moreover, by examining the backlink strategies of competitors, users can also find opportunities to acquire new, high-quality backlinks themselves.
These key features of SE Ranking integrate seamlessly to provide a thorough toolkit for SEO professionals aiming to optimize their sites comprehensively and outperform competitors in SERPs. Each tool is designed not just to function independently but also to complement and enhance the insights provided by the others, thereby offering a cohesive and strategic approach to modern SEO.

User Interface and Usability

Continuing from the exploration of key features, it is equally crucial to understand the user interface and usability of SE Ranking, as this significantly impacts the efficiency with which users can leverage these tools.
User Interface and Usability
The user interface of SE Ranking is designed to be both intuitive and functional, catering to both beginners and seasoned SEO professionals. The dashboard presents a clean, organized layout, where information is segmented into manageable sections. This structured layout ensures that users can navigate through various features without feeling overwhelmed by data. The main dashboard provides a quick overview of essential metrics such as keyword rankings, website health score from audits, and backlink analysis results, which allows users to gain immediate insights at a glance.
Navigation through SE Ranking is streamlined through a sidebar menu that categorizes all SEO tools into logical groups such as Rankings, Analytics & Traffic, and Projects. Each category is further divided, making it easy for users to find the specific tool they need. For example, under the 'Rankings' category, users can easily switch between tracking rankings, analyzing search engines, and viewing detailed reports.
One of the notable aspects of SE Ranking’s interface is its customization capabilities. Users can personalize their dashboard by choosing which widgets to display. This feature is particularly useful for SEO professionals who need quick access to specific data points relevant to their ongoing projects. Moreover, the ability to create custom reports is a significant advantage. Users can drag and drop different data modules according to their reporting needs, which facilitates more targeted analysis and client reporting.
Comparatively, when looking at other SEO tools like SEMrush or Ahrefs, SE Ranking offers a more beginner-friendly interface. While SEMrush and Ahrefs provide comprehensive data and tools, their interfaces can be quite dense for newcomers to navigate. In contrast, SE Ranking maintains a balance between depth of functionality and simplicity of design. This does not only help new users acclimate quickly but also allows seasoned marketers to perform their tasks more efficiently without unnecessary complexity.
The platform also excels in responsive design, meaning it operates smoothly across different devices — a necessary feature in today’s mobile-first world. This responsiveness ensures that users can access full functionality on tablets and smartphones, facilitating on-the-go adjustments to SEO strategies.
Furthermore, the loading times within SE Ranking are commendable. Fast response times enhance user experience by enabling quicker access to data and tools. This efficiency is crucial during high-volume tasks like running multiple site audits or tracking large sets of keywords.

Benefits for SEO Agencies

For SEO agencies, SE Ranking presents a plethora of features designed to streamline operations, enhance client reporting, and foster team collaboration. Notable among these are its white-label reports, multi-user management, and client integration capabilities. Each of these tools addresses specific agency needs, making SE Ranking an invaluable asset in their digital marketing toolkit.
White-Label Reports
One of the standout features for SEO agencies using SE Ranking is the ability to generate white-label reports. This feature allows agencies to brand the analytics and reporting outputs with their own logo and corporate identity, providing a seamless client experience. These reports can be fully customized to include only relevant data points, thus ensuring clients receive tailored information that reflects their specific goals and interests.
For instance, an SEO agency can generate a monthly performance report for a client that focuses solely on keyword rankings and site health improvements over the period. The white-label capability ensures the report is presented as a proprietary document of the agency, enhancing the professional appearance and reinforcing brand trust.
Multi-User Management
SE Ranking’s multi-user management system is another critical feature that significantly benefits SEO agencies. It allows the creation of sub-accounts with varying access levels, making it simpler to manage team workflows and information access. Agency managers can assign specific roles and responsibilities to team members based on their job requirements, ensuring everyone has the appropriate access to the tool without compromising sensitive data.
For example, a project manager could have comprehensive access to all features and client data, while a content creator may only access keyword analysis and content planning tools. This selective access not only ensures operational security but also improves the efficiency of project management within the agency.
Client Integration Capabilities
Efficient client management lies at the heart of a successful SEO agency, and SE Ranking facilitates this through its robust client integration features. Agencies can integrate their clients' accounts into the platform, allowing for streamlined data collection and analysis. This integration capability makes it easier to monitor and report on client metrics directly, reducing the overhead associated with manual data entry and analysis.
Furthermore, SE Ranking allows for the automation of routine tasks such as sending out regular SEO reports to clients, setting up alerts for keyword ranking changes, and tracking backlink profiles. These automated features not only save time but also allow agency staff to concentrate on strategic activities rather than routine data management tasks.
Example of Enhanced Agency Operations
Consider an SEO agency that manages SEO strategies for multiple e-commerce sites. By leveraging SE Ranking's multi-user and client integration features, the agency can effectively set up individual projects for each client within the same platform. Each project can be customized with specific keywords, competitor benchmarks, and reporting templates based on the unique needs of each client.
The white-label reports generated can include data like traffic growth, conversion rates, and ROI from SEO efforts, which are crucial for e-commerce clients. These reports are automatically sent to clients at regular intervals, maintaining consistent communication and transparency regarding campaign progress.
The combination of these features in SE Ranking not only streamlines the operational aspects of managing multiple client accounts but also enhances the quality of service provided by the agency. By automating routine tasks and creating a structured environment for data management and reporting, agencies can focus more on strategy and less on administrative overhead, leading to better results and higher client satisfaction.

Pricing Structure

SE Ranking offers a transparent and scalable pricing model that is designed to accommodate the varied needs of its users, ranging from individual freelancers to large SEO agencies. The platform provides three main pricing plans: Essential, Pro, and Business. Each plan is crafted to offer specific features and capabilities, making it easier for users to choose a plan that best fits their SEO requirements and budget constraints.
Essential Plan
The Essential plan is the most basic tier, primarily suited for freelancers or small businesses just starting with SEO. Priced competitively, this plan includes fundamental features such as website auditing, keyword rank tracking, and basic competitor analysis. Users can track up to 250 keywords and the plan provides for 10 websites, making it a robust entry-level option. The Essential plan is also beneficial for those who wish to maintain a low-cost operation while still gaining access to reliable SEO tools.
Pro Plan
Stepping up, the Pro plan is tailored for professional SEO specialists and mid-sized agencies. It expands significantly on the capabilities of the Essential plan by increasing the number of trackable keywords to 1,000 and allowing for monitoring of an unlimited number of websites. Additional features include content marketing tools, Google Analytics integration, and enhanced reporting capabilities. This plan is particularly attractive for users who need a more dynamic range of tools to handle a larger client base or more complex SEO campaigns.
Business Plan
The Business plan is the most advanced tier offered by SE Ranking, designed for large SEO agencies and enterprises with extensive needs. It supports tracking of up to 2,500 keywords and includes advanced features such as API access, white-label reporting, and a dedicated account manager. This plan is ideal for organizations that require comprehensive, customizable SEO solutions that can be integrated seamlessly into their existing workflows and systems.
Pricing Comparison with Competitors
When compared to other SEO tools like Ahrefs, Moz, and SEMrush, SE Ranking's pricing structure stands out for its affordability and flexibility. For example, Ahrefs' lowest plan starts at a higher price point but with limitations on some features that are freely available in SE Ranking’s Essential plan. Similarly, Moz and SEMrush offer entry-level plans that are slightly more expensive than SE Ranking, making SE Ranking a cost-effective option for those on a tighter budget.
Flexibility and Scalability
One of the key strengths of SE Ranking’s pricing model is its flexibility. The platform offers a unique custom plan option where users can adjust the tracking frequency and the number of keywords to further customize the pricing. This can significantly reduce costs for users who do not require daily updates, providing flexibility that is not commonly found in other SEO tools.
Furthermore, the scalability of SE Ranking’s plans is a significant advantage for growing businesses. Agencies can start with a more basic plan and easily scale up as their needs evolve without having to switch to an entirely different platform. This scalability ensures that SEO agencies can maintain continuity in their tools and processes, which is crucial for long-term campaign management and success.
In addition to these plans, SE Ranking periodically offers promotional discounts and an educational discount, providing additional value and making their tools accessible to a broader audience. These pricing strategies not only highlight SE Ranking’s commitment to providing value but also enhance its competitiveness in the crowded SEO tools market.
By aligning their pricing tiers to the specific needs of different user groups, SE Ranking ensures that users pay only for the features they need, without unnecessary expenditures. This thoughtful approach to pricing is part of why SE Ranking continues to grow its user base and maintain high satisfaction rates among its clientele.

User Evaluations and Testimonials

SE Ranking has been widely reviewed across various platforms, with many users offering detailed feedback on their experiences. These evaluations give prospective users a clearer picture of the platform's strengths and weaknesses as perceived by its user base. To provide a comprehensive summary of user testimonials, the feedback has been categorized into praises and critiques based on recurring themes observed in the reviews.
Common Praises

1. Comprehensive SEO Toolkit: Many users have commended SE Ranking for its wide range of SEO tools. Tools such as the keyword rank tracker, website audit, backlink checker, and competitor analysis are frequently highlighted as particularly useful. Users appreciate the all-in-one nature of the platform, which allows them to handle multiple SEO tasks without needing to switch between different software.
2. User-Friendly Interface: The platform’s interface is frequently praised for being intuitive and easy to navigate. This makes SE Ranking an attractive option for both SEO beginners and experienced professionals. The clear layout and the ability to access multiple features from a single dashboard reduce the learning curve and improve productivity.
3. Cost-Effectiveness: SE Ranking is often noted for its competitive pricing, which many users see as providing great value for money, especially when compared to other SEO tools in the market. The flexible pricing structure allows businesses of all sizes to choose a plan that fits their needs without overpaying for unnecessary features.
4. Accurate and Timely Data: Users have reported that the data provided by SE Ranking is both accurate and up-to-date, which is crucial for effective SEO strategies. The regular updates and the comprehensive data help users stay on top of current trends and make informed decisions.
5. Responsive Customer Support: Positive reviews frequently mention the responsiveness and helpfulness of SE Ranking’s customer support team. Users appreciate the quick response to inquiries and the support team’s willingness to assist with any issues, ensuring minimal disruption to their SEO activities.

Recurring Critiques

1. Speed of Website Audits: While many users are satisfied with the depth of analysis provided by the website audit tool, some have mentioned that the audits can be slow, particularly for larger websites. This aspect has been pointed out as a potential area for improvement to enhance user experience.
2. Mobile App Functionality: Several users have expressed concerns about the functionality of SE Ranking’s mobile app. The app is seen as not as robust as the desktop version, lacking some key features that are critical for monitoring and adjustments on the go.
3. Complexity of Some Features: Although the platform is generally praised for its user-friendliness, a few users have noted that some of the more advanced features can be complex and difficult to use. New users or those without extensive SEO experience may require a steeper learning curve to fully utilize all the features offered.
4. Issues with Social Media Tool Integration: Some users have reported limitations in the social media management tools, particularly around the integration capabilities with platforms other than Facebook and Twitter. This has been noted as a drawback for users looking to manage a broader social media presence directly from SE Ranking.
5. Backlink Database Comparisons: A few reviews have pointed out that the backlink database is not as comprehensive as those offered by some of SE Ranking’s competitors like Ahrefs or SEMrush. Users looking for extensive backlink analysis might find the tool somewhat lacking.

Despite these critiques, the general consensus among users is that SE Ranking offers a reliable and effective suite of tools for SEO management. The platform's strengths in terms of a comprehensive feature set, user-friendly interface, and cost-effectiveness make it a popular choice among both individual SEO professionals and agencies. However, like any tool, it has areas that could be enhanced to better meet the needs of all users. As SE Ranking continues to evolve, it remains to be seen how it will address these feedback points to further improve its offerings and user satisfaction.

Comparative Analysis with Competitors

As businesses increasingly rely on digital strategies to drive growth, the selection of the right SEO tools becomes paramount. SE Ranking competes with a host of other SEO platforms, each boasting unique features and capabilities. Notably, SE Ranking is often compared to industry giants such as Ahrefs and SEMrush. This section delves into a comparative analysis of SE Ranking with these two competitors, focusing on key differences in features, ease of use, and overall effectiveness.
SE Ranking vs. Ahrefs
Ahrefs is renowned for its extensive backlink database and is often considered the gold standard for backlink analysis. SE Ranking, while offering a robust backlink checker, does not yet match the breadth of Ahref's link database. Ahrefs crawls over 6 billion web pages daily, providing users with a comprehensive view of their backlink profile and that of their competitors. However, SE Ranking offers competitive backlink tracking features that are sufficient for most small to mid-sized businesses.
In terms of keyword research, both tools are quite effective but serve slightly different user needs. Ahrefs provides a deeper dive into keyword data including search volume, keyword difficulty, and click metrics, which are essential for high-level SEO research. SE Ranking, on the other hand, offers a more user-friendly approach with enough detail to support effective keyword strategy, including the monitoring of competitor keywords.
The cost of Ahrefs can be a barrier for some users. Its pricing starts at $99 per month, which provides robust features but at a significant cost. SE Ranking offers a more flexible pricing model, starting from a lower base price, which makes it an attractive option for individuals, startups, and small businesses looking to maximize their SEO budget.
SE Ranking vs. SEMrush
SEMrush is another powerful competitor, known for its comprehensive suite of SEO tools encompassing SEO auditing, position tracking, and social media monitoring. SEMrush's feature set is extensive and includes some tools not found in SE Ranking, such as a Social Media Tracker and a Brand Monitoring tool.
One of the standout features of SEMrush over SE Ranking is its Content Marketing Platform. This tool not only helps in identifying what content to produce based on current trends but also provides detailed recommendations on how to improve content for SEO performance. While SE Ranking includes some content suggestions through its website audit tool, it lacks the depth of SEMrush's content marketing analysis.
However, SE Ranking scores higher in terms of simplicity and ease of use. Its dashboard and overall user interface are cleaner and more intuitive, making it easier for beginners and mid-level marketers to navigate. SEMrush, with its extensive features, can be overwhelming, especially for users who are new to SEO tools.
SE Ranking's reporting tools are also very competitive. They provide comprehensive, customizable reports that are easy to understand and share. While SEMrush offers similar capabilities, the ease of creating reports in SE Ranking is particularly beneficial for agencies that need to generate regular updates for clients.
Effectiveness and Market Acceptance
Both Ahrefs and SEMrush are considered more comprehensive in their offerings, particularly in terms of advanced features and database size. However, SE Ranking holds its ground in terms of providing essential SEO tools that are accessible and cost-effective. It’s particularly popular among small to medium-sized businesses and SEO agencies that require effective SEO tools without the high cost associated with some of its competitors.
Market data suggests a strong user base for SE Ranking among small to mid-sized enterprises, which appreciate its balance of features, cost, and ease of use. In contrast, Ahrefs and SEMrush are frequently the choices for larger organizations or those with more complex SEO needs.
In summary, while Ahrefs excels in backlink analysis and SEMrush in comprehensive digital marketing campaigns, SE Ranking provides a balanced, cost-effective solution suitable for a wide range of SEO tasks. This makes it a favored option for many businesses looking to optimize their SEO without significant investment in more complex tools.

Case Studies and Success Stories

The effectiveness of any SEO tool is best demonstrated through real-world applications and measurable outcomes. SE Ranking’s utility is showcased through various case studies that underline how different types of businesses have leveraged the platform to achieve significant improvements in their SEO performance.

1. Case Study: E-commerce Growth through Strategic Keyword Optimization

One compelling case study involves a Europe-based e-commerce store specializing in fashion accessories. Initially struggling with low traffic and poor search engine rankings, the company implemented SE Ranking to enhance their online visibility and increase organic search traffic. By utilizing SE Ranking's comprehensive keyword research tools, the company was able to identify high-potential keywords that were relevant but not overly competitive.
After restructuring their website’s content around these keywords, and continuously monitoring keyword rankings through SE Ranking, the e-commerce store saw a dramatic improvement. Within six months, they reported a 75% increase in organic traffic and a 30% rise in sales. This success was attributed to SE Ranking’s accurate tracking and in-depth analysis, which helped refine and optimize the company’s SEO strategies over time.

1. Case Study: Local SEO Success for a Family-Owned Restaurant

Another success story comes from a family-owned restaurant in the United States that aimed to increase local foot traffic through enhanced local search visibility. The restaurant used SE Ranking’s local SEO tools, including the Listing Management tool, to manage their local citations and ensure their business was correctly listed across multiple directories.
By improving local listing consistency and harnessing SE Ranking's capabilities to optimize Google My Business profiles, the restaurant saw significant improvements in local search rankings. This directly translated into a 50% increase in local foot traffic and a noticeable increase in reservations via their online system. These achievements highlight SE Ranking’s effectiveness not only in global SEO campaigns but also in targeted local SEO efforts.

1. Case Study: Enhancing Content Strategy for a Tech Blog

A technology blog that frequently publishes articles on software and gadgets turned to SE Ranking to revitalize its SEO strategy. The blog faced challenges with declining organic reach and engagement. SE Ranking’s Content Marketing Tool was utilized to generate content ideas that resonated with current SEO trends and user search intentions.
With insights from SE Ranking, the blog restructured its content to improve readability and SEO friendliness, integrating optimal keyword densities and improving meta tags and descriptions. Over the course of a year, the blog’s organic search traffic increased by 65%, and the bounce rate decreased by 22%, demonstrating improved user engagement and content relevance.

1. Case Study: Improving Competitive Edge for a Digital Marketing Agency

A digital marketing agency used SE Ranking’s Competitive Research tool to sharpen its SEO strategies against competitors. By analyzing competitor keyword strategies and backlink profiles, the agency was able to identify gaps in their approach and opportunities for improvement.
Implementing these insights, the agency not only improved its ranking for several key search terms but also enhanced its service offerings by understanding the competitive landscape better. As a result, the agency saw a 40% growth in client acquisition over six months, showcasing how SE Ranking can facilitate not just SEO improvements, but also business growth and service enhancement.
These case studies demonstrate the versatility and impact of SE Ranking across different industries and objectives. From boosting e-commerce sales through keyword optimization to enhancing local SEO, and from revitalizing content strategies to gaining a competitive edge, SE Ranking has proven to be a valuable tool in diverse scenarios. Each success story underscores the platform’s ability to provide detailed insights and actionable data that drive significant SEO improvements and business results.

Pros and Cons

1. Comprehensive Toolset: SE Ranking offers a broad range of features that cover nearly every aspect of SEO, from keyword research and rank tracking to backlink analysis and website audits. This comprehensive approach makes it an attractive choice for users who prefer having all the necessary tools in one platform.
2. Accuracy of Data: Users consistently report high accuracy in the data provided by SE Ranking, especially concerning keyword rankings and competitor analysis. Accurate data is critical for SEO as it directly impacts decision-making and strategy refinement.
3. User-Friendly Interface: The platform is designed to be accessible for SEO beginners while still providing advanced features that seasoned professionals appreciate. The balance between simplicity and advanced functionality in the user interface helps reduce the learning curve and enhances productivity.
4. Flexible Pricing Plans: SE Ranking offers several pricing tiers, which makes it accessible for businesses of all sizes, from freelancers and small agencies to large enterprises. This flexibility ensures that users can choose a plan that fits their needs without paying for unnecessary features.
5. White-Labeling and Reporting: Particularly beneficial for SEO agencies, the platform’s white-labeling options allow agencies to generate branded reports, providing a seamless experience to their clients. The reporting tools are highly customizable, which means agencies can easily tailor reports to meet specific client requirements.
6. Customer Support: SE Ranking is often praised for its responsive and helpful customer support team. Users appreciate having reliable support as it enhances the overall user experience and assists with quick resolution of any issues or questions.

Cons of SE Ranking

1. Resource Intensity: Some users have noted that certain features, especially the website auditing tool, can be quite resource-intensive, occasionally leading to slower processing times. This can be a limitation for users with less powerful hardware or those managing large websites with many pages.
2. Overwhelming Features for Beginners: While generally user-friendly, the sheer number of features and depth of options can overwhelm beginners. New users might require a significant amount of time to fully utilize the platform effectively.
3. Limitations in Backlink Database: Compared to some of its competitors, such as Ahrefs or SEMrush, SE Ranking’s backlink database is sometimes perceived as less comprehensive. For users whose primary focus is on extensive backlink analysis, this could be a notable drawback.
4. Mobile App Usability: Although SE Ranking offers a mobile app, some users find the app’s functionality limited compared to the desktop version. This can be inconvenient for users who need to access the platform and perform tasks on the go.
5. Integration Capabilities: While SE Ranking integrates well with some platforms, its integration capabilities are not as extensive as some other SEO tools. Enhanced integration with other digital marketing tools and platforms could improve workflow efficiency and data management for users.

By comparing these pros and cons, potential users of SE Ranking can make an informed decision based on their specific needs and the aspects of SEO they prioritize. Each feature and functionality holds different weight depending on the user’s context, making it essential to consider both the advantages and disadvantages in relation to individual requirements and goals.

Conclusion and Recommendations

Following the comprehensive analysis of SE Ranking, it is clear that this SEO tool offers a rich suite of features that can effectively support a wide range of SEO activities. From keyword research and rank tracking to competitor analysis and website audits, SE Ranking provides a robust platform for managing SEO tasks efficiently. Its user-friendly interface caters to both beginners and seasoned SEO professionals, making it an accessible option for users at all levels of expertise.
For SEO agencies, in particular, SE Ranking proves to be a valuable resource. The white-label capabilities allow agencies to brand their SEO reports, offering a professional touch when presenting to clients. The customizable reporting features ensure that agencies can tailor their outputs to meet the specific needs and preferences of their clients, enhancing client satisfaction and retention. Additionally, the pricing structure of SE Ranking is designed to accommodate businesses of various sizes, making it a viable option for small to medium-sized agencies as well as larger corporations.
In terms of user feedback, SE Ranking has received positive evaluations for its comprehensive toolset and the accuracy of its data. These aspects are crucial for effective SEO management, as they ensure that users can trust the insights derived from the platform to make informed decisions. However, it is also important to note the limitations identified by users, such as the resource intensity of some features and the less comprehensive nature of its backlink database compared to competitors like Ahrefs or SEMrush.
When comparing SE Ranking to its competitors, the platform holds up well, particularly in terms of cost-efficiency and the breadth of features offered. While it may not have the most extensive backlink database, it does provide sufficient functionality for most users' needs. For those requiring in-depth backlink analysis, it might be beneficial to supplement SE Ranking with another tool focused specifically on link analysis.
The decision to adopt SE Ranking should consider the specific needs and priorities of the user or agency. For those who value a comprehensive, all-in-one SEO tool that offers flexibility in pricing and customization in reporting, SE Ranking is a compelling choice. Agencies looking to streamline their SEO processes and enhance their reporting capabilities will find particularly strong benefits in choosing SE Ranking.

Here is what we found in Connecticut today (and yesterday).
Saturday, April 20, 2024
Photo of the day
Nic Petan’s powerplay blast gives Wolf Pack 3-2 win over Penguins
Sunday, April 21, 2024
Photo of the day
Award-winning Stamford restaurant “The Wheel” sets new culinary partnership with Market Hospitality Group
Connecticut’s Beardsley Zoo evening lecture series launches with Fairfield University’s RIZE program to showcase new wildlife research
Fairfield University's annual Student Research Symposium is April 25
Michael Zack considers CONVERGENCE on view at City Gallery in May
Hartford Fall 3-1 to San Antonio
Wolf Pack battle back four times, eventually knocking off Thunderbirds 6-4
Wolf Pack to face Charlotte Checkers in first round of Calder Cup Playoffs
Wolf Pack ink D Harrison Rees to PTO
Ticket Giveaways
2 tickets to Ben Folds at College Street Music Hall on April 23, 2024. Click here to enter the giveaway. A winner will be picked on Monday, April 22.
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It showed up on Netflix and I gave it a shot. Pretty good action movie. Directed by Luc Besson. Never heard anything about it.

• It has some overlap with "Le Femme Nikita" but more of a complex plot. Think chess instead of checkers
  
• Some severe John Wick "Gun Fu" action. The restaurant scene was a lot of fun. One of those scenes you immediately rewind to watch again.
  
• Hellen Mirren plays a Leader in the KGB, baby.
  
• Cillian Murphy is kind of charming in this one.
  
• Brilliant use of time to describe the plot.
  

The first thing that hits me when I step out of the car is the overwhelming silence. Hollow Creek is a small town nestled in the middle of nowhere, with its dwindling population and a sense of desolation hanging in the air. It's different from the kind of place you'd expect to find much work as a freelance journalist. Still, with bills to pay and a need for a change of scenery, I decided to take a chance on this mysterious letter. It said the Whispering Pines Motel is promising a story unlike any other. Now, as I approach the front desk, I can't help but wonder if it was all just a cruel joke.
The receptionist, an elderly woman with a knowing smile, greets me with a forced warmth. Her name is Edna, and she tells me that I'll be staying in room 12, just down the hall. As I walk past the reception area, I can't help but notice the framed newspaper clippings on the walls: headlines like "Whispering Pines: A Haven for the Restless" and "Mysterious Noises Plague the Night." Stories of guests leaving in the middle of the night for unknown reasons.
My room is dimly lit, with a musty odor that reminds me of old books. The furniture looks like it's been here since The Motel was built, and the bedspread is threadbare. A small window by the bed is covered by a thin curtain that billows in the night breeze.
The Motel is on the main road, and the town's only restaurant is just a few doors down and across the street. Walking through the empty street, I notice that most buildings are boarded up or appear abandoned. The only light source comes from the diner's flickering neon sign, casting eerie shadows across the pavement.
I approach the diner and step inside. The atmosphere inside is comforting, almost cozy, with the smell of coffee and bacon filling the air. The waitress, a young woman named Lily, greets me with a warm smile and offers to take my order. I play it cool and order coffee, hoping to start a conversation.
I can't help but overhear snippets of conversations at nearby tables. One man, who looks like he's in his early twenties, is telling a story about a woman he met at the Motel with a haunting past and secrets she's willing to kill to keep. Intrigued, I walk over to them and introduce myself.
"You must be Riley," the man says, nodding in my direction. "I'm Tom, and this is my brother, Mark."
Mark glances up from his coffee, a cautious expression on his face. "Yeah, we heard you were new in town. Lily told us you're a journalist."
"That's right," I reply, sitting opposite them. "I got a letter from one of the Motel's former guests, offering me a story. Something about restless spirits and strange occurrences. I was hoping you could fill me in."
Tom leans in closer, "It's true, Riley. This town has a dark secret. You see there was a fire at the Whispering Pines. It started in one of the rooms, and half the building was destroyed when they put it out. People died in that fire, and their spirits haven't been able to find peace. They say you can hear them whispering in the halls at night."
I can't help but wonder if there's any truth to the story. Lily arrives with my coffee. I thank her and take a sip, savoring the warmth it brings to my hands.
"So, what do you think?" Tom asks, watching me intently. "You believe us?"
"It's an interesting story. But I'd like to see some proof before I write about it. Anything you can show me?"
Tom and Mark exchange glances, then Tom reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small, worn photo album. He slides it across the table to me, and I open it up. Inside are grainy photographs of the Motel, taken years ago. Pictures of the fire, rescue workers trying to contain the flames, and a group of people standing outside the Motel.
"These were taken just after the fire," Tom explains. "The woman in the photo was the Motel's owner's wife. Her name was Sarah. After the fire, she went crazy and talked about voices in the walls, freed spirits, and missing guests. A lot of people think she started the fire, trying to rid the place of the spirits."
I glance back at the photos, taking in the haunted expression on Sarah's face. Whatever she experienced during those dark days left a mark on her.
Lily arrives with food, setting a plate of eggs and bacon in front of me. "Here you go, Riley. Enjoy!" She says with a warm smile.
"Oh, sorry, I actually didn't order anything except coffee. Also, how do you know my name?" I ask, feeling a bit unnerved.
"Well, Riley, you see..." Tom begins, leaning back in his chair. "Sarah isn't the only one affected by the fire. The spirits reach out to certain people and make them see things. And sometimes, they share information. You must have something special about you that they recognized."
I glance around the diner, feeling a shiver run down my spine. The other patrons seem oblivious to our conversation, lost in their thoughts and newspapers.
"So, what else can you tell me about Sarah?" I ask, changing the subject.
Tom shakes his head. "No one could ever prove anything. The fire destroyed most of the evidence, and Sarah... well, she wasn't much help. She spent most of her time ranting about the spirits. But there were always rumors. Some people said she had help starting the fire; others said she was unstable and looking for a way out. As for the guests who went missing... well, no one ever found any bodies. There were whispers that the spirits had taken them, too."
He pauses, taking a sip of coffee, and I can see the pain in his eyes. "We all thought it was just a tragic accident at first. But over time, things started changing. We'd hear footsteps in the hallway, doors slamming shut on their own. It got so bad that some of us started avoiding the Motel at night."
"Do you guys work at the Motel?" I ask, trying to sound casual. "You seem to know a lot about what happened."
"Well, yeah, I've been here for a few years now. And Mark here has been working the night shift. We've all seen and heard things that... well, it's hard to explain."
I nod, "So, what do you think happened to Sarah?" I ask, unable to keep the curiosity from my voice. "Do you think she's still alive?"
Tom shrugs. "No one really knows. Some people say she's still here, trapped in her room, unable to escape the horrors she witnessed."
I glance at Tom, noticing the haunted look in his eyes. "What about you? What do you think happened?"
He takes a deep breath before answering. "Sometimes, I see her in the shadows, just watching us. Other times, I think she's a ghost, trapped here with the rest of them. But, it's clear that something bad went down at the Motel. And it's not just in the past. It's still here, lurking in the darkness."
The rest of our conversation lasted as long as it took me to eat. I was exhausted and needed to sleep before I started writing, so I went back to the Motel at around 8:30pm and settled in bed.
I could have sworn I heard footsteps in the hallway outside my room. They were faint, barely audible over the sound of my own heartbeat.
I could sleep through it, telling myself it was a staff member doing their duties. I finally fell asleep until I heard this high-pitched, non-stop squeak, stuttering every few seconds. It wasn't loud, but just enough to wake me up. I look over at the clock; it reads 3:08am. I decide to open the door slowly, its creak intensifying the mysterious squeak.
Nothing, no one there. I walk slowly as the noise gets louder, but I cannot locate it. I thought it could be an old furnace that they never replaced, but the air in the hallway was so cold. Deciding to believe my furnace assumption, I headed back to my room, but on my way, I could have sworn I had heard someone whispering. When I moved closer, it sounded like it was coming from the walls, just like the town folks said.
As I close the door and crawl back into bed, the whispering grows louder, like it's outside my door. It's getting harder to ignore; the whispers are saying something. I lie there, paralyzed with fear, until finally, the whispering fades away into the distance.
The next day, I push the strange occurrences out of my mind and focus on my work. I spent most of the day researching the Motel's history. As the day drags on, I can't shake the feeling that I'm being watched, that the Motel is alive with a malevolent energy that's intent on driving me mad.
Around dinnertime, I take a break from my research and venture into town. I'm hoping to find someone who might have some insight into what really happened to Sarah. As I walk along the empty street, the air is thick with anticipation, as if the town is holding its breath and waiting for something terrible to happen.
I stop at the diner and take a seat at the counter. The waitress, not the same as last night, an older woman with kind eyes and a knowing smile, sets a menu in front of me. I notice the prices are shockingly low. When I ask her about it, she just says, "Around here, we take care of our own."
I order a burger and a soda, hoping to gather enough courage to ask questions. When the food arrived, I couldn't help but notice that it was some of the best diner food I'd ever had. The waitress must be using some family recipes. As I eat, I discuss with an elderly man sitting at the end of the counter. His name is Hank, and he's lived in the town all his life.
"You're new around here?" he asks. When I confirm his suspicion, he leans close, lowering his voice. "You should be careful about asking too many questions. This town has a long memory, and we don't take kindly to outsiders who pry into our business."
His words chill me, but I can't help but press on. "I'm just trying to find out what happened to Sarah," I say, my voice barely audible.
Hank eyes me before leaning back in his chair. "Well, you've got to understand," he begins, "Sarah was...different. She wasn't like the rest of us. She didn't belong here."
I'm taken aback by his words, but I nod, encouraging him to continue. "But she was still a person, right? She deserved better than whatever happened to her."
Hank glances around the diner, lowering his voice even further. "You're right, she did. But you see, there was...an incident. Something that changed everything. Something that made people start talking, whispering." He hesitates momentarily, then leans in closer. "You see, there was a time when the Motel was different. It was...alive, in a way. People would come from miles around just to see it, just to see its magnificent décor and lively air." Hank sighed heavily as if the story's weight was too much for him to bear. "Back then, the Motel had another owner, a middle-aged man named Jeremiah. He was different, too. He was married to Sarah.
He pauses, looking haunted by the memory. "There was a fire at the Motel. No one knows how it started, but it spread quickly. Sarah and Jerimiah had four boys; two of the oldest sons died in the fire along with their father."
I let out a gasp, unable to believe the horror of the story. "But what happened to Sarah?" I ask, feeling a deep sense of dread creeping up on me.
"She went crazy and locked herself away in the Motel after they restored it. She would go on about how she freed those poor spirits. The now oldest son took over the Motel." he says.
"Did authorities not suspect Sarah?" I ask.
"Oh, they did. They brought her in for questioning, but they were never able to get anything other than her crazy ramblings. They never found enough evidence to prosecute anyone, so it was deemed an accident." He says.
I'm stunned, "So, she's still there?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
Hank laughs, "That's what people around here say, but that was forty-something years ago, and if I'm to guess by her looks, Sarah was in her mid-forties. That would mean she would be almost eighty, and I don't reckon she could stay alive that long without leaving her room."
"But...if she really did set the fire and hurt those people..." I trail off.
Hank shrugs. "Like I said, no one knows for sure what happened. And after all this time, it's probably best left that way." He glances at his watch, signaling that the conversation is over.
I nod, feeling a mixture of disbelief and horror coursing through me. Something about Sarah's story refuses to let me go. I thank Hank for his time and pay for my lunch, leaving the diner.
As I walk back to the Motel, I can't help but wonder; was Sarah genuinely insane or just trying to protect something? With its faded grandeur and haunted past, the Motel holds a strange allure for me now. It's as if I can feel the weight of its history pressing down on my shoulders, demanding that I uncover the truth.
I get to my room and spend the rest of the day exploring the motel grounds. The air is thick with the scent of old wood and damp earth and the sound of leaves rustling in the distance. I wander past open rooms with peeling paint and boarded-up windows.
I find a dusty photo album on a dresser in one of the abandoned rooms. Carefully opening the tattered cover, I discover a collection of faded photographs depicting the Motel in its heyday: couples dancing beneath twinkling chandeliers, laughing children running through the hall. There's even a picture of Sarah and Jeremiah smiling brightly for the camera.
I close the album, feeling a strange mixture of nostalgia and sadness. As I turn to leave, I notice a bookshelf in the hallway. Most books are dog-eared romance novels, but one title catches my eye: "The Haunting of the Hotel Amity: A True Story." It seemed morbidly fitting for the scene, but I decided to move past it and head to the front desk to interview Edna.
The afternoon passes quickly as I spend time with Edna, listening to her stories of working at the Motel and meeting various guests. She speaks fondly of Sarah, insisting that she is a good woman who only wants to protect the place she loves. Edna also mentioned that she had heard stories from other employees about strange occurrences in the Motel. Still, she always brushed them off as superstitious nonsense.
"Have you never experienced anything like that?" I ask, "Any strange occurrences?"
Edna pauses, her expression thoughtful. "Well, there was one time when I was cleaning a room, and I swear I heard someone calling my name. I thought it was just the wind at first, but the voice sounded so real. It gave me a chill." She shudders, her eyes distant with memory.
I nod, unsure what to make of her story. Even the people who were closest to Sarah were left with more questions than answers. I head back to my room.
It was only 9pm, but I was tired, so I lay down and drifted asleep.
As I closed my eyes, I thought about Sarah and her story. I couldn't help but feel that there was something more to the Motel than what had been revealed. Something darker, more sinister. Perhaps the faded photos in the album or the eerie silence seemed to permeate the halls, but I couldn't shake the feeling that a story was yet to be told.
I drifted off to sleep, dreaming of the Motel and its secrets. In my dreams, I wandered through its empty halls. I could feel the weight of history pressing down on me. And in the distance, I thought I heard the faint strains of a melody, like a distant echo of a time long gone. Suddenly, in my dream, I needed to look at the book I had spotted earlier about the Amity Hotel. Something about it drew me in, and when I went to pick it up, I was awoken by the loud, stuttered squeak like the one from the night prior.
I look at the clock again: 3:04am.
The dream felt real, and the urge to investigate the book was almost overwhelming. I slip out of bed, padding quietly across the carpeted floor. The eerie silence of the Motel seems to press against my ears as I make my way to the bookshelf in the corner. There, nestled between a romance novel and a travel guide, is the worn copy of "The Haunting of the Hotel Amity: A True Story."
I pulled it down, but it only moved slightly, getting stuck when I tried pulling further. Finally, after yanking a bit, I felt it give a little more; it's frozen in place as if it was tipping. Suddenly, I hear an amalgamation of gears turning behind it, and the shelf opens slightly on one side. I pull on the released side, and it opens like a door, leading to a passageway between the walls.
I step inside, flicking on my phone's flashlight. The narrow passageway is dimly lit by flickering bulbs every few feet, casting eerie shadows on the walls. The air is musty and stale. I make my way down the passageway, the squeak louder the further I go. I can see a dark opening at the end, so I put on a brave face and walk toward it when I hear a voice from the dark opening. I could barely hear it over the loud squeak and couldn't understand what they were saying, but I knew I shouldn't be here anymore, so I sneaked out of the passage. I tried to close the door as slowly as possible, but the voices were approaching fast, so I left it ajar.
Rushing into bed, slowly closing the door as it creaked louder than I anticipated. Finally, I was in bed, mind racing with the possibilities of what was in that room at the end of the passageway.
The voices grew louder as they approached my room. I shut my eyelids tight.
They were right in front of my door; this time, I could faintly make out some words. There were words like "her" and "Has to be," and the one that made my heart race was "Only guest here."
The handle turned slowly, and the door creaked open. I loosened my eyelids to peak at who it was, revealing a shadowy figure in the doorway. It was Edna, but there was something different about her. Her usually kind face was twisted in anger, her eyes burning with an unnatural light. She glanced at me, for just a moment before she turned her attention back to the others in the hall.
"Leave her for now," Edna said. The other voices murmured in agreement, their whispers echoing down the hall. As they turned away, I felt a chill run down my spine. Finally, they leave.
I slowly get out of bed, and as quietly as possible, I pack my things. I planned to jump out of the window if I had to.
Suddenly, the squeak stopped, and the Motel was much too quiet again. The eerie silence of the Motel seems to press against my ears as I try to calm my racing thoughts. I close my eyes, but I can't help but feel a sense of dread creeping up on me.
Just as I'm about to fall asleep, I hear a faint click coming from the hallway. My heart starts pounding again as I realize someone is moving through the Motel, methodically checking each room. The clicking grows louder as the person gets closer, and I hear footsteps outside my door.
I lie there, paralyzed. The footsteps pause outside my door, and I hear a low whisper. "She's in here?" I freeze. "Yeah, she's in there, but Edna doesn't want us to disturb her until Tom says it's time." Tom? I thought to myself. The guy from the diner on my first night? The one that already knew my name before introducing myself?
"Man fuck Tom," One of the voices said, "Just being Jeremiah's son is the only reason we have to listen to that prick."
"Yeah, unless you want to end up in one of his films, you better listen to that prick." The other man proclaims. The two sets of footsteps walk away from my door.
Films? What the hell were they talking about?
Why did Edna seem so angry earlier? Why were these men talking about me in the hallway like I was a film project?
As the night wears on, I can't help but feel like I'm at the center of some sort of twisted game. I lie awake, listening to the occasional creak of a floorboard or whispered conversation down the hall. Eventually, exhaustion overtakes me, and I fall into a fitful sleep.
I first notice the light streaming through the window when I wake up. It's morning, and with it comes a sense of urgency. I quickly dress and gather my things, making my way to the diner. As I approach, I see Tom sitting at a booth, already deep in conversation with Mark. They glance up at me as I enter, and Tom motions for me to join them.
"Good morning, Sunshine," Tom says with a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Care to join us?"
I sit across from them, trying to ignore the feeling of unease that settles in my stomach. "Good morning," I manage to say.
"So, how are you finding our little motel?" Tom asks, leaning in closer. "I hope we're taking good care of you." There's an undertone to his voice that I can't quite place.
I force a smile, trying to appear more confident than I feel. "It's been fine, I guess."
Tom raises an eyebrow at my noncommittal response. "I hope you don't mean that as a complaint. We've gone to great lengths to ensure you have everything you need."
I glance at Mark sitting next to Tom. His expression is unreadable, and he seems to be observing me. "It's not that," I say quickly, hoping to reassure them. "I'm just... I'm not used to being around so little people." There, that sounds believable.
"Well, hopefully, you will settle in a little bit before you have to leave. See my brother Mark here," he gestures over to Mark, "he's in charge of maintenance, and if there's anything he can do to help you feel more comfortable, let him know!" Tom says with a forced smile.
I nod, still feeling uneasy. "Thank you, I'm sure I'll be fine." I glance around the diner, trying to appear calm and collected. The place is filled with small wooden tables and booths, each covered in a checkered red-and-white tablecloth. The walls are adorned with old movie posters and black-and-white photographs of people I assume are famous actors. The air is thick with the scent of coffee and bacon, making my stomach rumble.
"So, what's on the menu today?" I ask, hoping to change the subject. Tom hands me a menu, and I scan the options, debating between pancakes and eggs. "I'll have the pancakes, please." I look up at Tom, then Mark, waiting for their response.
"Excellent choice!" Tom says with a smile. "I'm sure you'll enjoy them. Mark, will you go ahead and get our order?" Mark nods and stands, making his way over to the waitress. I watch him go, still feeling a sense of unease. The air between Tom and me has become heavy, and I can't help but wonder what they want from me.
As I wait for our food, I glance around the diner again, hoping to find some escape route. The exit is right behind me, but a large man is sitting in a booth by the door, looking like he might be a bouncer at a bar. I don't want to make a scene, but I must leave.
The waitress returns with our food, setting down plates of steaming hot pancakes in front of us. The aroma is intoxicating, and my stomach grumbles in anticipation. I pick up my fork, debating whether or not to eat anything at all. Tom glances at my plate and smiles reassuringly as if he can read my mind.
A few bites in, I realize my anxiety won't let me eat anymore. I tried to find an excuse to leave and investigate the Motel further.
"I'm sorry, Tom. I feel like I need some fresh air," I say, smiling. "I'm going to step outside for a bit. Maybe go for a walk." I say, hoping he doesn't hear my voice shake.
Tom nods understandingly. "Of course, Riley. Take your time. We'll be right here if you need anything." He reaches across the table and gently pats my hand, his expression softening.
I push my chair back and stand up, trying to appear calm and confident as I walk towards the exit. As I pass by the large man in the booth, he gives me a quick once-over before returning to his meal. The air outside is cool and crisp, and I take a deep breath of fresh air. The Motel is just across the street, and I can see Tom and Mark sitting in the diner, watching me.
I stroll down the sidewalk, pretending to look at the shops along the way. But really, my attention is focused on the Motel. The neon sign flickers above the door, casting an eerie glow on the building. The rooms are arranged in a U-shape around a central courtyard.
I pause for a moment, debating whether or not to go inside. A part of me wants to know what Tom and Mark are up to, but another part is terrified of what I might find. Before I can decide, a car pulls beside me, and a woman rolls down her window.
"Hey, honey, need a ride somewhere?" she asks, her voice laced with a Southern drawl. She's probably around my mom's age, with long, curly, graying hair and a warm smile. Something about her seems genuine, and I trust her for a moment.
"Uh, no thanks, I'm feeling sick, so I'm going back to my room," I said before quickly walking away. It felt like the entire town was watching me.
I make my way back to the Motel, my heart racing. I try to calm my nerves as I approach my room. As soon as I unlock the door, I collapse onto the bed, feeling a mixture of exhaustion and fear wash over me. I close my eyes and try to think about anything else, but I can't shake the feeling of anxiety.
Now is an excellent time to look further into the dark opening at the end of the passageway I found last night. I carefully walk down the hallway, feeling the cool air from the vent blowing against my face. The walls are covered in peeling wallpaper, and a strong, musty odor makes me feel uneasy. As I approach the bookshelf, I attempt to reach for the Amity Hotel book, but when I pull it, nothing happens. I didn't dream that whole thing, did I? No, they must've changed the book, so I go through each individual book, pulling each one carefully.
"Can I help you find anything in particular?" Edna said with a bit of contempt as she snuck up behind me.
I spun around, startled. "Oh, uh, no. Just, um... looking for a book I thought I saw."
Edna raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "Well, you're not going to find it here," she said, gesturing to the bookshelf. "Those books are just for show." She paused, studying me for a moment. "Why were you looking for, anyway?"
"It was something about A Hotel in Amity. Considering where I am, I thought it would be a good read." I reply, still trying to play it cool.
Edna chuckles darkly. "Oh, that's Tom and Mark's favorite. One of them probably took it with them."
"Oh, okay. I'll look for something else then." I say, glancing back at the bookshelf. Edna watches me for a moment before disappearing back into her room. I stand there momentarily before continuing to search for the book lever that opens the bookshelf, trying to be as quiet as possible.
Finally, one book will only pull out some of the way. It had to be another lever, but remembering how loud the hidden door was, I decided to wait to pull it, when I hear the loud squeak tonight, hoping it would mask most of the sound of the gears turning behind the door.
Late that night, I creep out of my room and return to the bookshelf. The air is thick with the smell of stale cigarette smoke. I carefully yanked the book out as far as it could go before I could hear the gears. I'm confident the squeak is loud enough to mask the bookshelf. I opened it and slid into the passageway leading to the dark opening.
I step inside, and the squeak is almost too much, but I press on. I hear multiple men talking loudly and laughing as I enter the room. As I turn the corner, I can see lights dancing on the wall like someone was watching an old movie, and the smell of cigar smoke fills my lungs. Quietly moving further in, I can see a giant old movie projector that was making the stuttered squeak from its giant bent and dented film rolls scraping against the side of the projector.
I look to see what is playing on the screen, but I'm distracted by about eight men, mostly old except Tom, Mark, and another younger-looking man. They don't see me, or they don't care enough to acknowledge me.
They were sitting in a makeshift movie theater, but none of the fun.
Finally, I looked up at the screen and felt sick. They were showing a homemade old snuff film. Then I realized it couldn't be that old since I recognized Tom and Mark. They were doing unspeakable things with women of all ages.
I look down at the group of men and see them all staring at me with a menacingly evil grin. I froze in immense fear.
Staring at them for an eternity, I suddenly felt a sting in my neck, like someone had injected me with something. As my vision darkened, I could see the face of the man holding me with one hand and a syringe in the other. It was the bouncer-looking man I had seen in the diner.
When I wake up, my head is pounding. The room is spinning, and my vision is blurry. I can see little memory flashes of the group picking me up and moving me to the room next to the makeshift theater. My clothes are gone, and I'm naked except for a loose robe. There's a sour taste in my mouth, and my body feels heavy and sour. I'm tied to a mattress that smells like sweat and fear. I struggle against my bonds, but they're too tight.
I see an antique film camera on an even older tripod. There were huge lights all around me that were turned off. Suddenly, they were blinding me as I heard the men laughing.
"Oh, Walter Cronkite, what will we do with you?" I recognize Tom's voice, "You were THIS close! A shame, but I can't say I'm surprised. You have a lot of fight, and we LOVE that." The men laugh way too hard.
The camera is pointed at me; it's old and dusty but still working. I close my eyes and try to steel my nerves, but I can't help but feel sick. The memory of the snuff film plays over and over in my head, and I can't shake the feeling that I'm about to be a part of it.
"Now, now, Tom," I hear Mark say, his voice steady and calm. "No need for that. We've got plans for Anderson Cooper here." The other men chuckle menacingly. "She's going to be a star."
As Tom approaches me, I hear most men leave the room, and Mark sets up behind the camera.
"You want to know the full story, Hunter S. Thompson? I think you deserve to know at this point." Tom says as he undoes his belt, "Well, let me fill in some blanks for you," he sits next to me on the floor after taking off his shirt, "You see, my father, Jeremiah had a great business going here, and I'm not talking about the Motel. He would lure women to stay here, where he would drug them and film himself having his way with them while someone filmed through the two-way mirror. It was a great business, those films. Rich people from all around the world would buy them. Plus, most women never even knew what happened by the time they checked out, but the ones who gave us trouble had to be dealt with. Eventually, my mom, Sarah, got a little too nosey. She kept asking about how my father could make so much money while running a Motel, so she snooped into his things and found some evidence that would crumble our entire family. She confided her findings to her two oldest sons, but when she realized they were in on it too, she went crazy. We tried to keep her quiet, but she wouldn't let it go. Finally, one day, she couldn't take the guilt, and the madwoman opened every unlocked room; she would set anything flammable on fire. Eventually, the fire got out of control and started to spread. The fire killed my brother and father, along with a lot more of the women my mom was trying to save. We finally stopped it, and, being about 20 at the time, I already knew what was going on and was more than ready to take it over with some improvements." He stops for a second, reminiscing on memories.
He touches my face softly with the back of his hand. It's a rough hand that feels like sandpaper scraping my cheek.
"I was going to leave my mother alive, but when she kept talking about 'Saving victim's spirits,' she was making me nervous. I was close with my mother as a kid, so I didn't have the heart to kill her myself, but Mark here," he gestured toward Mark behind the camera, "He's a cold, hard killer." He stares at Mark for a long time. "We couldn't do it out in the open like my father and brothers did, so I had them build passages into the walls of the hallways, opened by various bookshelves. And added a whole hidden room at the end. Doing it during the restoration, it was a perfect cover. We still use all the equipment my father used, as you can see," He gestures to the antique camera that was now filming them. It's a bitch to find someone willing to develop the film, let alone someone who won't ask questions, but I had to keep it this way to honor my Father and Brother's legacy."
He pauses, leaning close to me, his breath hot on my ear. "And now, it's your turn. You're going to be the next big star. You're going to have your own room," He gestures around the damp, death-filled room, "your own things. You'll be taken care of and never have to leave. You'll be part of the family." His hand runs through my hair, cupping the back of my head. "And Mark, don't forget to get some shots of my good side."
"Oh, I won't," Mark says with a chuckle. He walks around me, positioning himself so the camera can point straight at my face.
I try to shrug off the chills that run down my spine as I think about the stories Tom has just told me, and all I see is a lost man looking for something to hold onto.
Tom gets on top of me and starts kissing my neck, and I feel like throwing up. I can feel the ropes on the left hand are loose, so I take a minute to wiggle it out without letting anyone in the room notice. Once I got that hand free, I could get the other free, but I wasn't ready to fight back; I needed to wait for the right time.
Suddenly, the camera audibly stops recording, and Tom notices and looks back at Mark.
"What the hell is going on?" Tom asks angrily.
"The film got stuck, shit! I'm going to have to get a whole new one. Hold on one second." Mark says as he turns his back to exit the room.
Tom gets up, and I finally feel like I can breathe properly. His back is turned, inspecting the camera.
"Old fucking thing," Tom says to himself.
I take the opportunity to untie both ankles. As soon as I'm free, I lunge forward, wrapping my arms around Tom's waist and pulling him off-balance. He lets out a surprised yelp as we both crash to the ground. I scramble to my feet and take a few steps back, breathing hard. Tom glares at me, looking furious.
"You little bitch!" he shouts. "You think you can just take it from me? From my family?" He scrambles to his feet as well, advancing on me slowly. "I could kill you where you stand!"
I back away, my heart pounding in my chest. "I'm not going to let you do this," I say, trying to sound more confident than I feel. "I'm not going to be another victim."
Tom laughs darkly, his eyes narrowing. "Oh, you think you're so special? You think you're the first one to say no?" He steps closer, "You're just like all the others. You're just another piece of meat."
My anger boils over, and I launch myself at him again. We wrestle for a moment, both of us grunting with exertion. He's stronger than me, but I push him against the bookshelf, where he loses his balance, and his head falls onto the corner of a dirt-stained counter. I walk slowly toward him, and I can see a pool of blood forming around his matted blonde hair. He's not breathing.
Mark, who must've heard the commotion, runs in just then. He freezes while looking down at his brother. "No, no, no, no! Tom! You can't do this to me! I can't do this shit alone!" Mark is sobbing while holding his brother's blood-soaked head.
I saw my opportunity and took it. I try to run past Mark, but he catches me by the ankle, making me drop to the floor. "You're not leaving!" he shouts, his voice hoarse with rage. He pulls a knife from his pocket, his hands trembling with fury. "You'll tell everyone you're sorry and then come with me."
I kick him in the face as hard as I can, making him release his grip on my ankle. He clutches his nose, blood pouring between his fingers. I turn and run, hearing him screaming obscenities behind me. I bolt out of the room, racing through the building while luckily not alerting anyone, not knowing where I'm going. I have to get out of here.
Outside, the air is cold and damp, the fog rolling off the ocean. I'm disoriented, my heart pounding in my chest. I am still determining where I am, but I know I must find help. I start running, my lungs burning with each ragged breath.
I come to a main road, a car's headlights blinding me as it speeds past. I wave my arms frantically, but the driver doesn't notice. Panic starts to rise up inside me as I realize that I'm alone and that no one knows what happened. I can't go back there, not after what I've done.
I start to walk, trying to figure out where I'm going. My feet are cold and numb, but I keep moving. The fog thickens, making it hard to see more than a few feet in front of me. I wish I had a cell phone to call the police and get help.
After what feels like hours of walking, I finally spot a streetlight. It's barely enough light to see by, but it's better than nothing. I walk towards it, hoping there might be a nearby house or business where I can find help. As I get closer, I see a police officer at a red light. I run to him, probably looking like a crazy crackhead with only a robe, and I'm sure I smell like death. The officer looks at me with a mixture of surprise and concern.
"Help me," I gasp out between breaths. "These people, they, they, they," I find myself unable to talk or see the words for what has happened. The officer takes my arm, his grip firm but not painful. He looks at me with concern, his brow furrowed.
"Take it easy. You're safe now. What's your name?" I tell him my name, feeling the fog of shock starting to lift from my brain. "Okay, why don't you tell me what happened?" I spend the next hour or so trying to explain everything to him, not caring how crazy I sound.
He listens intently, occasionally asking questions or nodding his head. When I finish, he sighs heavily, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. "Okay, I need you to come to the station with me. We'll get this all sorted out." We take off in his cruiser.
I spent the night at the police station, retelling my story to a half dozen people and getting medical care. The officer who saved me last night told me they sent someone this morning to the Motel to check it out. He said that night, no one except Edna was in the building. She let them look around, and eventually, they found the hidden passages in the walls leading to the basement where they found everything. They arrested Edna, and she denied involvement, but they kept her for further questioning. They claim Edna was the only one there, so Mark must've gotten away.
That was a little over a decade ago, and they still haven't located Mark. Maybe he's dead in a ditch where he belongs. Still, maybe, just perhaps, he could recreate their operation at a new Motel.
Any time I see one, I have PTSD flashbacks of laying on that dirty mattress. Once, I was shopping at a department store and saw this guy on every lane I went down. He never looked at me enough to get a good look at his face, but eventually, he left after I locked myself in the bathroom for an hour.
It's funny how the mind works. I'll be watching a movie, and I'll see a character get kidnapped, and I'll think, "At least they didn't cut my ear off like that guy did."

December, 29th, 2023. Liverpool city. I just saw the fab 4 monument and finished my dinner. Hell, for the first time in a day! You know this feeling of euphoria when you’re so excited while travelling that literally forget about such inessential things like having meals? The dinner was scrumptious, the restaurants, nightlife, landscapes, sights, all was worthy in that city. The red wine was so good that it immediately boosted me with bravery and desperation. I texted another drunk nonsense to someone from the past and decided to blast that night. I was quite high, and drained, and tired with a lack of fuck to give.
This place I’m going to tell about in the following paragraph was the first recommendation of the local. In addition, I love rock. So why not to check this out? Frankly, I wasn’t even looking for something special that night, maybe just for having a good time, for allowing myself not to care at all just for a one hour, one night, it’s not forbidden yet, right? I came in, ok, not so bad. Actually, those singers seemed to know… It was only 9 pm and I had the whole night ahead without rushing to have a drink immediately. I took a walk around that bar. Goddamn it, why am I so crazy about adventures on my own? I don’t even define myself an introvert! Everyone’s with fucking couples, yeah, what did I expect? Well, screw it, we’re just having fun today.
After a few minutes dancing (if it can be called so) to the live music, I noticed you, or it was your funny cap, or that checkered shirt, your clumsy movements, I don’t remember, but most likely, your eyes. You had that kind look that reminded me of someone who had passed away long ago. No one else’s looked at me like that ever since, but you, the stranger from Liverpool, gosh. Ofc, it was a subconscious resemblance, I realised it only after a while. Am I running insane? (No, I have already)
Several seconds later I caught your eye on me. Stop, what? Nah, unlikely. But then you pulled the strawberry out of your cocktail and gave it to me. Was it a joke? Neglecting the hygiene? Even if a pick-up trick, it was terrific, not those trivial approaches I’m fed up with. Without hesitation, I ate it. Awkwardly and perplexedly. You burst out laughing. We kept dancing and glancing at each other. Some time after, you (OMG, I need to know you, freak!) pulled out another strawberry from your friend’s similar cocktail and gave it to me… Yeah, we started talking.
Initially, I was 99% certain you were British, but then I clearly heard your non-typical accent and Swedish name, interesting name. And it took me a few times to pronounce mine, then to type it to you finally memorize it… It was rather noisy over there and I almost screamed. Dear reader, please, don’t get me wrong, I don’t normally do such casual things, but we made out in a few minutes after meeting, it was incredible energy in the air, honestly. I never believed it could happen to me, come on, I’m not 13-years-old… But it was it. The shock gun strike everyone’s talked about, the tension between us. And I hoped you felt it too.
Well, without further ado, we left this place and walked down night Liverpool until we reached my place, which you had asked me to show you… Of course,I knew everything but it was never dirty and indecently. I didn’t even know why but couldn’t help cuddling with you and touching with you… At least, thank you for this emotional awakening, I didn’t hope to feel something more then physical with a one-night-stand I would never see again…
Although I told you at night we were gonna wake up at 6 in the morning (yeah, I was off to Edinburgh the next morning), you slept nice the whole night, you embraced me and almost chocked me, but that warmth worth it. I didn’t think you would ask for my contacts in the morning, but you did.
But why? You’ll return to your hometown the next week and I’ll return to London (I’m Russian, btw). We barely have a chance to see each other again. Anyway, we kept on chatting. At some moment it seemed like I got used to you and we even discussed the possibility of meeting up in London, but you were obviously wasted when wrote this. Yeah, it fizzled out, or you ghosted me deliberately, or didn’t like me, or decided it all was pointless. Ok, I’m done with figuring out the reason. I can relate, objectively it was not that easy. But I haven’t got you out of my head yet.
You are cool, Swedish guy, who gave me strawberries in Liverpool.
Don’t do one-night-stands.
Cheers!

where should i go? i’m not talking about authentic italian, but your classic red sauce, checkered table cloth, cheap house red wine that’s super drinkable, mob-boss money laundering italian restaurant. price point around 150 for two people, bonus points for quaint or cute patio!

I had a hankering for a spicy mcchicken from mcdonald’s at around 3:30 so I went to the Mcdonald’s on Southside (this one is notoriously shitty but I was hungry) and as soon as I pull into the drive thru they tell me their system is down and they can’t do anything :( I just wanted mcdonald’s so I head to the one on Beach that is 24hrs and when I pull into THEIR drive thru they tell me they’re temporarily closed and will open back up at 4. Very distraught at this point, I look up nearby restaurants that are open and I see that Checkers is open until 5! I scoot right on over, find they are now selling apple pies, and I have my food out hot within 5ish minutes. This was posted after tearing up my spicy chicken sandwich combo. Shoutout to Checkers for making it happen tonight ❤️

The first thing that hits me when I step out of the car is the overwhelming silence. Hollow Creek is a small town nestled in the middle of nowhere, with its dwindling population and a sense of desolation hanging in the air. It's different from the kind of place you'd expect to find much work as a freelance journalist. Still, with bills to pay and a need for a change of scenery, I decided to take a chance on this mysterious letter. It said the Whispering Pines Motel is promising a story unlike any other. Now, as I approach the front desk, I can't help but wonder if it was all just a cruel joke.
The receptionist, an elderly woman with a knowing smile, greets me with a forced warmth. Her name is Edna, and she tells me that I'll be staying in room 12, just down the hall. As I walk past the reception area, I can't help but notice the framed newspaper clippings on the walls: headlines like "Whispering Pines: A Haven for the Restless" and "Mysterious Noises Plague the Night." Stories of guests leaving in the middle of the night for unknown reasons.
My room is dimly lit, with a musty odor that reminds me of old books. The furniture looks like it's been here since The Motel was built, and the bedspread is threadbare. A small window by the bed is covered by a thin curtain that billows in the night breeze.
The Motel is on the main road, and the town's only restaurant is just a few doors down and across the street. Walking through the empty street, I notice that most buildings are boarded up or appear abandoned. The only light source comes from the diner's flickering neon sign, casting eerie shadows across the pavement.
I approach the diner and step inside. The atmosphere inside is comforting, almost cozy, with the smell of coffee and bacon filling the air. The waitress, a young woman named Lily, greets me with a warm smile and offers to take my order. I play it cool and order coffee, hoping to start a conversation.
I can't help but overhear snippets of conversations at nearby tables. One man, who looks like he's in his early twenties, is telling a story about a woman he met at the Motel with a haunting past and secrets she's willing to kill to keep. Intrigued, I walk over to them and introduce myself.
"You must be Riley," the man says, nodding in my direction. "I'm Tom, and this is my brother, Mark."
Mark glances up from his coffee, a cautious expression on his face. "Yeah, we heard you were new in town. Lily told us you're a journalist."
"That's right," I reply, sitting opposite them. "I got a letter from one of the Motel's former guests, offering me a story. Something about restless spirits and strange occurrences. I was hoping you could fill me in."
Tom leans in closer, "It's true, Riley. This town has a dark secret. You see there was a fire at the Whispering Pines. It started in one of the rooms, and half the building was destroyed when they put it out. People died in that fire, and their spirits haven't been able to find peace. They say you can hear them whispering in the halls at night."
I can't help but wonder if there's any truth to the story. Lily arrives with my coffee. I thank her and take a sip, savoring the warmth it brings to my hands.
"So, what do you think?" Tom asks, watching me intently. "You believe us?"
"It's an interesting story. But I'd like to see some proof before I write about it. Anything you can show me?"
Tom and Mark exchange glances, then Tom reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small, worn photo album. He slides it across the table to me, and I open it up. Inside are grainy photographs of the Motel, taken years ago. Pictures of the fire, rescue workers trying to contain the flames, and a group of people standing outside the Motel.
"These were taken just after the fire," Tom explains. "The woman in the photo was the Motel's owner's wife. Her name was Sarah. After the fire, she went crazy and talked about voices in the walls, freed spirits, and missing guests. A lot of people think she started the fire, trying to rid the place of the spirits."
I glance back at the photos, taking in the haunted expression on Sarah's face. Whatever she experienced during those dark days left a mark on her.
Lily arrives with food, setting a plate of eggs and bacon in front of me. "Here you go, Riley. Enjoy!" She says with a warm smile.
"Oh, sorry, I actually didn't order anything except coffee. Also, how do you know my name?" I ask, feeling a bit unnerved.
"Well, Riley, you see..." Tom begins, leaning back in his chair. "Sarah isn't the only one affected by the fire. The spirits reach out to certain people and make them see things. And sometimes, they share information. You must have something special about you that they recognized."
I glance around the diner, feeling a shiver run down my spine. The other patrons seem oblivious to our conversation, lost in their thoughts and newspapers.
"So, what else can you tell me about Sarah?" I ask, changing the subject.
Tom shakes his head. "No one could ever prove anything. The fire destroyed most of the evidence, and Sarah... well, she wasn't much help. She spent most of her time ranting about the spirits. But there were always rumors. Some people said she had help starting the fire; others said she was unstable and looking for a way out. As for the guests who went missing... well, no one ever found any bodies. There were whispers that the spirits had taken them, too."
He pauses, taking a sip of coffee, and I can see the pain in his eyes. "We all thought it was just a tragic accident at first. But over time, things started changing. We'd hear footsteps in the hallway, doors slamming shut on their own. It got so bad that some of us started avoiding the Motel at night."
"Do you guys work at the Motel?" I ask, trying to sound casual. "You seem to know a lot about what happened."
"Well, yeah, I've been here for a few years now. And Mark here has been working the night shift. We've all seen and heard things that... well, it's hard to explain."
I nod, "So, what do you think happened to Sarah?" I ask, unable to keep the curiosity from my voice. "Do you think she's still alive?"
Tom shrugs. "No one really knows. Some people say she's still here, trapped in her room, unable to escape the horrors she witnessed."
I glance at Tom, noticing the haunted look in his eyes. "What about you? What do you think happened?"
He takes a deep breath before answering. "Sometimes, I see her in the shadows, just watching us. Other times, I think she's a ghost, trapped here with the rest of them. But, it's clear that something bad went down at the Motel. And it's not just in the past. It's still here, lurking in the darkness."
The rest of our conversation lasted as long as it took me to eat. I was exhausted and needed to sleep before I started writing, so I went back to the Motel at around 8:30pm and settled in bed.
I could have sworn I heard footsteps in the hallway outside my room. They were faint, barely audible over the sound of my own heartbeat.
I could sleep through it, telling myself it was a staff member doing their duties. I finally fell asleep until I heard this high-pitched, non-stop squeak, stuttering every few seconds. It wasn't loud, but just enough to wake me up. I look over at the clock; it reads 3:08am. I decide to open the door slowly, its creak intensifying the mysterious squeak.
Nothing, no one there. I walk slowly as the noise gets louder, but I cannot locate it. I thought it could be an old furnace that they never replaced, but the air in the hallway was so cold. Deciding to believe my furnace assumption, I headed back to my room, but on my way, I could have sworn I had heard someone whispering. When I moved closer, it sounded like it was coming from the walls, just like the town folks said.
As I close the door and crawl back into bed, the whispering grows louder, like it's outside my door. It's getting harder to ignore; the whispers are saying something. I lie there, paralyzed with fear, until finally, the whispering fades away into the distance.
The next day, I push the strange occurrences out of my mind and focus on my work. I spent most of the day researching the Motel's history. As the day drags on, I can't shake the feeling that I'm being watched, that the Motel is alive with a malevolent energy that's intent on driving me mad.
Around dinnertime, I take a break from my research and venture into town. I'm hoping to find someone who might have some insight into what really happened to Sarah. As I walk along the empty street, the air is thick with anticipation, as if the town is holding its breath and waiting for something terrible to happen.
I stop at the diner and take a seat at the counter. The waitress, not the same as last night, an older woman with kind eyes and a knowing smile, sets a menu in front of me. I notice the prices are shockingly low. When I ask her about it, she just says, "Around here, we take care of our own."
I order a burger and a soda, hoping to gather enough courage to ask questions. When the food arrived, I couldn't help but notice that it was some of the best diner food I'd ever had. The waitress must be using some family recipes. As I eat, I discuss with an elderly man sitting at the end of the counter. His name is Hank, and he's lived in the town all his life.
"You're new around here?" he asks. When I confirm his suspicion, he leans close, lowering his voice. "You should be careful about asking too many questions. This town has a long memory, and we don't take kindly to outsiders who pry into our business."
His words chill me, but I can't help but press on. "I'm just trying to find out what happened to Sarah," I say, my voice barely audible.
Hank eyes me before leaning back in his chair. "Well, you've got to understand," he begins, "Sarah was...different. She wasn't like the rest of us. She didn't belong here."
I'm taken aback by his words, but I nod, encouraging him to continue. "But she was still a person, right? She deserved better than whatever happened to her."
Hank glances around the diner, lowering his voice even further. "You're right, she did. But you see, there was...an incident. Something that changed everything. Something that made people start talking, whispering." He hesitates momentarily, then leans in closer. "You see, there was a time when the Motel was different. It was...alive, in a way. People would come from miles around just to see it, just to see its magnificent décor and lively air." Hank sighed heavily as if the story's weight was too much for him to bear. "Back then, the Motel had another owner, a middle-aged man named Jeremiah. He was different, too. He was married to Sarah.
He pauses, looking haunted by the memory. "There was a fire at the Motel. No one knows how it started, but it spread quickly. Sarah and Jerimiah had four boys; two of the oldest sons died in the fire along with their father."
I let out a gasp, unable to believe the horror of the story. "But what happened to Sarah?" I ask, feeling a deep sense of dread creeping up on me.
"She went crazy and locked herself away in the Motel after they restored it. She would go on about how she freed those poor spirits. The now oldest son took over the Motel." he says.
"Did authorities not suspect Sarah?" I ask.
"Oh, they did. They brought her in for questioning, but they were never able to get anything other than her crazy ramblings. They never found enough evidence to prosecute anyone, so it was deemed an accident." He says.
I'm stunned, "So, she's still there?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
Hank laughs, "That's what people around here say, but that was forty-something years ago, and if I'm to guess by her looks, Sarah was in her mid-forties. That would mean she would be almost eighty, and I don't reckon she could stay alive that long without leaving her room."
"But...if she really did set the fire and hurt those people..." I trail off.
Hank shrugs. "Like I said, no one knows for sure what happened. And after all this time, it's probably best left that way." He glances at his watch, signaling that the conversation is over.
I nod, feeling a mixture of disbelief and horror coursing through me. Something about Sarah's story refuses to let me go. I thank Hank for his time and pay for my lunch, leaving the diner.
As I walk back to the Motel, I can't help but wonder; was Sarah genuinely insane or just trying to protect something? With its faded grandeur and haunted past, the Motel holds a strange allure for me now. It's as if I can feel the weight of its history pressing down on my shoulders, demanding that I uncover the truth.
I get to my room and spend the rest of the day exploring the motel grounds. The air is thick with the scent of old wood and damp earth and the sound of leaves rustling in the distance. I wander past open rooms with peeling paint and boarded-up windows.
I find a dusty photo album on a dresser in one of the abandoned rooms. Carefully opening the tattered cover, I discover a collection of faded photographs depicting the Motel in its heyday: couples dancing beneath twinkling chandeliers, laughing children running through the hall. There's even a picture of Sarah and Jeremiah smiling brightly for the camera.
I close the album, feeling a strange mixture of nostalgia and sadness. As I turn to leave, I notice a bookshelf in the hallway. Most books are dog-eared romance novels, but one title catches my eye: "The Haunting of the Hotel Amity: A True Story." It seemed morbidly fitting for the scene, but I decided to move past it and head to the front desk to interview Edna.
The afternoon passes quickly as I spend time with Edna, listening to her stories of working at the Motel and meeting various guests. She speaks fondly of Sarah, insisting that she is a good woman who only wants to protect the place she loves. Edna also mentioned that she had heard stories from other employees about strange occurrences in the Motel. Still, she always brushed them off as superstitious nonsense.
"Have you never experienced anything like that?" I ask, "Any strange occurrences?"
Edna pauses, her expression thoughtful. "Well, there was one time when I was cleaning a room, and I swear I heard someone calling my name. I thought it was just the wind at first, but the voice sounded so real. It gave me a chill." She shudders, her eyes distant with memory.
I nod, unsure what to make of her story. Even the people who were closest to Sarah were left with more questions than answers. I head back to my room.
It was only 9pm, but I was tired, so I lay down and drifted asleep.
As I closed my eyes, I thought about Sarah and her story. I couldn't help but feel that there was something more to the Motel than what had been revealed. Something darker, more sinister. Perhaps the faded photos in the album or the eerie silence seemed to permeate the halls, but I couldn't shake the feeling that a story was yet to be told.
I drifted off to sleep, dreaming of the Motel and its secrets. In my dreams, I wandered through its empty halls. I could feel the weight of history pressing down on me. And in the distance, I thought I heard the faint strains of a melody, like a distant echo of a time long gone. Suddenly, in my dream, I needed to look at the book I had spotted earlier about the Amity Hotel. Something about it drew me in, and when I went to pick it up, I was awoken by the loud, stuttered squeak like the one from the night prior.
I look at the clock again: 3:04am.
The dream felt real, and the urge to investigate the book was almost overwhelming. I slip out of bed, padding quietly across the carpeted floor. The eerie silence of the Motel seems to press against my ears as I make my way to the bookshelf in the corner. There, nestled between a romance novel and a travel guide, is the worn copy of "The Haunting of the Hotel Amity: A True Story."
I pulled it down, but it only moved slightly, getting stuck when I tried pulling further. Finally, after yanking a bit, I felt it give a little more; it's frozen in place as if it was tipping. Suddenly, I hear an amalgamation of gears turning behind it, and the shelf opens slightly on one side. I pull on the released side, and it opens like a door, leading to a passageway between the walls.
I step inside, flicking on my phone's flashlight. The narrow passageway is dimly lit by flickering bulbs every few feet, casting eerie shadows on the walls. The air is musty and stale. I make my way down the passageway, the squeak louder the further I go. I can see a dark opening at the end, so I put on a brave face and walk toward it when I hear a voice from the dark opening. I could barely hear it over the loud squeak and couldn't understand what they were saying, but I knew I shouldn't be here anymore, so I sneaked out of the passage. I tried to close the door as slowly as possible, but the voices were approaching fast, so I left it ajar.
Rushing into bed, slowly closing the door as it creaked louder than I anticipated. Finally, I was in bed, mind racing with the possibilities of what was in that room at the end of the passageway.
The voices grew louder as they approached my room. I shut my eyelids tight.
They were right in front of my door; this time, I could faintly make out some words. There were words like "her" and "Has to be," and the one that made my heart race was "Only guest here."
The handle turned slowly, and the door creaked open. I loosened my eyelids to peak at who it was, revealing a shadowy figure in the doorway. It was Edna, but there was something different about her. Her usually kind face was twisted in anger, her eyes burning with an unnatural light. She glanced at me, for just a moment before she turned her attention back to the others in the hall.
"Leave her for now," Edna said. The other voices murmured in agreement, their whispers echoing down the hall. As they turned away, I felt a chill run down my spine. Finally, they leave.
I slowly get out of bed, and as quietly as possible, I pack my things. I planned to jump out of the window if I had to.
Suddenly, the squeak stopped, and the Motel was much too quiet again. The eerie silence of the Motel seems to press against my ears as I try to calm my racing thoughts. I close my eyes, but I can't help but feel a sense of dread creeping up on me.
Just as I'm about to fall asleep, I hear a faint click coming from the hallway. My heart starts pounding again as I realize someone is moving through the Motel, methodically checking each room. The clicking grows louder as the person gets closer, and I hear footsteps outside my door.
I lie there, paralyzed. The footsteps pause outside my door, and I hear a low whisper. "She's in here?" I freeze. "Yeah, she's in there, but Edna doesn't want us to disturb her until Tom says it's time." Tom? I thought to myself. The guy from the diner on my first night? The one that already knew my name before introducing myself?
"Man fuck Tom," One of the voices said, "Just being Jeremiah's son is the only reason we have to listen to that prick."
"Yeah, unless you want to end up in one of his films, you better listen to that prick." The other man proclaims. The two sets of footsteps walk away from my door.
Films? What the hell were they talking about?
Why did Edna seem so angry earlier? Why were these men talking about me in the hallway like I was a film project?
As the night wears on, I can't help but feel like I'm at the center of some sort of twisted game. I lie awake, listening to the occasional creak of a floorboard or whispered conversation down the hall. Eventually, exhaustion overtakes me, and I fall into a fitful sleep.
I first notice the light streaming through the window when I wake up. It's morning, and with it comes a sense of urgency. I quickly dress and gather my things, making my way to the diner. As I approach, I see Tom sitting at a booth, already deep in conversation with Mark. They glance up at me as I enter, and Tom motions for me to join them.
"Good morning, Sunshine," Tom says with a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Care to join us?"
I sit across from them, trying to ignore the feeling of unease that settles in my stomach. "Good morning," I manage to say.
"So, how are you finding our little motel?" Tom asks, leaning in closer. "I hope we're taking good care of you." There's an undertone to his voice that I can't quite place.
I force a smile, trying to appear more confident than I feel. "It's been fine, I guess."
Tom raises an eyebrow at my noncommittal response. "I hope you don't mean that as a complaint. We've gone to great lengths to ensure you have everything you need."
I glance at Mark sitting next to Tom. His expression is unreadable, and he seems to be observing me. "It's not that," I say quickly, hoping to reassure them. "I'm just... I'm not used to being around so little people." There, that sounds believable.
"Well, hopefully, you will settle in a little bit before you have to leave. See my brother Mark here," he gestures over to Mark, "he's in charge of maintenance, and if there's anything he can do to help you feel more comfortable, let him know!" Tom says with a forced smile.
I nod, still feeling uneasy. "Thank you, I'm sure I'll be fine." I glance around the diner, trying to appear calm and collected. The place is filled with small wooden tables and booths, each covered in a checkered red-and-white tablecloth. The walls are adorned with old movie posters and black-and-white photographs of people I assume are famous actors. The air is thick with the scent of coffee and bacon, making my stomach rumble.
"So, what's on the menu today?" I ask, hoping to change the subject. Tom hands me a menu, and I scan the options, debating between pancakes and eggs. "I'll have the pancakes, please." I look up at Tom, then Mark, waiting for their response.
"Excellent choice!" Tom says with a smile. "I'm sure you'll enjoy them. Mark, will you go ahead and get our order?" Mark nods and stands, making his way over to the waitress. I watch him go, still feeling a sense of unease. The air between Tom and me has become heavy, and I can't help but wonder what they want from me.
As I wait for our food, I glance around the diner again, hoping to find some escape route. The exit is right behind me, but a large man is sitting in a booth by the door, looking like he might be a bouncer at a bar. I don't want to make a scene, but I must leave.
The waitress returns with our food, setting down plates of steaming hot pancakes in front of us. The aroma is intoxicating, and my stomach grumbles in anticipation. I pick up my fork, debating whether or not to eat anything at all. Tom glances at my plate and smiles reassuringly as if he can read my mind.
A few bites in, I realize my anxiety won't let me eat anymore. I tried to find an excuse to leave and investigate the Motel further.
"I'm sorry, Tom. I feel like I need some fresh air," I say, smiling. "I'm going to step outside for a bit. Maybe go for a walk." I say, hoping he doesn't hear my voice shake.
Tom nods understandingly. "Of course, Riley. Take your time. We'll be right here if you need anything." He reaches across the table and gently pats my hand, his expression softening.
I push my chair back and stand up, trying to appear calm and confident as I walk towards the exit. As I pass by the large man in the booth, he gives me a quick once-over before returning to his meal. The air outside is cool and crisp, and I take a deep breath of fresh air. The Motel is just across the street, and I can see Tom and Mark sitting in the diner, watching me.
I stroll down the sidewalk, pretending to look at the shops along the way. But really, my attention is focused on the Motel. The neon sign flickers above the door, casting an eerie glow on the building. The rooms are arranged in a U-shape around a central courtyard.
I pause for a moment, debating whether or not to go inside. A part of me wants to know what Tom and Mark are up to, but another part is terrified of what I might find. Before I can decide, a car pulls beside me, and a woman rolls down her window.
"Hey, honey, need a ride somewhere?" she asks, her voice laced with a Southern drawl. She's probably around my mom's age, with long, curly, graying hair and a warm smile. Something about her seems genuine, and I trust her for a moment.
"Uh, no thanks, I'm feeling sick, so I'm going back to my room," I said before quickly walking away. It felt like the entire town was watching me.
I make my way back to the Motel, my heart racing. I try to calm my nerves as I approach my room. As soon as I unlock the door, I collapse onto the bed, feeling a mixture of exhaustion and fear wash over me. I close my eyes and try to think about anything else, but I can't shake the feeling of anxiety.
Now is an excellent time to look further into the dark opening at the end of the passageway I found last night. I carefully walk down the hallway, feeling the cool air from the vent blowing against my face. The walls are covered in peeling wallpaper, and a strong, musty odor makes me feel uneasy. As I approach the bookshelf, I attempt to reach for the Amity Hotel book, but when I pull it, nothing happens. I didn't dream that whole thing, did I? No, they must've changed the book, so I go through each individual book, pulling each one carefully.
"Can I help you find anything in particular?" Edna said with a bit of contempt as she snuck up behind me.
I spun around, startled. "Oh, uh, no. Just, um... looking for a book I thought I saw."
Edna raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "Well, you're not going to find it here," she said, gesturing to the bookshelf. "Those books are just for show." She paused, studying me for a moment. "Why were you looking for, anyway?"
"It was something about A Hotel in Amity. Considering where I am, I thought it would be a good read." I reply, still trying to play it cool.
Edna chuckles darkly. "Oh, that's Tom and Mark's favorite. One of them probably took it with them."
"Oh, okay. I'll look for something else then." I say, glancing back at the bookshelf. Edna watches me for a moment before disappearing back into her room. I stand there momentarily before continuing to search for the book lever that opens the bookshelf, trying to be as quiet as possible.
Finally, one book will only pull out some of the way. It had to be another lever, but remembering how loud the hidden door was, I decided to wait to pull it, when I hear the loud squeak tonight, hoping it would mask most of the sound of the gears turning behind the door.
Late that night, I creep out of my room and return to the bookshelf. The air is thick with the smell of stale cigarette smoke. I carefully yanked the book out as far as it could go before I could hear the gears. I'm confident the squeak is loud enough to mask the bookshelf. I opened it and slid into the passageway leading to the dark opening.
I step inside, and the squeak is almost too much, but I press on. I hear multiple men talking loudly and laughing as I enter the room. As I turn the corner, I can see lights dancing on the wall like someone was watching an old movie, and the smell of cigar smoke fills my lungs. Quietly moving further in, I can see a giant old movie projector that was making the stuttered squeak from its giant bent and dented film rolls scraping against the side of the projector.
I look to see what is playing on the screen, but I'm distracted by about eight men, mostly old except Tom, Mark, and another younger-looking man. They don't see me, or they don't care enough to acknowledge me.
They were sitting in a makeshift movie theater, but none of the fun.
Finally, I looked up at the screen and felt sick. They were showing a homemade old snuff film. Then I realized it couldn't be that old since I recognized Tom and Mark. They were doing unspeakable things with women of all ages.
I look down at the group of men and see them all staring at me with a menacingly evil grin. I froze in immense fear.
Staring at them for an eternity, I suddenly felt a sting in my neck, like someone had injected me with something. As my vision darkened, I could see the face of the man holding me with one hand and a syringe in the other. It was the bouncer-looking man I had seen in the diner.
When I wake up, my head is pounding. The room is spinning, and my vision is blurry. I can see little memory flashes of the group picking me up and moving me to the room next to the makeshift theater. My clothes are gone, and I'm naked except for a loose robe. There's a sour taste in my mouth, and my body feels heavy and sour. I'm tied to a mattress that smells like sweat and fear. I struggle against my bonds, but they're too tight.
I see an antique film camera on an even older tripod. There were huge lights all around me that were turned off. Suddenly, they were blinding me as I heard the men laughing.
"Oh, Walter Cronkite, what will we do with you?" I recognize Tom's voice, "You were THIS close! A shame, but I can't say I'm surprised. You have a lot of fight, and we LOVE that." The men laugh way too hard.
The camera is pointed at me; it's old and dusty but still working. I close my eyes and try to steel my nerves, but I can't help but feel sick. The memory of the snuff film plays over and over in my head, and I can't shake the feeling that I'm about to be a part of it.
"Now, now, Tom," I hear Mark say, his voice steady and calm. "No need for that. We've got plans for Anderson Cooper here." The other men chuckle menacingly. "She's going to be a star."
As Tom approaches me, I hear most men leave the room, and Mark sets up behind the camera.
"You want to know the full story, Hunter S. Thompson? I think you deserve to know at this point." Tom says as he undoes his belt, "Well, let me fill in some blanks for you," he sits next to me on the floor after taking off his shirt, "You see, my father, Jeremiah had a great business going here, and I'm not talking about the Motel. He would lure women to stay here, where he would drug them and film himself having his way with them while someone filmed through the two-way mirror. It was a great business, those films. Rich people from all around the world would buy them. Plus, most women never even knew what happened by the time they checked out, but the ones who gave us trouble had to be dealt with. Eventually, my mom, Sarah, got a little too nosey. She kept asking about how my father could make so much money while running a Motel, so she snooped into his things and found some evidence that would crumble our entire family. She confided her findings to her two oldest sons, but when she realized they were in on it too, she went crazy. We tried to keep her quiet, but she wouldn't let it go. Finally, one day, she couldn't take the guilt, and the madwoman opened every unlocked room; she would set anything flammable on fire. Eventually, the fire got out of control and started to spread. The fire killed my brother and father, along with a lot more of the women my mom was trying to save. We finally stopped it, and, being about 20 at the time, I already knew what was going on and was more than ready to take it over with some improvements." He stops for a second, reminiscing on memories.
He touches my face softly with the back of his hand. It's a rough hand that feels like sandpaper scraping my cheek.
"I was going to leave my mother alive, but when she kept talking about 'Saving victim's spirits,' she was making me nervous. I was close with my mother as a kid, so I didn't have the heart to kill her myself, but Mark here," he gestured toward Mark behind the camera, "He's a cold, hard killer." He stares at Mark for a long time. "We couldn't do it out in the open like my father and brothers did, so I had them build passages into the walls of the hallways, opened by various bookshelves. And added a whole hidden room at the end. Doing it during the restoration, it was a perfect cover. We still use all the equipment my father used, as you can see," He gestures to the antique camera that was now filming them. It's a bitch to find someone willing to develop the film, let alone someone who won't ask questions, but I had to keep it this way to honor my Father and Brother's legacy."
He pauses, leaning close to me, his breath hot on my ear. "And now, it's your turn. You're going to be the next big star. You're going to have your own room," He gestures around the damp, death-filled room, "your own things. You'll be taken care of and never have to leave. You'll be part of the family." His hand runs through my hair, cupping the back of my head. "And Mark, don't forget to get some shots of my good side."
"Oh, I won't," Mark says with a chuckle. He walks around me, positioning himself so the camera can point straight at my face.
I try to shrug off the chills that run down my spine as I think about the stories Tom has just told me, and all I see is a lost man looking for something to hold onto.
Tom gets on top of me and starts kissing my neck, and I feel like throwing up. I can feel the ropes on the left hand are loose, so I take a minute to wiggle it out without letting anyone in the room notice. Once I got that hand free, I could get the other free, but I wasn't ready to fight back; I needed to wait for the right time.
Suddenly, the camera audibly stops recording, and Tom notices and looks back at Mark.
"What the hell is going on?" Tom asks angrily.
"The film got stuck, shit! I'm going to have to get a whole new one. Hold on one second." Mark says as he turns his back to exit the room.
Tom gets up, and I finally feel like I can breathe properly. His back is turned, inspecting the camera.
"Old fucking thing," Tom says to himself.
I take the opportunity to untie both ankles. As soon as I'm free, I lunge forward, wrapping my arms around Tom's waist and pulling him off-balance. He lets out a surprised yelp as we both crash to the ground. I scramble to my feet and take a few steps back, breathing hard. Tom glares at me, looking furious.
"You little bitch!" he shouts. "You think you can just take it from me? From my family?" He scrambles to his feet as well, advancing on me slowly. "I could kill you where you stand!"
I back away, my heart pounding in my chest. "I'm not going to let you do this," I say, trying to sound more confident than I feel. "I'm not going to be another victim."
Tom laughs darkly, his eyes narrowing. "Oh, you think you're so special? You think you're the first one to say no?" He steps closer, "You're just like all the others. You're just another piece of meat."
My anger boils over, and I launch myself at him again. We wrestle for a moment, both of us grunting with exertion. He's stronger than me, but I push him against the bookshelf, where he loses his balance, and his head falls onto the corner of a dirt-stained counter. I walk slowly toward him, and I can see a pool of blood forming around his matted blonde hair. He's not breathing.
Mark, who must've heard the commotion, runs in just then. He freezes while looking down at his brother. "No, no, no, no! Tom! You can't do this to me! I can't do this shit alone!" Mark is sobbing while holding his brother's blood-soaked head.
I saw my opportunity and took it. I try to run past Mark, but he catches me by the ankle, making me drop to the floor. "You're not leaving!" he shouts, his voice hoarse with rage. He pulls a knife from his pocket, his hands trembling with fury. "You'll tell everyone you're sorry and then come with me."
I kick him in the face as hard as I can, making him release his grip on my ankle. He clutches his nose, blood pouring between his fingers. I turn and run, hearing him screaming obscenities behind me. I bolt out of the room, racing through the building while luckily not alerting anyone, not knowing where I'm going. I have to get out of here.
Outside, the air is cold and damp, the fog rolling off the ocean. I'm disoriented, my heart pounding in my chest. I am still determining where I am, but I know I must find help. I start running, my lungs burning with each ragged breath.
I come to a main road, a car's headlights blinding me as it speeds past. I wave my arms frantically, but the driver doesn't notice. Panic starts to rise up inside me as I realize that I'm alone and that no one knows what happened. I can't go back there, not after what I've done.
I start to walk, trying to figure out where I'm going. My feet are cold and numb, but I keep moving. The fog thickens, making it hard to see more than a few feet in front of me. I wish I had a cell phone to call the police and get help.
After what feels like hours of walking, I finally spot a streetlight. It's barely enough light to see by, but it's better than nothing. I walk towards it, hoping there might be a nearby house or business where I can find help. As I get closer, I see a police officer at a red light. I run to him, probably looking like a crazy crackhead with only a robe, and I'm sure I smell like death. The officer looks at me with a mixture of surprise and concern.
"Help me," I gasp out between breaths. "These people, they, they, they," I find myself unable to talk or see the words for what has happened. The officer takes my arm, his grip firm but not painful. He looks at me with concern, his brow furrowed.
"Take it easy. You're safe now. What's your name?" I tell him my name, feeling the fog of shock starting to lift from my brain. "Okay, why don't you tell me what happened?" I spend the next hour or so trying to explain everything to him, not caring how crazy I sound.
He listens intently, occasionally asking questions or nodding his head. When I finish, he sighs heavily, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. "Okay, I need you to come to the station with me. We'll get this all sorted out." We take off in his cruiser.
I spent the night at the police station, retelling my story to a half dozen people and getting medical care. The officer who saved me last night told me they sent someone this morning to the Motel to check it out. He said that night, no one except Edna was in the building. She let them look around, and eventually, they found the hidden passages in the walls leading to the basement where they found everything. They arrested Edna, and she denied involvement, but they kept her for further questioning. They claim Edna was the only one there, so Mark must've gotten away.
That was a little over a decade ago, and they still haven't located Mark. Maybe he's dead in a ditch where he belongs. Still, maybe, just perhaps, he could recreate their operation at a new Motel.
Any time I see one, I have PTSD flashbacks of laying on that dirty mattress. Once, I was shopping at a department store and saw this guy on every lane I went down. He never looked at me enough to get a good look at his face, but eventually, he left after I locked myself in the bathroom for an hour.
It's funny how the mind works. I'll be watching a movie, and I'll see a character get kidnapped, and I'll think, "At least they didn't cut my ear off like that guy did."

The first thing that hits me when I step out of the car is the overwhelming silence. Hollow Creek is a small town nestled in the middle of nowhere, with its dwindling population and a sense of desolation hanging in the air. It's different from the kind of place you'd expect to find much work as a freelance journalist. Still, with bills to pay and a need for a change of scenery, I decided to take a chance on this mysterious letter. It said the Whispering Pines Motel is promising a story unlike any other. Now, as I approach the front desk, I can't help but wonder if it was all just a cruel joke.
The receptionist, an elderly woman with a knowing smile, greets me with a forced warmth. Her name is Edna, and she tells me that I'll be staying in room 12, just down the hall. As I walk past the reception area, I can't help but notice the framed newspaper clippings on the walls: headlines like "Whispering Pines: A Haven for the Restless" and "Mysterious Noises Plague the Night." Stories of guests leaving in the middle of the night for unknown reasons.
My room is dimly lit, with a musty odor that reminds me of old books. The furniture looks like it's been here since The Motel was built, and the bedspread is threadbare. A small window by the bed is covered by a thin curtain that billows in the night breeze.
The Motel is on the main road, and the town's only restaurant is just a few doors down and across the street. Walking through the empty street, I notice that most buildings are boarded up or appear abandoned. The only light source comes from the diner's flickering neon sign, casting eerie shadows across the pavement.
I approach the diner and step inside. The atmosphere inside is comforting, almost cozy, with the smell of coffee and bacon filling the air. The waitress, a young woman named Lily, greets me with a warm smile and offers to take my order. I play it cool and order coffee, hoping to start a conversation.
I can't help but overhear snippets of conversations at nearby tables. One man, who looks like he's in his early twenties, is telling a story about a woman he met at the Motel with a haunting past and secrets she's willing to kill to keep. Intrigued, I walk over to them and introduce myself.
"You must be Riley," the man says, nodding in my direction. "I'm Tom, and this is my brother, Mark."
Mark glances up from his coffee, a cautious expression on his face. "Yeah, we heard you were new in town. Lily told us you're a journalist."
"That's right," I reply, sitting opposite them. "I got a letter from one of the Motel's former guests, offering me a story. Something about restless spirits and strange occurrences. I was hoping you could fill me in."
Tom leans in closer, "It's true, Riley. This town has a dark secret. You see there was a fire at the Whispering Pines. It started in one of the rooms, and half the building was destroyed when they put it out. People died in that fire, and their spirits haven't been able to find peace. They say you can hear them whispering in the halls at night."
I can't help but wonder if there's any truth to the story. Lily arrives with my coffee. I thank her and take a sip, savoring the warmth it brings to my hands.
"So, what do you think?" Tom asks, watching me intently. "You believe us?"
"It's an interesting story. But I'd like to see some proof before I write about it. Anything you can show me?"
Tom and Mark exchange glances, then Tom reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small, worn photo album. He slides it across the table to me, and I open it up. Inside are grainy photographs of the Motel, taken years ago. Pictures of the fire, rescue workers trying to contain the flames, and a group of people standing outside the Motel.
"These were taken just after the fire," Tom explains. "The woman in the photo was the Motel's owner's wife. Her name was Sarah. After the fire, she went crazy and talked about voices in the walls, freed spirits, and missing guests. A lot of people think she started the fire, trying to rid the place of the spirits."
I glance back at the photos, taking in the haunted expression on Sarah's face. Whatever she experienced during those dark days left a mark on her.
Lily arrives with food, setting a plate of eggs and bacon in front of me. "Here you go, Riley. Enjoy!" She says with a warm smile.
"Oh, sorry, I actually didn't order anything except coffee. Also, how do you know my name?" I ask, feeling a bit unnerved.
"Well, Riley, you see..." Tom begins, leaning back in his chair. "Sarah isn't the only one affected by the fire. The spirits reach out to certain people and make them see things. And sometimes, they share information. You must have something special about you that they recognized."
I glance around the diner, feeling a shiver run down my spine. The other patrons seem oblivious to our conversation, lost in their thoughts and newspapers.
"So, what else can you tell me about Sarah?" I ask, changing the subject.
Tom shakes his head. "No one could ever prove anything. The fire destroyed most of the evidence, and Sarah... well, she wasn't much help. She spent most of her time ranting about the spirits. But there were always rumors. Some people said she had help starting the fire; others said she was unstable and looking for a way out. As for the guests who went missing... well, no one ever found any bodies. There were whispers that the spirits had taken them, too."
He pauses, taking a sip of coffee, and I can see the pain in his eyes. "We all thought it was just a tragic accident at first. But over time, things started changing. We'd hear footsteps in the hallway, doors slamming shut on their own. It got so bad that some of us started avoiding the Motel at night."
"Do you guys work at the Motel?" I ask, trying to sound casual. "You seem to know a lot about what happened."
"Well, yeah, I've been here for a few years now. And Mark here has been working the night shift. We've all seen and heard things that... well, it's hard to explain."
I nod, "So, what do you think happened to Sarah?" I ask, unable to keep the curiosity from my voice. "Do you think she's still alive?"
Tom shrugs. "No one really knows. Some people say she's still here, trapped in her room, unable to escape the horrors she witnessed."
I glance at Tom, noticing the haunted look in his eyes. "What about you? What do you think happened?"
He takes a deep breath before answering. "Sometimes, I see her in the shadows, just watching us. Other times, I think she's a ghost, trapped here with the rest of them. But, it's clear that something bad went down at the Motel. And it's not just in the past. It's still here, lurking in the darkness."
The rest of our conversation lasted as long as it took me to eat. I was exhausted and needed to sleep before I started writing, so I went back to the Motel at around 8:30pm and settled in bed.
I could have sworn I heard footsteps in the hallway outside my room. They were faint, barely audible over the sound of my own heartbeat.
I could sleep through it, telling myself it was a staff member doing their duties. I finally fell asleep until I heard this high-pitched, non-stop squeak, stuttering every few seconds. It wasn't loud, but just enough to wake me up. I look over at the clock; it reads 3:08am. I decide to open the door slowly, its creak intensifying the mysterious squeak.
Nothing, no one there. I walk slowly as the noise gets louder, but I cannot locate it. I thought it could be an old furnace that they never replaced, but the air in the hallway was so cold. Deciding to believe my furnace assumption, I headed back to my room, but on my way, I could have sworn I had heard someone whispering. When I moved closer, it sounded like it was coming from the walls, just like the town folks said.
As I close the door and crawl back into bed, the whispering grows louder, like it's outside my door. It's getting harder to ignore; the whispers are saying something. I lie there, paralyzed with fear, until finally, the whispering fades away into the distance.
The next day, I push the strange occurrences out of my mind and focus on my work. I spent most of the day researching the Motel's history. As the day drags on, I can't shake the feeling that I'm being watched, that the Motel is alive with a malevolent energy that's intent on driving me mad.
Around dinnertime, I take a break from my research and venture into town. I'm hoping to find someone who might have some insight into what really happened to Sarah. As I walk along the empty street, the air is thick with anticipation, as if the town is holding its breath and waiting for something terrible to happen.
I stop at the diner and take a seat at the counter. The waitress, not the same as last night, an older woman with kind eyes and a knowing smile, sets a menu in front of me. I notice the prices are shockingly low. When I ask her about it, she just says, "Around here, we take care of our own."
I order a burger and a soda, hoping to gather enough courage to ask questions. When the food arrived, I couldn't help but notice that it was some of the best diner food I'd ever had. The waitress must be using some family recipes. As I eat, I discuss with an elderly man sitting at the end of the counter. His name is Hank, and he's lived in the town all his life.
"You're new around here?" he asks. When I confirm his suspicion, he leans close, lowering his voice. "You should be careful about asking too many questions. This town has a long memory, and we don't take kindly to outsiders who pry into our business."
His words chill me, but I can't help but press on. "I'm just trying to find out what happened to Sarah," I say, my voice barely audible.
Hank eyes me before leaning back in his chair. "Well, you've got to understand," he begins, "Sarah was...different. She wasn't like the rest of us. She didn't belong here."
I'm taken aback by his words, but I nod, encouraging him to continue. "But she was still a person, right? She deserved better than whatever happened to her."
Hank glances around the diner, lowering his voice even further. "You're right, she did. But you see, there was...an incident. Something that changed everything. Something that made people start talking, whispering." He hesitates momentarily, then leans in closer. "You see, there was a time when the Motel was different. It was...alive, in a way. People would come from miles around just to see it, just to see its magnificent décor and lively air." Hank sighed heavily as if the story's weight was too much for him to bear. "Back then, the Motel had another owner, a middle-aged man named Jeremiah. He was different, too. He was married to Sarah.
He pauses, looking haunted by the memory. "There was a fire at the Motel. No one knows how it started, but it spread quickly. Sarah and Jerimiah had four boys; two of the oldest sons died in the fire along with their father."
I let out a gasp, unable to believe the horror of the story. "But what happened to Sarah?" I ask, feeling a deep sense of dread creeping up on me.
"She went crazy and locked herself away in the Motel after they restored it. She would go on about how she freed those poor spirits. The now oldest son took over the Motel." he says.
"Did authorities not suspect Sarah?" I ask.
"Oh, they did. They brought her in for questioning, but they were never able to get anything other than her crazy ramblings. They never found enough evidence to prosecute anyone, so it was deemed an accident." He says.
I'm stunned, "So, she's still there?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
Hank laughs, "That's what people around here say, but that was forty-something years ago, and if I'm to guess by her looks, Sarah was in her mid-forties. That would mean she would be almost eighty, and I don't reckon she could stay alive that long without leaving her room."
"But...if she really did set the fire and hurt those people..." I trail off.
Hank shrugs. "Like I said, no one knows for sure what happened. And after all this time, it's probably best left that way." He glances at his watch, signaling that the conversation is over.
I nod, feeling a mixture of disbelief and horror coursing through me. Something about Sarah's story refuses to let me go. I thank Hank for his time and pay for my lunch, leaving the diner.
As I walk back to the Motel, I can't help but wonder; was Sarah genuinely insane or just trying to protect something? With its faded grandeur and haunted past, the Motel holds a strange allure for me now. It's as if I can feel the weight of its history pressing down on my shoulders, demanding that I uncover the truth.
I get to my room and spend the rest of the day exploring the motel grounds. The air is thick with the scent of old wood and damp earth and the sound of leaves rustling in the distance. I wander past open rooms with peeling paint and boarded-up windows.
I find a dusty photo album on a dresser in one of the abandoned rooms. Carefully opening the tattered cover, I discover a collection of faded photographs depicting the Motel in its heyday: couples dancing beneath twinkling chandeliers, laughing children running through the hall. There's even a picture of Sarah and Jeremiah smiling brightly for the camera.
I close the album, feeling a strange mixture of nostalgia and sadness. As I turn to leave, I notice a bookshelf in the hallway. Most books are dog-eared romance novels, but one title catches my eye: "The Haunting of the Hotel Amity: A True Story." It seemed morbidly fitting for the scene, but I decided to move past it and head to the front desk to interview Edna.
The afternoon passes quickly as I spend time with Edna, listening to her stories of working at the Motel and meeting various guests. She speaks fondly of Sarah, insisting that she is a good woman who only wants to protect the place she loves. Edna also mentioned that she had heard stories from other employees about strange occurrences in the Motel. Still, she always brushed them off as superstitious nonsense.
"Have you never experienced anything like that?" I ask, "Any strange occurrences?"
Edna pauses, her expression thoughtful. "Well, there was one time when I was cleaning a room, and I swear I heard someone calling my name. I thought it was just the wind at first, but the voice sounded so real. It gave me a chill." She shudders, her eyes distant with memory.
I nod, unsure what to make of her story. Even the people who were closest to Sarah were left with more questions than answers. I head back to my room.
It was only 9pm, but I was tired, so I lay down and drifted asleep.
As I closed my eyes, I thought about Sarah and her story. I couldn't help but feel that there was something more to the Motel than what had been revealed. Something darker, more sinister. Perhaps the faded photos in the album or the eerie silence seemed to permeate the halls, but I couldn't shake the feeling that a story was yet to be told.
I drifted off to sleep, dreaming of the Motel and its secrets. In my dreams, I wandered through its empty halls. I could feel the weight of history pressing down on me. And in the distance, I thought I heard the faint strains of a melody, like a distant echo of a time long gone. Suddenly, in my dream, I needed to look at the book I had spotted earlier about the Amity Hotel. Something about it drew me in, and when I went to pick it up, I was awoken by the loud, stuttered squeak like the one from the night prior.
I look at the clock again: 3:04am.
The dream felt real, and the urge to investigate the book was almost overwhelming. I slip out of bed, padding quietly across the carpeted floor. The eerie silence of the Motel seems to press against my ears as I make my way to the bookshelf in the corner. There, nestled between a romance novel and a travel guide, is the worn copy of "The Haunting of the Hotel Amity: A True Story."
I pulled it down, but it only moved slightly, getting stuck when I tried pulling further. Finally, after yanking a bit, I felt it give a little more; it's frozen in place as if it was tipping. Suddenly, I hear an amalgamation of gears turning behind it, and the shelf opens slightly on one side. I pull on the released side, and it opens like a door, leading to a passageway between the walls.
I step inside, flicking on my phone's flashlight. The narrow passageway is dimly lit by flickering bulbs every few feet, casting eerie shadows on the walls. The air is musty and stale. I make my way down the passageway, the squeak louder the further I go. I can see a dark opening at the end, so I put on a brave face and walk toward it when I hear a voice from the dark opening. I could barely hear it over the loud squeak and couldn't understand what they were saying, but I knew I shouldn't be here anymore, so I sneaked out of the passage. I tried to close the door as slowly as possible, but the voices were approaching fast, so I left it ajar.
Rushing into bed, slowly closing the door as it creaked louder than I anticipated. Finally, I was in bed, mind racing with the possibilities of what was in that room at the end of the passageway.
The voices grew louder as they approached my room. I shut my eyelids tight.
They were right in front of my door; this time, I could faintly make out some words. There were words like "her" and "Has to be," and the one that made my heart race was "Only guest here."
The handle turned slowly, and the door creaked open. I loosened my eyelids to peak at who it was, revealing a shadowy figure in the doorway. It was Edna, but there was something different about her. Her usually kind face was twisted in anger, her eyes burning with an unnatural light. She glanced at me, for just a moment before she turned her attention back to the others in the hall.
"Leave her for now," Edna said. The other voices murmured in agreement, their whispers echoing down the hall. As they turned away, I felt a chill run down my spine. Finally, they leave.
I slowly get out of bed, and as quietly as possible, I pack my things. I planned to jump out of the window if I had to.
Suddenly, the squeak stopped, and the Motel was much too quiet again. The eerie silence of the Motel seems to press against my ears as I try to calm my racing thoughts. I close my eyes, but I can't help but feel a sense of dread creeping up on me.
Just as I'm about to fall asleep, I hear a faint click coming from the hallway. My heart starts pounding again as I realize someone is moving through the Motel, methodically checking each room. The clicking grows louder as the person gets closer, and I hear footsteps outside my door.
I lie there, paralyzed. The footsteps pause outside my door, and I hear a low whisper. "She's in here?" I freeze. "Yeah, she's in there, but Edna doesn't want us to disturb her until Tom says it's time." Tom? I thought to myself. The guy from the diner on my first night? The one that already knew my name before introducing myself?
"Man fuck Tom," One of the voices said, "Just being Jeremiah's son is the only reason we have to listen to that prick."
"Yeah, unless you want to end up in one of his films, you better listen to that prick." The other man proclaims. The two sets of footsteps walk away from my door.
Films? What the hell were they talking about?
Why did Edna seem so angry earlier? Why were these men talking about me in the hallway like I was a film project?
As the night wears on, I can't help but feel like I'm at the center of some sort of twisted game. I lie awake, listening to the occasional creak of a floorboard or whispered conversation down the hall. Eventually, exhaustion overtakes me, and I fall into a fitful sleep.
I first notice the light streaming through the window when I wake up. It's morning, and with it comes a sense of urgency. I quickly dress and gather my things, making my way to the diner. As I approach, I see Tom sitting at a booth, already deep in conversation with Mark. They glance up at me as I enter, and Tom motions for me to join them.
"Good morning, Sunshine," Tom says with a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Care to join us?"
I sit across from them, trying to ignore the feeling of unease that settles in my stomach. "Good morning," I manage to say.
"So, how are you finding our little motel?" Tom asks, leaning in closer. "I hope we're taking good care of you." There's an undertone to his voice that I can't quite place.
I force a smile, trying to appear more confident than I feel. "It's been fine, I guess."
Tom raises an eyebrow at my noncommittal response. "I hope you don't mean that as a complaint. We've gone to great lengths to ensure you have everything you need."
I glance at Mark sitting next to Tom. His expression is unreadable, and he seems to be observing me. "It's not that," I say quickly, hoping to reassure them. "I'm just... I'm not used to being around so little people." There, that sounds believable.
"Well, hopefully, you will settle in a little bit before you have to leave. See my brother Mark here," he gestures over to Mark, "he's in charge of maintenance, and if there's anything he can do to help you feel more comfortable, let him know!" Tom says with a forced smile.
I nod, still feeling uneasy. "Thank you, I'm sure I'll be fine." I glance around the diner, trying to appear calm and collected. The place is filled with small wooden tables and booths, each covered in a checkered red-and-white tablecloth. The walls are adorned with old movie posters and black-and-white photographs of people I assume are famous actors. The air is thick with the scent of coffee and bacon, making my stomach rumble.
"So, what's on the menu today?" I ask, hoping to change the subject. Tom hands me a menu, and I scan the options, debating between pancakes and eggs. "I'll have the pancakes, please." I look up at Tom, then Mark, waiting for their response.
"Excellent choice!" Tom says with a smile. "I'm sure you'll enjoy them. Mark, will you go ahead and get our order?" Mark nods and stands, making his way over to the waitress. I watch him go, still feeling a sense of unease. The air between Tom and me has become heavy, and I can't help but wonder what they want from me.
As I wait for our food, I glance around the diner again, hoping to find some escape route. The exit is right behind me, but a large man is sitting in a booth by the door, looking like he might be a bouncer at a bar. I don't want to make a scene, but I must leave.
The waitress returns with our food, setting down plates of steaming hot pancakes in front of us. The aroma is intoxicating, and my stomach grumbles in anticipation. I pick up my fork, debating whether or not to eat anything at all. Tom glances at my plate and smiles reassuringly as if he can read my mind.
A few bites in, I realize my anxiety won't let me eat anymore. I tried to find an excuse to leave and investigate the Motel further.
"I'm sorry, Tom. I feel like I need some fresh air," I say, smiling. "I'm going to step outside for a bit. Maybe go for a walk." I say, hoping he doesn't hear my voice shake.
Tom nods understandingly. "Of course, Riley. Take your time. We'll be right here if you need anything." He reaches across the table and gently pats my hand, his expression softening.
I push my chair back and stand up, trying to appear calm and confident as I walk towards the exit. As I pass by the large man in the booth, he gives me a quick once-over before returning to his meal. The air outside is cool and crisp, and I take a deep breath of fresh air. The Motel is just across the street, and I can see Tom and Mark sitting in the diner, watching me.
I stroll down the sidewalk, pretending to look at the shops along the way. But really, my attention is focused on the Motel. The neon sign flickers above the door, casting an eerie glow on the building. The rooms are arranged in a U-shape around a central courtyard.
I pause for a moment, debating whether or not to go inside. A part of me wants to know what Tom and Mark are up to, but another part is terrified of what I might find. Before I can decide, a car pulls beside me, and a woman rolls down her window.
"Hey, honey, need a ride somewhere?" she asks, her voice laced with a Southern drawl. She's probably around my mom's age, with long, curly, graying hair and a warm smile. Something about her seems genuine, and I trust her for a moment.
"Uh, no thanks, I'm feeling sick, so I'm going back to my room," I said before quickly walking away. It felt like the entire town was watching me.
I make my way back to the Motel, my heart racing. I try to calm my nerves as I approach my room. As soon as I unlock the door, I collapse onto the bed, feeling a mixture of exhaustion and fear wash over me. I close my eyes and try to think about anything else, but I can't shake the feeling of anxiety.
Now is an excellent time to look further into the dark opening at the end of the passageway I found last night. I carefully walk down the hallway, feeling the cool air from the vent blowing against my face. The walls are covered in peeling wallpaper, and a strong, musty odor makes me feel uneasy. As I approach the bookshelf, I attempt to reach for the Amity Hotel book, but when I pull it, nothing happens. I didn't dream that whole thing, did I? No, they must've changed the book, so I go through each individual book, pulling each one carefully.
"Can I help you find anything in particular?" Edna said with a bit of contempt as she snuck up behind me.
I spun around, startled. "Oh, uh, no. Just, um... looking for a book I thought I saw."
Edna raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "Well, you're not going to find it here," she said, gesturing to the bookshelf. "Those books are just for show." She paused, studying me for a moment. "Why were you looking for, anyway?"
"It was something about A Hotel in Amity. Considering where I am, I thought it would be a good read." I reply, still trying to play it cool.
Edna chuckles darkly. "Oh, that's Tom and Mark's favorite. One of them probably took it with them."
"Oh, okay. I'll look for something else then." I say, glancing back at the bookshelf. Edna watches me for a moment before disappearing back into her room. I stand there momentarily before continuing to search for the book lever that opens the bookshelf, trying to be as quiet as possible.
Finally, one book will only pull out some of the way. It had to be another lever, but remembering how loud the hidden door was, I decided to wait to pull it, when I hear the loud squeak tonight, hoping it would mask most of the sound of the gears turning behind the door.
Late that night, I creep out of my room and return to the bookshelf. The air is thick with the smell of stale cigarette smoke. I carefully yanked the book out as far as it could go before I could hear the gears. I'm confident the squeak is loud enough to mask the bookshelf. I opened it and slid into the passageway leading to the dark opening.
I step inside, and the squeak is almost too much, but I press on. I hear multiple men talking loudly and laughing as I enter the room. As I turn the corner, I can see lights dancing on the wall like someone was watching an old movie, and the smell of cigar smoke fills my lungs. Quietly moving further in, I can see a giant old movie projector that was making the stuttered squeak from its giant bent and dented film rolls scraping against the side of the projector.
I look to see what is playing on the screen, but I'm distracted by about eight men, mostly old except Tom, Mark, and another younger-looking man. They don't see me, or they don't care enough to acknowledge me.
They were sitting in a makeshift movie theater, but none of the fun.
Finally, I looked up at the screen and felt sick. They were showing a homemade old snuff film. Then I realized it couldn't be that old since I recognized Tom and Mark. They were doing unspeakable things with women of all ages.
I look down at the group of men and see them all staring at me with a menacingly evil grin. I froze in immense fear.
Staring at them for an eternity, I suddenly felt a sting in my neck, like someone had injected me with something. As my vision darkened, I could see the face of the man holding me with one hand and a syringe in the other. It was the bouncer-looking man I had seen in the diner.
When I wake up, my head is pounding. The room is spinning, and my vision is blurry. I can see little memory flashes of the group picking me up and moving me to the room next to the makeshift theater. My clothes are gone, and I'm naked except for a loose robe. There's a sour taste in my mouth, and my body feels heavy and sour. I'm tied to a mattress that smells like sweat and fear. I struggle against my bonds, but they're too tight.
I see an antique film camera on an even older tripod. There were huge lights all around me that were turned off. Suddenly, they were blinding me as I heard the men laughing.
"Oh, Walter Cronkite, what will we do with you?" I recognize Tom's voice, "You were THIS close! A shame, but I can't say I'm surprised. You have a lot of fight, and we LOVE that." The men laugh way too hard.
The camera is pointed at me; it's old and dusty but still working. I close my eyes and try to steel my nerves, but I can't help but feel sick. The memory of the snuff film plays over and over in my head, and I can't shake the feeling that I'm about to be a part of it.
"Now, now, Tom," I hear Mark say, his voice steady and calm. "No need for that. We've got plans for Anderson Cooper here." The other men chuckle menacingly. "She's going to be a star."
As Tom approaches me, I hear most men leave the room, and Mark sets up behind the camera.
"You want to know the full story, Hunter S. Thompson? I think you deserve to know at this point." Tom says as he undoes his belt, "Well, let me fill in some blanks for you," he sits next to me on the floor after taking off his shirt, "You see, my father, Jeremiah had a great business going here, and I'm not talking about the Motel. He would lure women to stay here, where he would drug them and film himself having his way with them while someone filmed through the two-way mirror. It was a great business, those films. Rich people from all around the world would buy them. Plus, most women never even knew what happened by the time they checked out, but the ones who gave us trouble had to be dealt with. Eventually, my mom, Sarah, got a little too nosey. She kept asking about how my father could make so much money while running a Motel, so she snooped into his things and found some evidence that would crumble our entire family. She confided her findings to her two oldest sons, but when she realized they were in on it too, she went crazy. We tried to keep her quiet, but she wouldn't let it go. Finally, one day, she couldn't take the guilt, and the madwoman opened every unlocked room; she would set anything flammable on fire. Eventually, the fire got out of control and started to spread. The fire killed my brother and father, along with a lot more of the women my mom was trying to save. We finally stopped it, and, being about 20 at the time, I already knew what was going on and was more than ready to take it over with some improvements." He stops for a second, reminiscing on memories.
He touches my face softly with the back of his hand. It's a rough hand that feels like sandpaper scraping my cheek.
"I was going to leave my mother alive, but when she kept talking about 'Saving victim's spirits,' she was making me nervous. I was close with my mother as a kid, so I didn't have the heart to kill her myself, but Mark here," he gestured toward Mark behind the camera, "He's a cold, hard killer." He stares at Mark for a long time. "We couldn't do it out in the open like my father and brothers did, so I had them build passages into the walls of the hallways, opened by various bookshelves. And added a whole hidden room at the end. Doing it during the restoration, it was a perfect cover. We still use all the equipment my father used, as you can see," He gestures to the antique camera that was now filming them. It's a bitch to find someone willing to develop the film, let alone someone who won't ask questions, but I had to keep it this way to honor my Father and Brother's legacy."
He pauses, leaning close to me, his breath hot on my ear. "And now, it's your turn. You're going to be the next big star. You're going to have your own room," He gestures around the damp, death-filled room, "your own things. You'll be taken care of and never have to leave. You'll be part of the family." His hand runs through my hair, cupping the back of my head. "And Mark, don't forget to get some shots of my good side."
"Oh, I won't," Mark says with a chuckle. He walks around me, positioning himself so the camera can point straight at my face.
I try to shrug off the chills that run down my spine as I think about the stories Tom has just told me, and all I see is a lost man looking for something to hold onto.
Tom gets on top of me and starts kissing my neck, and I feel like throwing up. I can feel the ropes on the left hand are loose, so I take a minute to wiggle it out without letting anyone in the room notice. Once I got that hand free, I could get the other free, but I wasn't ready to fight back; I needed to wait for the right time.
Suddenly, the camera audibly stops recording, and Tom notices and looks back at Mark.
"What the hell is going on?" Tom asks angrily.
"The film got stuck, shit! I'm going to have to get a whole new one. Hold on one second." Mark says as he turns his back to exit the room.
Tom gets up, and I finally feel like I can breathe properly. His back is turned, inspecting the camera.
"Old fucking thing," Tom says to himself.
I take the opportunity to untie both ankles. As soon as I'm free, I lunge forward, wrapping my arms around Tom's waist and pulling him off-balance. He lets out a surprised yelp as we both crash to the ground. I scramble to my feet and take a few steps back, breathing hard. Tom glares at me, looking furious.
"You little bitch!" he shouts. "You think you can just take it from me? From my family?" He scrambles to his feet as well, advancing on me slowly. "I could kill you where you stand!"
I back away, my heart pounding in my chest. "I'm not going to let you do this," I say, trying to sound more confident than I feel. "I'm not going to be another victim."
Tom laughs darkly, his eyes narrowing. "Oh, you think you're so special? You think you're the first one to say no?" He steps closer, "You're just like all the others. You're just another piece of meat."
My anger boils over, and I launch myself at him again. We wrestle for a moment, both of us grunting with exertion. He's stronger than me, but I push him against the bookshelf, where he loses his balance, and his head falls onto the corner of a dirt-stained counter. I walk slowly toward him, and I can see a pool of blood forming around his matted blonde hair. He's not breathing.
Mark, who must've heard the commotion, runs in just then. He freezes while looking down at his brother. "No, no, no, no! Tom! You can't do this to me! I can't do this shit alone!" Mark is sobbing while holding his brother's blood-soaked head.
I saw my opportunity and took it. I try to run past Mark, but he catches me by the ankle, making me drop to the floor. "You're not leaving!" he shouts, his voice hoarse with rage. He pulls a knife from his pocket, his hands trembling with fury. "You'll tell everyone you're sorry and then come with me."
I kick him in the face as hard as I can, making him release his grip on my ankle. He clutches his nose, blood pouring between his fingers. I turn and run, hearing him screaming obscenities behind me. I bolt out of the room, racing through the building while luckily not alerting anyone, not knowing where I'm going. I have to get out of here.
Outside, the air is cold and damp, the fog rolling off the ocean. I'm disoriented, my heart pounding in my chest. I am still determining where I am, but I know I must find help. I start running, my lungs burning with each ragged breath.
I come to a main road, a car's headlights blinding me as it speeds past. I wave my arms frantically, but the driver doesn't notice. Panic starts to rise up inside me as I realize that I'm alone and that no one knows what happened. I can't go back there, not after what I've done.
I start to walk, trying to figure out where I'm going. My feet are cold and numb, but I keep moving. The fog thickens, making it hard to see more than a few feet in front of me. I wish I had a cell phone to call the police and get help.
After what feels like hours of walking, I finally spot a streetlight. It's barely enough light to see by, but it's better than nothing. I walk towards it, hoping there might be a nearby house or business where I can find help. As I get closer, I see a police officer at a red light. I run to him, probably looking like a crazy crackhead with only a robe, and I'm sure I smell like death. The officer looks at me with a mixture of surprise and concern.
"Help me," I gasp out between breaths. "These people, they, they, they," I find myself unable to talk or see the words for what has happened. The officer takes my arm, his grip firm but not painful. He looks at me with concern, his brow furrowed.
"Take it easy. You're safe now. What's your name?" I tell him my name, feeling the fog of shock starting to lift from my brain. "Okay, why don't you tell me what happened?" I spend the next hour or so trying to explain everything to him, not caring how crazy I sound.
He listens intently, occasionally asking questions or nodding his head. When I finish, he sighs heavily, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. "Okay, I need you to come to the station with me. We'll get this all sorted out." We take off in his cruiser.
I spent the night at the police station, retelling my story to a half dozen people and getting medical care. The officer who saved me last night told me they sent someone this morning to the Motel to check it out. He said that night, no one except Edna was in the building. She let them look around, and eventually, they found the hidden passages in the walls leading to the basement where they found everything. They arrested Edna, and she denied involvement, but they kept her for further questioning. They claim Edna was the only one there, so Mark must've gotten away.
That was a little over a decade ago, and they still haven't located Mark. Maybe he's dead in a ditch where he belongs. Still, maybe, just perhaps, he could recreate their operation at a new Motel.
Any time I see one, I have PTSD flashbacks of laying on that dirty mattress. Once, I was shopping at a department store and saw this guy on every lane I went down. He never looked at me enough to get a good look at his face, but eventually, he left after I locked myself in the bathroom for an hour.
It's funny how the mind works. I'll be watching a movie, and I'll see a character get kidnapped, and I'll think, "At least they didn't cut my ear off like that guy did."

The first thing that hits me when I step out of the car is the overwhelming silence. Hollow Creek is a small town nestled in the middle of nowhere, with its dwindling population and a sense of desolation hanging in the air. It's different from the kind of place you'd expect to find much work as a freelance journalist. Still, with bills to pay and a need for a change of scenery, I decided to take a chance on this mysterious letter. It said the Whispering Pines Motel is promising a story unlike any other. Now, as I approach the front desk, I can't help but wonder if it was all just a cruel joke.
The receptionist, an elderly woman with a knowing smile, greets me with a forced warmth. Her name is Edna, and she tells me that I'll be staying in room 12, just down the hall. As I walk past the reception area, I can't help but notice the framed newspaper clippings on the walls: headlines like "Whispering Pines: A Haven for the Restless" and "Mysterious Noises Plague the Night." Stories of guests leaving in the middle of the night for unknown reasons.
My room is dimly lit, with a musty odor that reminds me of old books. The furniture looks like it's been here since The Motel was built, and the bedspread is threadbare. A small window by the bed is covered by a thin curtain that billows in the night breeze.
The Motel is on the main road, and the town's only restaurant is just a few doors down and across the street. Walking through the empty street, I notice that most buildings are boarded up or appear abandoned. The only light source comes from the diner's flickering neon sign, casting eerie shadows across the pavement.
I approach the diner and step inside. The atmosphere inside is comforting, almost cozy, with the smell of coffee and bacon filling the air. The waitress, a young woman named Lily, greets me with a warm smile and offers to take my order. I play it cool and order coffee, hoping to start a conversation.
I can't help but overhear snippets of conversations at nearby tables. One man, who looks like he's in his early twenties, is telling a story about a woman he met at the Motel with a haunting past and secrets she's willing to kill to keep. Intrigued, I walk over to them and introduce myself.
"You must be Riley," the man says, nodding in my direction. "I'm Tom, and this is my brother, Mark."
Mark glances up from his coffee, a cautious expression on his face. "Yeah, we heard you were new in town. Lily told us you're a journalist."
"That's right," I reply, sitting opposite them. "I got a letter from one of the Motel's former guests, offering me a story. Something about restless spirits and strange occurrences. I was hoping you could fill me in."
Tom leans in closer, "It's true, Riley. This town has a dark secret. You see there was a fire at the Whispering Pines. It started in one of the rooms, and half the building was destroyed when they put it out. People died in that fire, and their spirits haven't been able to find peace. They say you can hear them whispering in the halls at night."
I can't help but wonder if there's any truth to the story. Lily arrives with my coffee. I thank her and take a sip, savoring the warmth it brings to my hands.
"So, what do you think?" Tom asks, watching me intently. "You believe us?"
"It's an interesting story. But I'd like to see some proof before I write about it. Anything you can show me?"
Tom and Mark exchange glances, then Tom reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small, worn photo album. He slides it across the table to me, and I open it up. Inside are grainy photographs of the Motel, taken years ago. Pictures of the fire, rescue workers trying to contain the flames, and a group of people standing outside the Motel.
"These were taken just after the fire," Tom explains. "The woman in the photo was the Motel's owner's wife. Her name was Sarah. After the fire, she went crazy and talked about voices in the walls, freed spirits, and missing guests. A lot of people think she started the fire, trying to rid the place of the spirits."
I glance back at the photos, taking in the haunted expression on Sarah's face. Whatever she experienced during those dark days left a mark on her.
Lily arrives with food, setting a plate of eggs and bacon in front of me. "Here you go, Riley. Enjoy!" She says with a warm smile.
"Oh, sorry, I actually didn't order anything except coffee. Also, how do you know my name?" I ask, feeling a bit unnerved.
"Well, Riley, you see..." Tom begins, leaning back in his chair. "Sarah isn't the only one affected by the fire. The spirits reach out to certain people and make them see things. And sometimes, they share information. You must have something special about you that they recognized."
I glance around the diner, feeling a shiver run down my spine. The other patrons seem oblivious to our conversation, lost in their thoughts and newspapers.
"So, what else can you tell me about Sarah?" I ask, changing the subject.
Tom shakes his head. "No one could ever prove anything. The fire destroyed most of the evidence, and Sarah... well, she wasn't much help. She spent most of her time ranting about the spirits. But there were always rumors. Some people said she had help starting the fire; others said she was unstable and looking for a way out. As for the guests who went missing... well, no one ever found any bodies. There were whispers that the spirits had taken them, too."
He pauses, taking a sip of coffee, and I can see the pain in his eyes. "We all thought it was just a tragic accident at first. But over time, things started changing. We'd hear footsteps in the hallway, doors slamming shut on their own. It got so bad that some of us started avoiding the Motel at night."
"Do you guys work at the Motel?" I ask, trying to sound casual. "You seem to know a lot about what happened."
"Well, yeah, I've been here for a few years now. And Mark here has been working the night shift. We've all seen and heard things that... well, it's hard to explain."
I nod, "So, what do you think happened to Sarah?" I ask, unable to keep the curiosity from my voice. "Do you think she's still alive?"
Tom shrugs. "No one really knows. Some people say she's still here, trapped in her room, unable to escape the horrors she witnessed."
I glance at Tom, noticing the haunted look in his eyes. "What about you? What do you think happened?"
He takes a deep breath before answering. "Sometimes, I see her in the shadows, just watching us. Other times, I think she's a ghost, trapped here with the rest of them. But, it's clear that something bad went down at the Motel. And it's not just in the past. It's still here, lurking in the darkness."
The rest of our conversation lasted as long as it took me to eat. I was exhausted and needed to sleep before I started writing, so I went back to the Motel at around 8:30pm and settled in bed.
I could have sworn I heard footsteps in the hallway outside my room. They were faint, barely audible over the sound of my own heartbeat.
I could sleep through it, telling myself it was a staff member doing their duties. I finally fell asleep until I heard this high-pitched, non-stop squeak, stuttering every few seconds. It wasn't loud, but just enough to wake me up. I look over at the clock; it reads 3:08am. I decide to open the door slowly, its creak intensifying the mysterious squeak.
Nothing, no one there. I walk slowly as the noise gets louder, but I cannot locate it. I thought it could be an old furnace that they never replaced, but the air in the hallway was so cold. Deciding to believe my furnace assumption, I headed back to my room, but on my way, I could have sworn I had heard someone whispering. When I moved closer, it sounded like it was coming from the walls, just like the town folks said.
As I close the door and crawl back into bed, the whispering grows louder, like it's outside my door. It's getting harder to ignore; the whispers are saying something. I lie there, paralyzed with fear, until finally, the whispering fades away into the distance.
The next day, I push the strange occurrences out of my mind and focus on my work. I spent most of the day researching the Motel's history. As the day drags on, I can't shake the feeling that I'm being watched, that the Motel is alive with a malevolent energy that's intent on driving me mad.
Around dinnertime, I take a break from my research and venture into town. I'm hoping to find someone who might have some insight into what really happened to Sarah. As I walk along the empty street, the air is thick with anticipation, as if the town is holding its breath and waiting for something terrible to happen.
I stop at the diner and take a seat at the counter. The waitress, not the same as last night, an older woman with kind eyes and a knowing smile, sets a menu in front of me. I notice the prices are shockingly low. When I ask her about it, she just says, "Around here, we take care of our own."
I order a burger and a soda, hoping to gather enough courage to ask questions. When the food arrived, I couldn't help but notice that it was some of the best diner food I'd ever had. The waitress must be using some family recipes. As I eat, I discuss with an elderly man sitting at the end of the counter. His name is Hank, and he's lived in the town all his life.
"You're new around here?" he asks. When I confirm his suspicion, he leans close, lowering his voice. "You should be careful about asking too many questions. This town has a long memory, and we don't take kindly to outsiders who pry into our business."
His words chill me, but I can't help but press on. "I'm just trying to find out what happened to Sarah," I say, my voice barely audible.
Hank eyes me before leaning back in his chair. "Well, you've got to understand," he begins, "Sarah was...different. She wasn't like the rest of us. She didn't belong here."
I'm taken aback by his words, but I nod, encouraging him to continue. "But she was still a person, right? She deserved better than whatever happened to her."
Hank glances around the diner, lowering his voice even further. "You're right, she did. But you see, there was...an incident. Something that changed everything. Something that made people start talking, whispering." He hesitates momentarily, then leans in closer. "You see, there was a time when the Motel was different. It was...alive, in a way. People would come from miles around just to see it, just to see its magnificent décor and lively air." Hank sighed heavily as if the story's weight was too much for him to bear. "Back then, the Motel had another owner, a middle-aged man named Jeremiah. He was different, too. He was married to Sarah.
He pauses, looking haunted by the memory. "There was a fire at the Motel. No one knows how it started, but it spread quickly. Sarah and Jerimiah had four boys; two of the oldest sons died in the fire along with their father."
I let out a gasp, unable to believe the horror of the story. "But what happened to Sarah?" I ask, feeling a deep sense of dread creeping up on me.
"She went crazy and locked herself away in the Motel after they restored it. She would go on about how she freed those poor spirits. The now oldest son took over the Motel." he says.
"Did authorities not suspect Sarah?" I ask.
"Oh, they did. They brought her in for questioning, but they were never able to get anything other than her crazy ramblings. They never found enough evidence to prosecute anyone, so it was deemed an accident." He says.
I'm stunned, "So, she's still there?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
Hank laughs, "That's what people around here say, but that was forty-something years ago, and if I'm to guess by her looks, Sarah was in her mid-forties. That would mean she would be almost eighty, and I don't reckon she could stay alive that long without leaving her room."
"But...if she really did set the fire and hurt those people..." I trail off.
Hank shrugs. "Like I said, no one knows for sure what happened. And after all this time, it's probably best left that way." He glances at his watch, signaling that the conversation is over.
I nod, feeling a mixture of disbelief and horror coursing through me. Something about Sarah's story refuses to let me go. I thank Hank for his time and pay for my lunch, leaving the diner.
As I walk back to the Motel, I can't help but wonder; was Sarah genuinely insane or just trying to protect something? With its faded grandeur and haunted past, the Motel holds a strange allure for me now. It's as if I can feel the weight of its history pressing down on my shoulders, demanding that I uncover the truth.
I get to my room and spend the rest of the day exploring the motel grounds. The air is thick with the scent of old wood and damp earth and the sound of leaves rustling in the distance. I wander past open rooms with peeling paint and boarded-up windows.
I find a dusty photo album on a dresser in one of the abandoned rooms. Carefully opening the tattered cover, I discover a collection of faded photographs depicting the Motel in its heyday: couples dancing beneath twinkling chandeliers, laughing children running through the hall. There's even a picture of Sarah and Jeremiah smiling brightly for the camera.
I close the album, feeling a strange mixture of nostalgia and sadness. As I turn to leave, I notice a bookshelf in the hallway. Most books are dog-eared romance novels, but one title catches my eye: "The Haunting of the Hotel Amity: A True Story." It seemed morbidly fitting for the scene, but I decided to move past it and head to the front desk to interview Edna.
The afternoon passes quickly as I spend time with Edna, listening to her stories of working at the Motel and meeting various guests. She speaks fondly of Sarah, insisting that she is a good woman who only wants to protect the place she loves. Edna also mentioned that she had heard stories from other employees about strange occurrences in the Motel. Still, she always brushed them off as superstitious nonsense.
"Have you never experienced anything like that?" I ask, "Any strange occurrences?"
Edna pauses, her expression thoughtful. "Well, there was one time when I was cleaning a room, and I swear I heard someone calling my name. I thought it was just the wind at first, but the voice sounded so real. It gave me a chill." She shudders, her eyes distant with memory.
I nod, unsure what to make of her story. Even the people who were closest to Sarah were left with more questions than answers. I head back to my room.
It was only 9pm, but I was tired, so I lay down and drifted asleep.
As I closed my eyes, I thought about Sarah and her story. I couldn't help but feel that there was something more to the Motel than what had been revealed. Something darker, more sinister. Perhaps the faded photos in the album or the eerie silence seemed to permeate the halls, but I couldn't shake the feeling that a story was yet to be told.
I drifted off to sleep, dreaming of the Motel and its secrets. In my dreams, I wandered through its empty halls. I could feel the weight of history pressing down on me. And in the distance, I thought I heard the faint strains of a melody, like a distant echo of a time long gone. Suddenly, in my dream, I needed to look at the book I had spotted earlier about the Amity Hotel. Something about it drew me in, and when I went to pick it up, I was awoken by the loud, stuttered squeak like the one from the night prior.
I look at the clock again: 3:04am.
The dream felt real, and the urge to investigate the book was almost overwhelming. I slip out of bed, padding quietly across the carpeted floor. The eerie silence of the Motel seems to press against my ears as I make my way to the bookshelf in the corner. There, nestled between a romance novel and a travel guide, is the worn copy of "The Haunting of the Hotel Amity: A True Story."
I pulled it down, but it only moved slightly, getting stuck when I tried pulling further. Finally, after yanking a bit, I felt it give a little more; it's frozen in place as if it was tipping. Suddenly, I hear an amalgamation of gears turning behind it, and the shelf opens slightly on one side. I pull on the released side, and it opens like a door, leading to a passageway between the walls.
I step inside, flicking on my phone's flashlight. The narrow passageway is dimly lit by flickering bulbs every few feet, casting eerie shadows on the walls. The air is musty and stale. I make my way down the passageway, the squeak louder the further I go. I can see a dark opening at the end, so I put on a brave face and walk toward it when I hear a voice from the dark opening. I could barely hear it over the loud squeak and couldn't understand what they were saying, but I knew I shouldn't be here anymore, so I sneaked out of the passage. I tried to close the door as slowly as possible, but the voices were approaching fast, so I left it ajar.
Rushing into bed, slowly closing the door as it creaked louder than I anticipated. Finally, I was in bed, mind racing with the possibilities of what was in that room at the end of the passageway.
The voices grew louder as they approached my room. I shut my eyelids tight.
They were right in front of my door; this time, I could faintly make out some words. There were words like "her" and "Has to be," and the one that made my heart race was "Only guest here."
The handle turned slowly, and the door creaked open. I loosened my eyelids to peak at who it was, revealing a shadowy figure in the doorway. It was Edna, but there was something different about her. Her usually kind face was twisted in anger, her eyes burning with an unnatural light. She glanced at me, for just a moment before she turned her attention back to the others in the hall.
"Leave her for now," Edna said. The other voices murmured in agreement, their whispers echoing down the hall. As they turned away, I felt a chill run down my spine. Finally, they leave.
I slowly get out of bed, and as quietly as possible, I pack my things. I planned to jump out of the window if I had to.
Suddenly, the squeak stopped, and the Motel was much too quiet again. The eerie silence of the Motel seems to press against my ears as I try to calm my racing thoughts. I close my eyes, but I can't help but feel a sense of dread creeping up on me.
Just as I'm about to fall asleep, I hear a faint click coming from the hallway. My heart starts pounding again as I realize someone is moving through the Motel, methodically checking each room. The clicking grows louder as the person gets closer, and I hear footsteps outside my door.
I lie there, paralyzed. The footsteps pause outside my door, and I hear a low whisper. "She's in here?" I freeze. "Yeah, she's in there, but Edna doesn't want us to disturb her until Tom says it's time." Tom? I thought to myself. The guy from the diner on my first night? The one that already knew my name before introducing myself?
"Man fuck Tom," One of the voices said, "Just being Jeremiah's son is the only reason we have to listen to that prick."
"Yeah, unless you want to end up in one of his films, you better listen to that prick." The other man proclaims. The two sets of footsteps walk away from my door.
Films? What the hell were they talking about?
Why did Edna seem so angry earlier? Why were these men talking about me in the hallway like I was a film project?
As the night wears on, I can't help but feel like I'm at the center of some sort of twisted game. I lie awake, listening to the occasional creak of a floorboard or whispered conversation down the hall. Eventually, exhaustion overtakes me, and I fall into a fitful sleep.
I first notice the light streaming through the window when I wake up. It's morning, and with it comes a sense of urgency. I quickly dress and gather my things, making my way to the diner. As I approach, I see Tom sitting at a booth, already deep in conversation with Mark. They glance up at me as I enter, and Tom motions for me to join them.
"Good morning, Sunshine," Tom says with a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Care to join us?"
I sit across from them, trying to ignore the feeling of unease that settles in my stomach. "Good morning," I manage to say.
"So, how are you finding our little motel?" Tom asks, leaning in closer. "I hope we're taking good care of you." There's an undertone to his voice that I can't quite place.
I force a smile, trying to appear more confident than I feel. "It's been fine, I guess."
Tom raises an eyebrow at my noncommittal response. "I hope you don't mean that as a complaint. We've gone to great lengths to ensure you have everything you need."
I glance at Mark sitting next to Tom. His expression is unreadable, and he seems to be observing me. "It's not that," I say quickly, hoping to reassure them. "I'm just... I'm not used to being around so little people." There, that sounds believable.
"Well, hopefully, you will settle in a little bit before you have to leave. See my brother Mark here," he gestures over to Mark, "he's in charge of maintenance, and if there's anything he can do to help you feel more comfortable, let him know!" Tom says with a forced smile.
I nod, still feeling uneasy. "Thank you, I'm sure I'll be fine." I glance around the diner, trying to appear calm and collected. The place is filled with small wooden tables and booths, each covered in a checkered red-and-white tablecloth. The walls are adorned with old movie posters and black-and-white photographs of people I assume are famous actors. The air is thick with the scent of coffee and bacon, making my stomach rumble.
"So, what's on the menu today?" I ask, hoping to change the subject. Tom hands me a menu, and I scan the options, debating between pancakes and eggs. "I'll have the pancakes, please." I look up at Tom, then Mark, waiting for their response.
"Excellent choice!" Tom says with a smile. "I'm sure you'll enjoy them. Mark, will you go ahead and get our order?" Mark nods and stands, making his way over to the waitress. I watch him go, still feeling a sense of unease. The air between Tom and me has become heavy, and I can't help but wonder what they want from me.
As I wait for our food, I glance around the diner again, hoping to find some escape route. The exit is right behind me, but a large man is sitting in a booth by the door, looking like he might be a bouncer at a bar. I don't want to make a scene, but I must leave.
The waitress returns with our food, setting down plates of steaming hot pancakes in front of us. The aroma is intoxicating, and my stomach grumbles in anticipation. I pick up my fork, debating whether or not to eat anything at all. Tom glances at my plate and smiles reassuringly as if he can read my mind.
A few bites in, I realize my anxiety won't let me eat anymore. I tried to find an excuse to leave and investigate the Motel further.
"I'm sorry, Tom. I feel like I need some fresh air," I say, smiling. "I'm going to step outside for a bit. Maybe go for a walk." I say, hoping he doesn't hear my voice shake.
Tom nods understandingly. "Of course, Riley. Take your time. We'll be right here if you need anything." He reaches across the table and gently pats my hand, his expression softening.
I push my chair back and stand up, trying to appear calm and confident as I walk towards the exit. As I pass by the large man in the booth, he gives me a quick once-over before returning to his meal. The air outside is cool and crisp, and I take a deep breath of fresh air. The Motel is just across the street, and I can see Tom and Mark sitting in the diner, watching me.
I stroll down the sidewalk, pretending to look at the shops along the way. But really, my attention is focused on the Motel. The neon sign flickers above the door, casting an eerie glow on the building. The rooms are arranged in a U-shape around a central courtyard.
I pause for a moment, debating whether or not to go inside. A part of me wants to know what Tom and Mark are up to, but another part is terrified of what I might find. Before I can decide, a car pulls beside me, and a woman rolls down her window.
"Hey, honey, need a ride somewhere?" she asks, her voice laced with a Southern drawl. She's probably around my mom's age, with long, curly, graying hair and a warm smile. Something about her seems genuine, and I trust her for a moment.
"Uh, no thanks, I'm feeling sick, so I'm going back to my room," I said before quickly walking away. It felt like the entire town was watching me.
I make my way back to the Motel, my heart racing. I try to calm my nerves as I approach my room. As soon as I unlock the door, I collapse onto the bed, feeling a mixture of exhaustion and fear wash over me. I close my eyes and try to think about anything else, but I can't shake the feeling of anxiety.
Now is an excellent time to look further into the dark opening at the end of the passageway I found last night. I carefully walk down the hallway, feeling the cool air from the vent blowing against my face. The walls are covered in peeling wallpaper, and a strong, musty odor makes me feel uneasy. As I approach the bookshelf, I attempt to reach for the Amity Hotel book, but when I pull it, nothing happens. I didn't dream that whole thing, did I? No, they must've changed the book, so I go through each individual book, pulling each one carefully.
"Can I help you find anything in particular?" Edna said with a bit of contempt as she snuck up behind me.
I spun around, startled. "Oh, uh, no. Just, um... looking for a book I thought I saw."
Edna raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "Well, you're not going to find it here," she said, gesturing to the bookshelf. "Those books are just for show." She paused, studying me for a moment. "Why were you looking for, anyway?"
"It was something about A Hotel in Amity. Considering where I am, I thought it would be a good read." I reply, still trying to play it cool.
Edna chuckles darkly. "Oh, that's Tom and Mark's favorite. One of them probably took it with them."
"Oh, okay. I'll look for something else then." I say, glancing back at the bookshelf. Edna watches me for a moment before disappearing back into her room. I stand there momentarily before continuing to search for the book lever that opens the bookshelf, trying to be as quiet as possible.
Finally, one book will only pull out some of the way. It had to be another lever, but remembering how loud the hidden door was, I decided to wait to pull it, when I hear the loud squeak tonight, hoping it would mask most of the sound of the gears turning behind the door.
Late that night, I creep out of my room and return to the bookshelf. The air is thick with the smell of stale cigarette smoke. I carefully yanked the book out as far as it could go before I could hear the gears. I'm confident the squeak is loud enough to mask the bookshelf. I opened it and slid into the passageway leading to the dark opening.
I step inside, and the squeak is almost too much, but I press on. I hear multiple men talking loudly and laughing as I enter the room. As I turn the corner, I can see lights dancing on the wall like someone was watching an old movie, and the smell of cigar smoke fills my lungs. Quietly moving further in, I can see a giant old movie projector that was making the stuttered squeak from its giant bent and dented film rolls scraping against the side of the projector.
I look to see what is playing on the screen, but I'm distracted by about eight men, mostly old except Tom, Mark, and another younger-looking man. They don't see me, or they don't care enough to acknowledge me.
They were sitting in a makeshift movie theater, but none of the fun.
Finally, I looked up at the screen and felt sick. They were showing a homemade old snuff film. Then I realized it couldn't be that old since I recognized Tom and Mark. They were doing unspeakable things with women of all ages.
I look down at the group of men and see them all staring at me with a menacingly evil grin. I froze in immense fear.
Staring at them for an eternity, I suddenly felt a sting in my neck, like someone had injected me with something. As my vision darkened, I could see the face of the man holding me with one hand and a syringe in the other. It was the bouncer-looking man I had seen in the diner.
When I wake up, my head is pounding. The room is spinning, and my vision is blurry. I can see little memory flashes of the group picking me up and moving me to the room next to the makeshift theater. My clothes are gone, and I'm naked except for a loose robe. There's a sour taste in my mouth, and my body feels heavy and sour. I'm tied to a mattress that smells like sweat and fear. I struggle against my bonds, but they're too tight.
I see an antique film camera on an even older tripod. There were huge lights all around me that were turned off. Suddenly, they were blinding me as I heard the men laughing.
"Oh, Walter Cronkite, what will we do with you?" I recognize Tom's voice, "You were THIS close! A shame, but I can't say I'm surprised. You have a lot of fight, and we LOVE that." The men laugh way too hard.
The camera is pointed at me; it's old and dusty but still working. I close my eyes and try to steel my nerves, but I can't help but feel sick. The memory of the snuff film plays over and over in my head, and I can't shake the feeling that I'm about to be a part of it.
"Now, now, Tom," I hear Mark say, his voice steady and calm. "No need for that. We've got plans for Anderson Cooper here." The other men chuckle menacingly. "She's going to be a star."
As Tom approaches me, I hear most men leave the room, and Mark sets up behind the camera.
"You want to know the full story, Hunter S. Thompson? I think you deserve to know at this point." Tom says as he undoes his belt, "Well, let me fill in some blanks for you," he sits next to me on the floor after taking off his shirt, "You see, my father, Jeremiah had a great business going here, and I'm not talking about the Motel. He would lure women to stay here, where he would drug them and film himself having his way with them while someone filmed through the two-way mirror. It was a great business, those films. Rich people from all around the world would buy them. Plus, most women never even knew what happened by the time they checked out, but the ones who gave us trouble had to be dealt with. Eventually, my mom, Sarah, got a little too nosey. She kept asking about how my father could make so much money while running a Motel, so she snooped into his things and found some evidence that would crumble our entire family. She confided her findings to her two oldest sons, but when she realized they were in on it too, she went crazy. We tried to keep her quiet, but she wouldn't let it go. Finally, one day, she couldn't take the guilt, and the madwoman opened every unlocked room; she would set anything flammable on fire. Eventually, the fire got out of control and started to spread. The fire killed my brother and father, along with a lot more of the women my mom was trying to save. We finally stopped it, and, being about 20 at the time, I already knew what was going on and was more than ready to take it over with some improvements." He stops for a second, reminiscing on memories.
He touches my face softly with the back of his hand. It's a rough hand that feels like sandpaper scraping my cheek.
"I was going to leave my mother alive, but when she kept talking about 'Saving victim's spirits,' she was making me nervous. I was close with my mother as a kid, so I didn't have the heart to kill her myself, but Mark here," he gestured toward Mark behind the camera, "He's a cold, hard killer." He stares at Mark for a long time. "We couldn't do it out in the open like my father and brothers did, so I had them build passages into the walls of the hallways, opened by various bookshelves. And added a whole hidden room at the end. Doing it during the restoration, it was a perfect cover. We still use all the equipment my father used, as you can see," He gestures to the antique camera that was now filming them. It's a bitch to find someone willing to develop the film, let alone someone who won't ask questions, but I had to keep it this way to honor my Father and Brother's legacy."
He pauses, leaning close to me, his breath hot on my ear. "And now, it's your turn. You're going to be the next big star. You're going to have your own room," He gestures around the damp, death-filled room, "your own things. You'll be taken care of and never have to leave. You'll be part of the family." His hand runs through my hair, cupping the back of my head. "And Mark, don't forget to get some shots of my good side."
"Oh, I won't," Mark says with a chuckle. He walks around me, positioning himself so the camera can point straight at my face.
I try to shrug off the chills that run down my spine as I think about the stories Tom has just told me, and all I see is a lost man looking for something to hold onto.
Tom gets on top of me and starts kissing my neck, and I feel like throwing up. I can feel the ropes on the left hand are loose, so I take a minute to wiggle it out without letting anyone in the room notice. Once I got that hand free, I could get the other free, but I wasn't ready to fight back; I needed to wait for the right time.
Suddenly, the camera audibly stops recording, and Tom notices and looks back at Mark.
"What the hell is going on?" Tom asks angrily.
"The film got stuck, shit! I'm going to have to get a whole new one. Hold on one second." Mark says as he turns his back to exit the room.
Tom gets up, and I finally feel like I can breathe properly. His back is turned, inspecting the camera.
"Old fucking thing," Tom says to himself.
I take the opportunity to untie both ankles. As soon as I'm free, I lunge forward, wrapping my arms around Tom's waist and pulling him off-balance. He lets out a surprised yelp as we both crash to the ground. I scramble to my feet and take a few steps back, breathing hard. Tom glares at me, looking furious.
"You little bitch!" he shouts. "You think you can just take it from me? From my family?" He scrambles to his feet as well, advancing on me slowly. "I could kill you where you stand!"
I back away, my heart pounding in my chest. "I'm not going to let you do this," I say, trying to sound more confident than I feel. "I'm not going to be another victim."
Tom laughs darkly, his eyes narrowing. "Oh, you think you're so special? You think you're the first one to say no?" He steps closer, "You're just like all the others. You're just another piece of meat."
My anger boils over, and I launch myself at him again. We wrestle for a moment, both of us grunting with exertion. He's stronger than me, but I push him against the bookshelf, where he loses his balance, and his head falls onto the corner of a dirt-stained counter. I walk slowly toward him, and I can see a pool of blood forming around his matted blonde hair. He's not breathing.
Mark, who must've heard the commotion, runs in just then. He freezes while looking down at his brother. "No, no, no, no! Tom! You can't do this to me! I can't do this shit alone!" Mark is sobbing while holding his brother's blood-soaked head.
I saw my opportunity and took it. I try to run past Mark, but he catches me by the ankle, making me drop to the floor. "You're not leaving!" he shouts, his voice hoarse with rage. He pulls a knife from his pocket, his hands trembling with fury. "You'll tell everyone you're sorry and then come with me."
I kick him in the face as hard as I can, making him release his grip on my ankle. He clutches his nose, blood pouring between his fingers. I turn and run, hearing him screaming obscenities behind me. I bolt out of the room, racing through the building while luckily not alerting anyone, not knowing where I'm going. I have to get out of here.
Outside, the air is cold and damp, the fog rolling off the ocean. I'm disoriented, my heart pounding in my chest. I am still determining where I am, but I know I must find help. I start running, my lungs burning with each ragged breath.
I come to a main road, a car's headlights blinding me as it speeds past. I wave my arms frantically, but the driver doesn't notice. Panic starts to rise up inside me as I realize that I'm alone and that no one knows what happened. I can't go back there, not after what I've done.
I start to walk, trying to figure out where I'm going. My feet are cold and numb, but I keep moving. The fog thickens, making it hard to see more than a few feet in front of me. I wish I had a cell phone to call the police and get help.
After what feels like hours of walking, I finally spot a streetlight. It's barely enough light to see by, but it's better than nothing. I walk towards it, hoping there might be a nearby house or business where I can find help. As I get closer, I see a police officer at a red light. I run to him, probably looking like a crazy crackhead with only a robe, and I'm sure I smell like death. The officer looks at me with a mixture of surprise and concern.
"Help me," I gasp out between breaths. "These people, they, they, they," I find myself unable to talk or see the words for what has happened. The officer takes my arm, his grip firm but not painful. He looks at me with concern, his brow furrowed.
"Take it easy. You're safe now. What's your name?" I tell him my name, feeling the fog of shock starting to lift from my brain. "Okay, why don't you tell me what happened?" I spend the next hour or so trying to explain everything to him, not caring how crazy I sound.
He listens intently, occasionally asking questions or nodding his head. When I finish, he sighs heavily, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. "Okay, I need you to come to the station with me. We'll get this all sorted out." We take off in his cruiser.
I spent the night at the police station, retelling my story to a half dozen people and getting medical care. The officer who saved me last night told me they sent someone this morning to the Motel to check it out. He said that night, no one except Edna was in the building. She let them look around, and eventually, they found the hidden passages in the walls leading to the basement where they found everything. They arrested Edna, and she denied involvement, but they kept her for further questioning. They claim Edna was the only one there, so Mark must've gotten away.
That was a little over a decade ago, and they still haven't located Mark. Maybe he's dead in a ditch where he belongs. Still, maybe, just perhaps, he could recreate their operation at a new Motel.
Any time I see one, I have PTSD flashbacks of laying on that dirty mattress. Once, I was shopping at a department store and saw this guy on every lane I went down. He never looked at me enough to get a good look at his face, but eventually, he left after I locked myself in the bathroom for an hour.
It's funny how the mind works. I'll be watching a movie, and I'll see a character get kidnapped, and I'll think, "At least they didn't cut my ear off like that guy did."

The first thing that hits me when I step out of the car is the overwhelming silence. Hollow Creek is a small town nestled in the middle of nowhere, with its dwindling population and a sense of desolation hanging in the air. It's different from the kind of place you'd expect to find much work as a freelance journalist. Still, with bills to pay and a need for a change of scenery, I decided to take a chance on this mysterious letter. It said the Whispering Pines Motel is promising a story unlike any other. Now, as I approach the front desk, I can't help but wonder if it was all just a cruel joke.
The receptionist, an elderly woman with a knowing smile, greets me with a forced warmth. Her name is Edna, and she tells me that I'll be staying in room 12, just down the hall. As I walk past the reception area, I can't help but notice the framed newspaper clippings on the walls: headlines like "Whispering Pines: A Haven for the Restless" and "Mysterious Noises Plague the Night." Stories of guests leaving in the middle of the night for unknown reasons.
My room is dimly lit, with a musty odor that reminds me of old books. The furniture looks like it's been here since The Motel was built, and the bedspread is threadbare. A small window by the bed is covered by a thin curtain that billows in the night breeze.
The Motel is on the main road, and the town's only restaurant is just a few doors down and across the street. Walking through the empty street, I notice that most buildings are boarded up or appear abandoned. The only light source comes from the diner's flickering neon sign, casting eerie shadows across the pavement.
I approach the diner and step inside. The atmosphere inside is comforting, almost cozy, with the smell of coffee and bacon filling the air. The waitress, a young woman named Lily, greets me with a warm smile and offers to take my order. I play it cool and order coffee, hoping to start a conversation.
I can't help but overhear snippets of conversations at nearby tables. One man, who looks like he's in his early twenties, is telling a story about a woman he met at the Motel with a haunting past and secrets she's willing to kill to keep. Intrigued, I walk over to them and introduce myself.
"You must be Riley," the man says, nodding in my direction. "I'm Tom, and this is my brother, Mark."
Mark glances up from his coffee, a cautious expression on his face. "Yeah, we heard you were new in town. Lily told us you're a journalist."
"That's right," I reply, sitting opposite them. "I got a letter from one of the Motel's former guests, offering me a story. Something about restless spirits and strange occurrences. I was hoping you could fill me in."
Tom leans in closer, "It's true, Riley. This town has a dark secret. You see there was a fire at the Whispering Pines. It started in one of the rooms, and half the building was destroyed when they put it out. People died in that fire, and their spirits haven't been able to find peace. They say you can hear them whispering in the halls at night."
I can't help but wonder if there's any truth to the story. Lily arrives with my coffee. I thank her and take a sip, savoring the warmth it brings to my hands.
"So, what do you think?" Tom asks, watching me intently. "You believe us?"
"It's an interesting story. But I'd like to see some proof before I write about it. Anything you can show me?"
Tom and Mark exchange glances, then Tom reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small, worn photo album. He slides it across the table to me, and I open it up. Inside are grainy photographs of the Motel, taken years ago. Pictures of the fire, rescue workers trying to contain the flames, and a group of people standing outside the Motel.
"These were taken just after the fire," Tom explains. "The woman in the photo was the Motel's owner's wife. Her name was Sarah. After the fire, she went crazy and talked about voices in the walls, freed spirits, and missing guests. A lot of people think she started the fire, trying to rid the place of the spirits."
I glance back at the photos, taking in the haunted expression on Sarah's face. Whatever she experienced during those dark days left a mark on her.
Lily arrives with food, setting a plate of eggs and bacon in front of me. "Here you go, Riley. Enjoy!" She says with a warm smile.
"Oh, sorry, I actually didn't order anything except coffee. Also, how do you know my name?" I ask, feeling a bit unnerved.
"Well, Riley, you see..." Tom begins, leaning back in his chair. "Sarah isn't the only one affected by the fire. The spirits reach out to certain people and make them see things. And sometimes, they share information. You must have something special about you that they recognized."
I glance around the diner, feeling a shiver run down my spine. The other patrons seem oblivious to our conversation, lost in their thoughts and newspapers.
"So, what else can you tell me about Sarah?" I ask, changing the subject.
Tom shakes his head. "No one could ever prove anything. The fire destroyed most of the evidence, and Sarah... well, she wasn't much help. She spent most of her time ranting about the spirits. But there were always rumors. Some people said she had help starting the fire; others said she was unstable and looking for a way out. As for the guests who went missing... well, no one ever found any bodies. There were whispers that the spirits had taken them, too."
He pauses, taking a sip of coffee, and I can see the pain in his eyes. "We all thought it was just a tragic accident at first. But over time, things started changing. We'd hear footsteps in the hallway, doors slamming shut on their own. It got so bad that some of us started avoiding the Motel at night."
"Do you guys work at the Motel?" I ask, trying to sound casual. "You seem to know a lot about what happened."
"Well, yeah, I've been here for a few years now. And Mark here has been working the night shift. We've all seen and heard things that... well, it's hard to explain."
I nod, "So, what do you think happened to Sarah?" I ask, unable to keep the curiosity from my voice. "Do you think she's still alive?"
Tom shrugs. "No one really knows. Some people say she's still here, trapped in her room, unable to escape the horrors she witnessed."
I glance at Tom, noticing the haunted look in his eyes. "What about you? What do you think happened?"
He takes a deep breath before answering. "Sometimes, I see her in the shadows, just watching us. Other times, I think she's a ghost, trapped here with the rest of them. But, it's clear that something bad went down at the Motel. And it's not just in the past. It's still here, lurking in the darkness."
The rest of our conversation lasted as long as it took me to eat. I was exhausted and needed to sleep before I started writing, so I went back to the Motel at around 8:30pm and settled in bed.
I could have sworn I heard footsteps in the hallway outside my room. They were faint, barely audible over the sound of my own heartbeat.
I could sleep through it, telling myself it was a staff member doing their duties. I finally fell asleep until I heard this high-pitched, non-stop squeak, stuttering every few seconds. It wasn't loud, but just enough to wake me up. I look over at the clock; it reads 3:08am. I decide to open the door slowly, its creak intensifying the mysterious squeak.
Nothing, no one there. I walk slowly as the noise gets louder, but I cannot locate it. I thought it could be an old furnace that they never replaced, but the air in the hallway was so cold. Deciding to believe my furnace assumption, I headed back to my room, but on my way, I could have sworn I had heard someone whispering. When I moved closer, it sounded like it was coming from the walls, just like the town folks said.
As I close the door and crawl back into bed, the whispering grows louder, like it's outside my door. It's getting harder to ignore; the whispers are saying something. I lie there, paralyzed with fear, until finally, the whispering fades away into the distance.
The next day, I push the strange occurrences out of my mind and focus on my work. I spent most of the day researching the Motel's history. As the day drags on, I can't shake the feeling that I'm being watched, that the Motel is alive with a malevolent energy that's intent on driving me mad.
Around dinnertime, I take a break from my research and venture into town. I'm hoping to find someone who might have some insight into what really happened to Sarah. As I walk along the empty street, the air is thick with anticipation, as if the town is holding its breath and waiting for something terrible to happen.
I stop at the diner and take a seat at the counter. The waitress, not the same as last night, an older woman with kind eyes and a knowing smile, sets a menu in front of me. I notice the prices are shockingly low. When I ask her about it, she just says, "Around here, we take care of our own."
I order a burger and a soda, hoping to gather enough courage to ask questions. When the food arrived, I couldn't help but notice that it was some of the best diner food I'd ever had. The waitress must be using some family recipes. As I eat, I discuss with an elderly man sitting at the end of the counter. His name is Hank, and he's lived in the town all his life.
"You're new around here?" he asks. When I confirm his suspicion, he leans close, lowering his voice. "You should be careful about asking too many questions. This town has a long memory, and we don't take kindly to outsiders who pry into our business."
His words chill me, but I can't help but press on. "I'm just trying to find out what happened to Sarah," I say, my voice barely audible.
Hank eyes me before leaning back in his chair. "Well, you've got to understand," he begins, "Sarah was...different. She wasn't like the rest of us. She didn't belong here."
I'm taken aback by his words, but I nod, encouraging him to continue. "But she was still a person, right? She deserved better than whatever happened to her."
Hank glances around the diner, lowering his voice even further. "You're right, she did. But you see, there was...an incident. Something that changed everything. Something that made people start talking, whispering." He hesitates momentarily, then leans in closer. "You see, there was a time when the Motel was different. It was...alive, in a way. People would come from miles around just to see it, just to see its magnificent décor and lively air." Hank sighed heavily as if the story's weight was too much for him to bear. "Back then, the Motel had another owner, a middle-aged man named Jeremiah. He was different, too. He was married to Sarah.
He pauses, looking haunted by the memory. "There was a fire at the Motel. No one knows how it started, but it spread quickly. Sarah and Jerimiah had four boys; two of the oldest sons died in the fire along with their father."
I let out a gasp, unable to believe the horror of the story. "But what happened to Sarah?" I ask, feeling a deep sense of dread creeping up on me.
"She went crazy and locked herself away in the Motel after they restored it. She would go on about how she freed those poor spirits. The now oldest son took over the Motel." he says.
"Did authorities not suspect Sarah?" I ask.
"Oh, they did. They brought her in for questioning, but they were never able to get anything other than her crazy ramblings. They never found enough evidence to prosecute anyone, so it was deemed an accident." He says.
I'm stunned, "So, she's still there?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
Hank laughs, "That's what people around here say, but that was forty-something years ago, and if I'm to guess by her looks, Sarah was in her mid-forties. That would mean she would be almost eighty, and I don't reckon she could stay alive that long without leaving her room."
"But...if she really did set the fire and hurt those people..." I trail off.
Hank shrugs. "Like I said, no one knows for sure what happened. And after all this time, it's probably best left that way." He glances at his watch, signaling that the conversation is over.
I nod, feeling a mixture of disbelief and horror coursing through me. Something about Sarah's story refuses to let me go. I thank Hank for his time and pay for my lunch, leaving the diner.
As I walk back to the Motel, I can't help but wonder; was Sarah genuinely insane or just trying to protect something? With its faded grandeur and haunted past, the Motel holds a strange allure for me now. It's as if I can feel the weight of its history pressing down on my shoulders, demanding that I uncover the truth.
I get to my room and spend the rest of the day exploring the motel grounds. The air is thick with the scent of old wood and damp earth and the sound of leaves rustling in the distance. I wander past open rooms with peeling paint and boarded-up windows.
I find a dusty photo album on a dresser in one of the abandoned rooms. Carefully opening the tattered cover, I discover a collection of faded photographs depicting the Motel in its heyday: couples dancing beneath twinkling chandeliers, laughing children running through the hall. There's even a picture of Sarah and Jeremiah smiling brightly for the camera.
I close the album, feeling a strange mixture of nostalgia and sadness. As I turn to leave, I notice a bookshelf in the hallway. Most books are dog-eared romance novels, but one title catches my eye: "The Haunting of the Hotel Amity: A True Story." It seemed morbidly fitting for the scene, but I decided to move past it and head to the front desk to interview Edna.
The afternoon passes quickly as I spend time with Edna, listening to her stories of working at the Motel and meeting various guests. She speaks fondly of Sarah, insisting that she is a good woman who only wants to protect the place she loves. Edna also mentioned that she had heard stories from other employees about strange occurrences in the Motel. Still, she always brushed them off as superstitious nonsense.
"Have you never experienced anything like that?" I ask, "Any strange occurrences?"
Edna pauses, her expression thoughtful. "Well, there was one time when I was cleaning a room, and I swear I heard someone calling my name. I thought it was just the wind at first, but the voice sounded so real. It gave me a chill." She shudders, her eyes distant with memory.
I nod, unsure what to make of her story. Even the people who were closest to Sarah were left with more questions than answers. I head back to my room.
It was only 9pm, but I was tired, so I lay down and drifted asleep.
As I closed my eyes, I thought about Sarah and her story. I couldn't help but feel that there was something more to the Motel than what had been revealed. Something darker, more sinister. Perhaps the faded photos in the album or the eerie silence seemed to permeate the halls, but I couldn't shake the feeling that a story was yet to be told.
I drifted off to sleep, dreaming of the Motel and its secrets. In my dreams, I wandered through its empty halls. I could feel the weight of history pressing down on me. And in the distance, I thought I heard the faint strains of a melody, like a distant echo of a time long gone. Suddenly, in my dream, I needed to look at the book I had spotted earlier about the Amity Hotel. Something about it drew me in, and when I went to pick it up, I was awoken by the loud, stuttered squeak like the one from the night prior.
I look at the clock again: 3:04am.
The dream felt real, and the urge to investigate the book was almost overwhelming. I slip out of bed, padding quietly across the carpeted floor. The eerie silence of the Motel seems to press against my ears as I make my way to the bookshelf in the corner. There, nestled between a romance novel and a travel guide, is the worn copy of "The Haunting of the Hotel Amity: A True Story."
I pulled it down, but it only moved slightly, getting stuck when I tried pulling further. Finally, after yanking a bit, I felt it give a little more; it's frozen in place as if it was tipping. Suddenly, I hear an amalgamation of gears turning behind it, and the shelf opens slightly on one side. I pull on the released side, and it opens like a door, leading to a passageway between the walls.
I step inside, flicking on my phone's flashlight. The narrow passageway is dimly lit by flickering bulbs every few feet, casting eerie shadows on the walls. The air is musty and stale. I make my way down the passageway, the squeak louder the further I go. I can see a dark opening at the end, so I put on a brave face and walk toward it when I hear a voice from the dark opening. I could barely hear it over the loud squeak and couldn't understand what they were saying, but I knew I shouldn't be here anymore, so I sneaked out of the passage. I tried to close the door as slowly as possible, but the voices were approaching fast, so I left it ajar.
Rushing into bed, slowly closing the door as it creaked louder than I anticipated. Finally, I was in bed, mind racing with the possibilities of what was in that room at the end of the passageway.
The voices grew louder as they approached my room. I shut my eyelids tight.
They were right in front of my door; this time, I could faintly make out some words. There were words like "her" and "Has to be," and the one that made my heart race was "Only guest here."
The handle turned slowly, and the door creaked open. I loosened my eyelids to peak at who it was, revealing a shadowy figure in the doorway. It was Edna, but there was something different about her. Her usually kind face was twisted in anger, her eyes burning with an unnatural light. She glanced at me, for just a moment before she turned her attention back to the others in the hall.
"Leave her for now," Edna said. The other voices murmured in agreement, their whispers echoing down the hall. As they turned away, I felt a chill run down my spine. Finally, they leave.
I slowly get out of bed, and as quietly as possible, I pack my things. I planned to jump out of the window if I had to.
Suddenly, the squeak stopped, and the Motel was much too quiet again. The eerie silence of the Motel seems to press against my ears as I try to calm my racing thoughts. I close my eyes, but I can't help but feel a sense of dread creeping up on me.
Just as I'm about to fall asleep, I hear a faint click coming from the hallway. My heart starts pounding again as I realize someone is moving through the Motel, methodically checking each room. The clicking grows louder as the person gets closer, and I hear footsteps outside my door.
I lie there, paralyzed. The footsteps pause outside my door, and I hear a low whisper. "She's in here?" I freeze. "Yeah, she's in there, but Edna doesn't want us to disturb her until Tom says it's time." Tom? I thought to myself. The guy from the diner on my first night? The one that already knew my name before introducing myself?
"Man fuck Tom," One of the voices said, "Just being Jeremiah's son is the only reason we have to listen to that prick."
"Yeah, unless you want to end up in one of his films, you better listen to that prick." The other man proclaims. The two sets of footsteps walk away from my door.
Films? What the hell were they talking about?
Why did Edna seem so angry earlier? Why were these men talking about me in the hallway like I was a film project?
As the night wears on, I can't help but feel like I'm at the center of some sort of twisted game. I lie awake, listening to the occasional creak of a floorboard or whispered conversation down the hall. Eventually, exhaustion overtakes me, and I fall into a fitful sleep.
I first notice the light streaming through the window when I wake up. It's morning, and with it comes a sense of urgency. I quickly dress and gather my things, making my way to the diner. As I approach, I see Tom sitting at a booth, already deep in conversation with Mark. They glance up at me as I enter, and Tom motions for me to join them.
"Good morning, Sunshine," Tom says with a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Care to join us?"
I sit across from them, trying to ignore the feeling of unease that settles in my stomach. "Good morning," I manage to say.
"So, how are you finding our little motel?" Tom asks, leaning in closer. "I hope we're taking good care of you." There's an undertone to his voice that I can't quite place.
I force a smile, trying to appear more confident than I feel. "It's been fine, I guess."
Tom raises an eyebrow at my noncommittal response. "I hope you don't mean that as a complaint. We've gone to great lengths to ensure you have everything you need."
I glance at Mark sitting next to Tom. His expression is unreadable, and he seems to be observing me. "It's not that," I say quickly, hoping to reassure them. "I'm just... I'm not used to being around so little people." There, that sounds believable.
"Well, hopefully, you will settle in a little bit before you have to leave. See my brother Mark here," he gestures over to Mark, "he's in charge of maintenance, and if there's anything he can do to help you feel more comfortable, let him know!" Tom says with a forced smile.
I nod, still feeling uneasy. "Thank you, I'm sure I'll be fine." I glance around the diner, trying to appear calm and collected. The place is filled with small wooden tables and booths, each covered in a checkered red-and-white tablecloth. The walls are adorned with old movie posters and black-and-white photographs of people I assume are famous actors. The air is thick with the scent of coffee and bacon, making my stomach rumble.
"So, what's on the menu today?" I ask, hoping to change the subject. Tom hands me a menu, and I scan the options, debating between pancakes and eggs. "I'll have the pancakes, please." I look up at Tom, then Mark, waiting for their response.
"Excellent choice!" Tom says with a smile. "I'm sure you'll enjoy them. Mark, will you go ahead and get our order?" Mark nods and stands, making his way over to the waitress. I watch him go, still feeling a sense of unease. The air between Tom and me has become heavy, and I can't help but wonder what they want from me.
As I wait for our food, I glance around the diner again, hoping to find some escape route. The exit is right behind me, but a large man is sitting in a booth by the door, looking like he might be a bouncer at a bar. I don't want to make a scene, but I must leave.
The waitress returns with our food, setting down plates of steaming hot pancakes in front of us. The aroma is intoxicating, and my stomach grumbles in anticipation. I pick up my fork, debating whether or not to eat anything at all. Tom glances at my plate and smiles reassuringly as if he can read my mind.
A few bites in, I realize my anxiety won't let me eat anymore. I tried to find an excuse to leave and investigate the Motel further.
"I'm sorry, Tom. I feel like I need some fresh air," I say, smiling. "I'm going to step outside for a bit. Maybe go for a walk." I say, hoping he doesn't hear my voice shake.
Tom nods understandingly. "Of course, Riley. Take your time. We'll be right here if you need anything." He reaches across the table and gently pats my hand, his expression softening.
I push my chair back and stand up, trying to appear calm and confident as I walk towards the exit. As I pass by the large man in the booth, he gives me a quick once-over before returning to his meal. The air outside is cool and crisp, and I take a deep breath of fresh air. The Motel is just across the street, and I can see Tom and Mark sitting in the diner, watching me.
I stroll down the sidewalk, pretending to look at the shops along the way. But really, my attention is focused on the Motel. The neon sign flickers above the door, casting an eerie glow on the building. The rooms are arranged in a U-shape around a central courtyard.
I pause for a moment, debating whether or not to go inside. A part of me wants to know what Tom and Mark are up to, but another part is terrified of what I might find. Before I can decide, a car pulls beside me, and a woman rolls down her window.
"Hey, honey, need a ride somewhere?" she asks, her voice laced with a Southern drawl. She's probably around my mom's age, with long, curly, graying hair and a warm smile. Something about her seems genuine, and I trust her for a moment.
"Uh, no thanks, I'm feeling sick, so I'm going back to my room," I said before quickly walking away. It felt like the entire town was watching me.
I make my way back to the Motel, my heart racing. I try to calm my nerves as I approach my room. As soon as I unlock the door, I collapse onto the bed, feeling a mixture of exhaustion and fear wash over me. I close my eyes and try to think about anything else, but I can't shake the feeling of anxiety.
Now is an excellent time to look further into the dark opening at the end of the passageway I found last night. I carefully walk down the hallway, feeling the cool air from the vent blowing against my face. The walls are covered in peeling wallpaper, and a strong, musty odor makes me feel uneasy. As I approach the bookshelf, I attempt to reach for the Amity Hotel book, but when I pull it, nothing happens. I didn't dream that whole thing, did I? No, they must've changed the book, so I go through each individual book, pulling each one carefully.
"Can I help you find anything in particular?" Edna said with a bit of contempt as she snuck up behind me.
I spun around, startled. "Oh, uh, no. Just, um... looking for a book I thought I saw."
Edna raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "Well, you're not going to find it here," she said, gesturing to the bookshelf. "Those books are just for show." She paused, studying me for a moment. "Why were you looking for, anyway?"
"It was something about A Hotel in Amity. Considering where I am, I thought it would be a good read." I reply, still trying to play it cool.
Edna chuckles darkly. "Oh, that's Tom and Mark's favorite. One of them probably took it with them."
"Oh, okay. I'll look for something else then." I say, glancing back at the bookshelf. Edna watches me for a moment before disappearing back into her room. I stand there momentarily before continuing to search for the book lever that opens the bookshelf, trying to be as quiet as possible.
Finally, one book will only pull out some of the way. It had to be another lever, but remembering how loud the hidden door was, I decided to wait to pull it, when I hear the loud squeak tonight, hoping it would mask most of the sound of the gears turning behind the door.
Late that night, I creep out of my room and return to the bookshelf. The air is thick with the smell of stale cigarette smoke. I carefully yanked the book out as far as it could go before I could hear the gears. I'm confident the squeak is loud enough to mask the bookshelf. I opened it and slid into the passageway leading to the dark opening.
I step inside, and the squeak is almost too much, but I press on. I hear multiple men talking loudly and laughing as I enter the room. As I turn the corner, I can see lights dancing on the wall like someone was watching an old movie, and the smell of cigar smoke fills my lungs. Quietly moving further in, I can see a giant old movie projector that was making the stuttered squeak from its giant bent and dented film rolls scraping against the side of the projector.
I look to see what is playing on the screen, but I'm distracted by about eight men, mostly old except Tom, Mark, and another younger-looking man. They don't see me, or they don't care enough to acknowledge me.
They were sitting in a makeshift movie theater, but none of the fun.
Finally, I looked up at the screen and felt sick. They were showing a homemade old snuff film. Then I realized it couldn't be that old since I recognized Tom and Mark. They were doing unspeakable things with women of all ages.
I look down at the group of men and see them all staring at me with a menacingly evil grin. I froze in immense fear.
Staring at them for an eternity, I suddenly felt a sting in my neck, like someone had injected me with something. As my vision darkened, I could see the face of the man holding me with one hand and a syringe in the other. It was the bouncer-looking man I had seen in the diner.
When I wake up, my head is pounding. The room is spinning, and my vision is blurry. I can see little memory flashes of the group picking me up and moving me to the room next to the makeshift theater. My clothes are gone, and I'm naked except for a loose robe. There's a sour taste in my mouth, and my body feels heavy and sour. I'm tied to a mattress that smells like sweat and fear. I struggle against my bonds, but they're too tight.
I see an antique film camera on an even older tripod. There were huge lights all around me that were turned off. Suddenly, they were blinding me as I heard the men laughing.
"Oh, Walter Cronkite, what will we do with you?" I recognize Tom's voice, "You were THIS close! A shame, but I can't say I'm surprised. You have a lot of fight, and we LOVE that." The men laugh way too hard.
The camera is pointed at me; it's old and dusty but still working. I close my eyes and try to steel my nerves, but I can't help but feel sick. The memory of the snuff film plays over and over in my head, and I can't shake the feeling that I'm about to be a part of it.
"Now, now, Tom," I hear Mark say, his voice steady and calm. "No need for that. We've got plans for Anderson Cooper here." The other men chuckle menacingly. "She's going to be a star."
As Tom approaches me, I hear most men leave the room, and Mark sets up behind the camera.
"You want to know the full story, Hunter S. Thompson? I think you deserve to know at this point." Tom says as he undoes his belt, "Well, let me fill in some blanks for you," he sits next to me on the floor after taking off his shirt, "You see, my father, Jeremiah had a great business going here, and I'm not talking about the Motel. He would lure women to stay here, where he would drug them and film himself having his way with them while someone filmed through the two-way mirror. It was a great business, those films. Rich people from all around the world would buy them. Plus, most women never even knew what happened by the time they checked out, but the ones who gave us trouble had to be dealt with. Eventually, my mom, Sarah, got a little too nosey. She kept asking about how my father could make so much money while running a Motel, so she snooped into his things and found some evidence that would crumble our entire family. She confided her findings to her two oldest sons, but when she realized they were in on it too, she went crazy. We tried to keep her quiet, but she wouldn't let it go. Finally, one day, she couldn't take the guilt, and the madwoman opened every unlocked room; she would set anything flammable on fire. Eventually, the fire got out of control and started to spread. The fire killed my brother and father, along with a lot more of the women my mom was trying to save. We finally stopped it, and, being about 20 at the time, I already knew what was going on and was more than ready to take it over with some improvements." He stops for a second, reminiscing on memories.
He touches my face softly with the back of his hand. It's a rough hand that feels like sandpaper scraping my cheek.
"I was going to leave my mother alive, but when she kept talking about 'Saving victim's spirits,' she was making me nervous. I was close with my mother as a kid, so I didn't have the heart to kill her myself, but Mark here," he gestured toward Mark behind the camera, "He's a cold, hard killer." He stares at Mark for a long time. "We couldn't do it out in the open like my father and brothers did, so I had them build passages into the walls of the hallways, opened by various bookshelves. And added a whole hidden room at the end. Doing it during the restoration, it was a perfect cover. We still use all the equipment my father used, as you can see," He gestures to the antique camera that was now filming them. It's a bitch to find someone willing to develop the film, let alone someone who won't ask questions, but I had to keep it this way to honor my Father and Brother's legacy."
He pauses, leaning close to me, his breath hot on my ear. "And now, it's your turn. You're going to be the next big star. You're going to have your own room," He gestures around the damp, death-filled room, "your own things. You'll be taken care of and never have to leave. You'll be part of the family." His hand runs through my hair, cupping the back of my head. "And Mark, don't forget to get some shots of my good side."
"Oh, I won't," Mark says with a chuckle. He walks around me, positioning himself so the camera can point straight at my face.
I try to shrug off the chills that run down my spine as I think about the stories Tom has just told me, and all I see is a lost man looking for something to hold onto.
Tom gets on top of me and starts kissing my neck, and I feel like throwing up. I can feel the ropes on the left hand are loose, so I take a minute to wiggle it out without letting anyone in the room notice. Once I got that hand free, I could get the other free, but I wasn't ready to fight back; I needed to wait for the right time.
Suddenly, the camera audibly stops recording, and Tom notices and looks back at Mark.
"What the hell is going on?" Tom asks angrily.
"The film got stuck, shit! I'm going to have to get a whole new one. Hold on one second." Mark says as he turns his back to exit the room.
Tom gets up, and I finally feel like I can breathe properly. His back is turned, inspecting the camera.
"Old fucking thing," Tom says to himself.
I take the opportunity to untie both ankles. As soon as I'm free, I lunge forward, wrapping my arms around Tom's waist and pulling him off-balance. He lets out a surprised yelp as we both crash to the ground. I scramble to my feet and take a few steps back, breathing hard. Tom glares at me, looking furious.
"You little bitch!" he shouts. "You think you can just take it from me? From my family?" He scrambles to his feet as well, advancing on me slowly. "I could kill you where you stand!"
I back away, my heart pounding in my chest. "I'm not going to let you do this," I say, trying to sound more confident than I feel. "I'm not going to be another victim."
Tom laughs darkly, his eyes narrowing. "Oh, you think you're so special? You think you're the first one to say no?" He steps closer, "You're just like all the others. You're just another piece of meat."
My anger boils over, and I launch myself at him again. We wrestle for a moment, both of us grunting with exertion. He's stronger than me, but I push him against the bookshelf, where he loses his balance, and his head falls onto the corner of a dirt-stained counter. I walk slowly toward him, and I can see a pool of blood forming around his matted blonde hair. He's not breathing.
Mark, who must've heard the commotion, runs in just then. He freezes while looking down at his brother. "No, no, no, no! Tom! You can't do this to me! I can't do this shit alone!" Mark is sobbing while holding his brother's blood-soaked head.
I saw my opportunity and took it. I try to run past Mark, but he catches me by the ankle, making me drop to the floor. "You're not leaving!" he shouts, his voice hoarse with rage. He pulls a knife from his pocket, his hands trembling with fury. "You'll tell everyone you're sorry and then come with me."
I kick him in the face as hard as I can, making him release his grip on my ankle. He clutches his nose, blood pouring between his fingers. I turn and run, hearing him screaming obscenities behind me. I bolt out of the room, racing through the building while luckily not alerting anyone, not knowing where I'm going. I have to get out of here.
Outside, the air is cold and damp, the fog rolling off the ocean. I'm disoriented, my heart pounding in my chest. I am still determining where I am, but I know I must find help. I start running, my lungs burning with each ragged breath.
I come to a main road, a car's headlights blinding me as it speeds past. I wave my arms frantically, but the driver doesn't notice. Panic starts to rise up inside me as I realize that I'm alone and that no one knows what happened. I can't go back there, not after what I've done.
I start to walk, trying to figure out where I'm going. My feet are cold and numb, but I keep moving. The fog thickens, making it hard to see more than a few feet in front of me. I wish I had a cell phone to call the police and get help.
After what feels like hours of walking, I finally spot a streetlight. It's barely enough light to see by, but it's better than nothing. I walk towards it, hoping there might be a nearby house or business where I can find help. As I get closer, I see a police officer at a red light. I run to him, probably looking like a crazy crackhead with only a robe, and I'm sure I smell like death. The officer looks at me with a mixture of surprise and concern.
"Help me," I gasp out between breaths. "These people, they, they, they," I find myself unable to talk or see the words for what has happened. The officer takes my arm, his grip firm but not painful. He looks at me with concern, his brow furrowed.
"Take it easy. You're safe now. What's your name?" I tell him my name, feeling the fog of shock starting to lift from my brain. "Okay, why don't you tell me what happened?" I spend the next hour or so trying to explain everything to him, not caring how crazy I sound.
He listens intently, occasionally asking questions or nodding his head. When I finish, he sighs heavily, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. "Okay, I need you to come to the station with me. We'll get this all sorted out." We take off in his cruiser.
I spent the night at the police station, retelling my story to a half dozen people and getting medical care. The officer who saved me last night told me they sent someone this morning to the Motel to check it out. He said that night, no one except Edna was in the building. She let them look around, and eventually, they found the hidden passages in the walls leading to the basement where they found everything. They arrested Edna, and she denied involvement, but they kept her for further questioning. They claim Edna was the only one there, so Mark must've gotten away.
That was a little over a decade ago, and they still haven't located Mark. Maybe he's dead in a ditch where he belongs. Still, maybe, just perhaps, he could recreate their operation at a new Motel.
Any time I see one, I have PTSD flashbacks of laying on that dirty mattress. Once, I was shopping at a department store and saw this guy on every lane I went down. He never looked at me enough to get a good look at his face, but eventually, he left after I locked myself in the bathroom for an hour.
It's funny how the mind works. I'll be watching a movie, and I'll see a character get kidnapped, and I'll think, "At least they didn't cut my ear off like that guy did."

The first thing that hits me when I step out of the car is the overwhelming silence. Hollow Creek is a small town nestled in the middle of nowhere, with its dwindling population and a sense of desolation hanging in the air. It's different from the kind of place you'd expect to find much work as a freelance journalist. Still, with bills to pay and a need for a change of scenery, I decided to take a chance on this mysterious letter. It said the Whispering Pines Motel is promising a story unlike any other. Now, as I approach the front desk, I can't help but wonder if it was all just a cruel joke.
The receptionist, an elderly woman with a knowing smile, greets me with a forced warmth. Her name is Edna, and she tells me that I'll be staying in room 12, just down the hall. As I walk past the reception area, I can't help but notice the framed newspaper clippings on the walls: headlines like "Whispering Pines: A Haven for the Restless" and "Mysterious Noises Plague the Night." Stories of guests leaving in the middle of the night for unknown reasons.
My room is dimly lit, with a musty odor that reminds me of old books. The furniture looks like it's been here since The Motel was built, and the bedspread is threadbare. A small window by the bed is covered by a thin curtain that billows in the night breeze.
The Motel is on the main road, and the town's only restaurant is just a few doors down and across the street. Walking through the empty street, I notice that most buildings are boarded up or appear abandoned. The only light source comes from the diner's flickering neon sign, casting eerie shadows across the pavement.
I approach the diner and step inside. The atmosphere inside is comforting, almost cozy, with the smell of coffee and bacon filling the air. The waitress, a young woman named Lily, greets me with a warm smile and offers to take my order. I play it cool and order coffee, hoping to start a conversation.
I can't help but overhear snippets of conversations at nearby tables. One man, who looks like he's in his early twenties, is telling a story about a woman he met at the Motel with a haunting past and secrets she's willing to kill to keep. Intrigued, I walk over to them and introduce myself.
"You must be Riley," the man says, nodding in my direction. "I'm Tom, and this is my brother, Mark."
Mark glances up from his coffee, a cautious expression on his face. "Yeah, we heard you were new in town. Lily told us you're a journalist."
"That's right," I reply, sitting opposite them. "I got a letter from one of the Motel's former guests, offering me a story. Something about restless spirits and strange occurrences. I was hoping you could fill me in."
Tom leans in closer, "It's true, Riley. This town has a dark secret. You see there was a fire at the Whispering Pines. It started in one of the rooms, and half the building was destroyed when they put it out. People died in that fire, and their spirits haven't been able to find peace. They say you can hear them whispering in the halls at night."
I can't help but wonder if there's any truth to the story. Lily arrives with my coffee. I thank her and take a sip, savoring the warmth it brings to my hands.
"So, what do you think?" Tom asks, watching me intently. "You believe us?"
"It's an interesting story. But I'd like to see some proof before I write about it. Anything you can show me?"
Tom and Mark exchange glances, then Tom reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small, worn photo album. He slides it across the table to me, and I open it up. Inside are grainy photographs of the Motel, taken years ago. Pictures of the fire, rescue workers trying to contain the flames, and a group of people standing outside the Motel.
"These were taken just after the fire," Tom explains. "The woman in the photo was the Motel's owner's wife. Her name was Sarah. After the fire, she went crazy and talked about voices in the walls, freed spirits, and missing guests. A lot of people think she started the fire, trying to rid the place of the spirits."
I glance back at the photos, taking in the haunted expression on Sarah's face. Whatever she experienced during those dark days left a mark on her.
Lily arrives with food, setting a plate of eggs and bacon in front of me. "Here you go, Riley. Enjoy!" She says with a warm smile.
"Oh, sorry, I actually didn't order anything except coffee. Also, how do you know my name?" I ask, feeling a bit unnerved.
"Well, Riley, you see..." Tom begins, leaning back in his chair. "Sarah isn't the only one affected by the fire. The spirits reach out to certain people and make them see things. And sometimes, they share information. You must have something special about you that they recognized."
I glance around the diner, feeling a shiver run down my spine. The other patrons seem oblivious to our conversation, lost in their thoughts and newspapers.
"So, what else can you tell me about Sarah?" I ask, changing the subject.
Tom shakes his head. "No one could ever prove anything. The fire destroyed most of the evidence, and Sarah... well, she wasn't much help. She spent most of her time ranting about the spirits. But there were always rumors. Some people said she had help starting the fire; others said she was unstable and looking for a way out. As for the guests who went missing... well, no one ever found any bodies. There were whispers that the spirits had taken them, too."
He pauses, taking a sip of coffee, and I can see the pain in his eyes. "We all thought it was just a tragic accident at first. But over time, things started changing. We'd hear footsteps in the hallway, doors slamming shut on their own. It got so bad that some of us started avoiding the Motel at night."
"Do you guys work at the Motel?" I ask, trying to sound casual. "You seem to know a lot about what happened."
"Well, yeah, I've been here for a few years now. And Mark here has been working the night shift. We've all seen and heard things that... well, it's hard to explain."
I nod, "So, what do you think happened to Sarah?" I ask, unable to keep the curiosity from my voice. "Do you think she's still alive?"
Tom shrugs. "No one really knows. Some people say she's still here, trapped in her room, unable to escape the horrors she witnessed."
I glance at Tom, noticing the haunted look in his eyes. "What about you? What do you think happened?"
He takes a deep breath before answering. "Sometimes, I see her in the shadows, just watching us. Other times, I think she's a ghost, trapped here with the rest of them. But, it's clear that something bad went down at the Motel. And it's not just in the past. It's still here, lurking in the darkness."
The rest of our conversation lasted as long as it took me to eat. I was exhausted and needed to sleep before I started writing, so I went back to the Motel at around 8:30pm and settled in bed.
I could have sworn I heard footsteps in the hallway outside my room. They were faint, barely audible over the sound of my own heartbeat.
I could sleep through it, telling myself it was a staff member doing their duties. I finally fell asleep until I heard this high-pitched, non-stop squeak, stuttering every few seconds. It wasn't loud, but just enough to wake me up. I look over at the clock; it reads 3:08am. I decide to open the door slowly, its creak intensifying the mysterious squeak.
Nothing, no one there. I walk slowly as the noise gets louder, but I cannot locate it. I thought it could be an old furnace that they never replaced, but the air in the hallway was so cold. Deciding to believe my furnace assumption, I headed back to my room, but on my way, I could have sworn I had heard someone whispering. When I moved closer, it sounded like it was coming from the walls, just like the town folks said.
As I close the door and crawl back into bed, the whispering grows louder, like it's outside my door. It's getting harder to ignore; the whispers are saying something. I lie there, paralyzed with fear, until finally, the whispering fades away into the distance.
The next day, I push the strange occurrences out of my mind and focus on my work. I spent most of the day researching the Motel's history. As the day drags on, I can't shake the feeling that I'm being watched, that the Motel is alive with a malevolent energy that's intent on driving me mad.
Around dinnertime, I take a break from my research and venture into town. I'm hoping to find someone who might have some insight into what really happened to Sarah. As I walk along the empty street, the air is thick with anticipation, as if the town is holding its breath and waiting for something terrible to happen.
I stop at the diner and take a seat at the counter. The waitress, not the same as last night, an older woman with kind eyes and a knowing smile, sets a menu in front of me. I notice the prices are shockingly low. When I ask her about it, she just says, "Around here, we take care of our own."
I order a burger and a soda, hoping to gather enough courage to ask questions. When the food arrived, I couldn't help but notice that it was some of the best diner food I'd ever had. The waitress must be using some family recipes. As I eat, I discuss with an elderly man sitting at the end of the counter. His name is Hank, and he's lived in the town all his life.
"You're new around here?" he asks. When I confirm his suspicion, he leans close, lowering his voice. "You should be careful about asking too many questions. This town has a long memory, and we don't take kindly to outsiders who pry into our business."
His words chill me, but I can't help but press on. "I'm just trying to find out what happened to Sarah," I say, my voice barely audible.
Hank eyes me before leaning back in his chair. "Well, you've got to understand," he begins, "Sarah was...different. She wasn't like the rest of us. She didn't belong here."
I'm taken aback by his words, but I nod, encouraging him to continue. "But she was still a person, right? She deserved better than whatever happened to her."
Hank glances around the diner, lowering his voice even further. "You're right, she did. But you see, there was...an incident. Something that changed everything. Something that made people start talking, whispering." He hesitates momentarily, then leans in closer. "You see, there was a time when the Motel was different. It was...alive, in a way. People would come from miles around just to see it, just to see its magnificent décor and lively air." Hank sighed heavily as if the story's weight was too much for him to bear. "Back then, the Motel had another owner, a middle-aged man named Jeremiah. He was different, too. He was married to Sarah.
He pauses, looking haunted by the memory. "There was a fire at the Motel. No one knows how it started, but it spread quickly. Sarah and Jerimiah had four boys; two of the oldest sons died in the fire along with their father."
I let out a gasp, unable to believe the horror of the story. "But what happened to Sarah?" I ask, feeling a deep sense of dread creeping up on me.
"She went crazy and locked herself away in the Motel after they restored it. She would go on about how she freed those poor spirits. The now oldest son took over the Motel." he says.
"Did authorities not suspect Sarah?" I ask.
"Oh, they did. They brought her in for questioning, but they were never able to get anything other than her crazy ramblings. They never found enough evidence to prosecute anyone, so it was deemed an accident." He says.
I'm stunned, "So, she's still there?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
Hank laughs, "That's what people around here say, but that was forty-something years ago, and if I'm to guess by her looks, Sarah was in her mid-forties. That would mean she would be almost eighty, and I don't reckon she could stay alive that long without leaving her room."
"But...if she really did set the fire and hurt those people..." I trail off.
Hank shrugs. "Like I said, no one knows for sure what happened. And after all this time, it's probably best left that way." He glances at his watch, signaling that the conversation is over.
I nod, feeling a mixture of disbelief and horror coursing through me. Something about Sarah's story refuses to let me go. I thank Hank for his time and pay for my lunch, leaving the diner.
As I walk back to the Motel, I can't help but wonder; was Sarah genuinely insane or just trying to protect something? With its faded grandeur and haunted past, the Motel holds a strange allure for me now. It's as if I can feel the weight of its history pressing down on my shoulders, demanding that I uncover the truth.
I get to my room and spend the rest of the day exploring the motel grounds. The air is thick with the scent of old wood and damp earth and the sound of leaves rustling in the distance. I wander past open rooms with peeling paint and boarded-up windows.
I find a dusty photo album on a dresser in one of the abandoned rooms. Carefully opening the tattered cover, I discover a collection of faded photographs depicting the Motel in its heyday: couples dancing beneath twinkling chandeliers, laughing children running through the hall. There's even a picture of Sarah and Jeremiah smiling brightly for the camera.
I close the album, feeling a strange mixture of nostalgia and sadness. As I turn to leave, I notice a bookshelf in the hallway. Most books are dog-eared romance novels, but one title catches my eye: "The Haunting of the Hotel Amity: A True Story." It seemed morbidly fitting for the scene, but I decided to move past it and head to the front desk to interview Edna.
The afternoon passes quickly as I spend time with Edna, listening to her stories of working at the Motel and meeting various guests. She speaks fondly of Sarah, insisting that she is a good woman who only wants to protect the place she loves. Edna also mentioned that she had heard stories from other employees about strange occurrences in the Motel. Still, she always brushed them off as superstitious nonsense.
"Have you never experienced anything like that?" I ask, "Any strange occurrences?"
Edna pauses, her expression thoughtful. "Well, there was one time when I was cleaning a room, and I swear I heard someone calling my name. I thought it was just the wind at first, but the voice sounded so real. It gave me a chill." She shudders, her eyes distant with memory.
I nod, unsure what to make of her story. Even the people who were closest to Sarah were left with more questions than answers. I head back to my room.
It was only 9pm, but I was tired, so I lay down and drifted asleep.
As I closed my eyes, I thought about Sarah and her story. I couldn't help but feel that there was something more to the Motel than what had been revealed. Something darker, more sinister. Perhaps the faded photos in the album or the eerie silence seemed to permeate the halls, but I couldn't shake the feeling that a story was yet to be told.
I drifted off to sleep, dreaming of the Motel and its secrets. In my dreams, I wandered through its empty halls. I could feel the weight of history pressing down on me. And in the distance, I thought I heard the faint strains of a melody, like a distant echo of a time long gone. Suddenly, in my dream, I needed to look at the book I had spotted earlier about the Amity Hotel. Something about it drew me in, and when I went to pick it up, I was awoken by the loud, stuttered squeak like the one from the night prior.
I look at the clock again: 3:04am.
The dream felt real, and the urge to investigate the book was almost overwhelming. I slip out of bed, padding quietly across the carpeted floor. The eerie silence of the Motel seems to press against my ears as I make my way to the bookshelf in the corner. There, nestled between a romance novel and a travel guide, is the worn copy of "The Haunting of the Hotel Amity: A True Story."
I pulled it down, but it only moved slightly, getting stuck when I tried pulling further. Finally, after yanking a bit, I felt it give a little more; it's frozen in place as if it was tipping. Suddenly, I hear an amalgamation of gears turning behind it, and the shelf opens slightly on one side. I pull on the released side, and it opens like a door, leading to a passageway between the walls.
I step inside, flicking on my phone's flashlight. The narrow passageway is dimly lit by flickering bulbs every few feet, casting eerie shadows on the walls. The air is musty and stale. I make my way down the passageway, the squeak louder the further I go. I can see a dark opening at the end, so I put on a brave face and walk toward it when I hear a voice from the dark opening. I could barely hear it over the loud squeak and couldn't understand what they were saying, but I knew I shouldn't be here anymore, so I sneaked out of the passage. I tried to close the door as slowly as possible, but the voices were approaching fast, so I left it ajar.
Rushing into bed, slowly closing the door as it creaked louder than I anticipated. Finally, I was in bed, mind racing with the possibilities of what was in that room at the end of the passageway.
The voices grew louder as they approached my room. I shut my eyelids tight.
They were right in front of my door; this time, I could faintly make out some words. There were words like "her" and "Has to be," and the one that made my heart race was "Only guest here."
The handle turned slowly, and the door creaked open. I loosened my eyelids to peak at who it was, revealing a shadowy figure in the doorway. It was Edna, but there was something different about her. Her usually kind face was twisted in anger, her eyes burning with an unnatural light. She glanced at me, for just a moment before she turned her attention back to the others in the hall.
"Leave her for now," Edna said. The other voices murmured in agreement, their whispers echoing down the hall. As they turned away, I felt a chill run down my spine. Finally, they leave.
I slowly get out of bed, and as quietly as possible, I pack my things. I planned to jump out of the window if I had to.
Suddenly, the squeak stopped, and the Motel was much too quiet again. The eerie silence of the Motel seems to press against my ears as I try to calm my racing thoughts. I close my eyes, but I can't help but feel a sense of dread creeping up on me.
Just as I'm about to fall asleep, I hear a faint click coming from the hallway. My heart starts pounding again as I realize someone is moving through the Motel, methodically checking each room. The clicking grows louder as the person gets closer, and I hear footsteps outside my door.
I lie there, paralyzed. The footsteps pause outside my door, and I hear a low whisper. "She's in here?" I freeze. "Yeah, she's in there, but Edna doesn't want us to disturb her until Tom says it's time." Tom? I thought to myself. The guy from the diner on my first night? The one that already knew my name before introducing myself?
"Man fuck Tom," One of the voices said, "Just being Jeremiah's son is the only reason we have to listen to that prick."
"Yeah, unless you want to end up in one of his films, you better listen to that prick." The other man proclaims. The two sets of footsteps walk away from my door.
Films? What the hell were they talking about?
Why did Edna seem so angry earlier? Why were these men talking about me in the hallway like I was a film project?
As the night wears on, I can't help but feel like I'm at the center of some sort of twisted game. I lie awake, listening to the occasional creak of a floorboard or whispered conversation down the hall. Eventually, exhaustion overtakes me, and I fall into a fitful sleep.
I first notice the light streaming through the window when I wake up. It's morning, and with it comes a sense of urgency. I quickly dress and gather my things, making my way to the diner. As I approach, I see Tom sitting at a booth, already deep in conversation with Mark. They glance up at me as I enter, and Tom motions for me to join them.
"Good morning, Sunshine," Tom says with a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Care to join us?"
I sit across from them, trying to ignore the feeling of unease that settles in my stomach. "Good morning," I manage to say.
"So, how are you finding our little motel?" Tom asks, leaning in closer. "I hope we're taking good care of you." There's an undertone to his voice that I can't quite place.
I force a smile, trying to appear more confident than I feel. "It's been fine, I guess."
Tom raises an eyebrow at my noncommittal response. "I hope you don't mean that as a complaint. We've gone to great lengths to ensure you have everything you need."
I glance at Mark sitting next to Tom. His expression is unreadable, and he seems to be observing me. "It's not that," I say quickly, hoping to reassure them. "I'm just... I'm not used to being around so little people." There, that sounds believable.
"Well, hopefully, you will settle in a little bit before you have to leave. See my brother Mark here," he gestures over to Mark, "he's in charge of maintenance, and if there's anything he can do to help you feel more comfortable, let him know!" Tom says with a forced smile.
I nod, still feeling uneasy. "Thank you, I'm sure I'll be fine." I glance around the diner, trying to appear calm and collected. The place is filled with small wooden tables and booths, each covered in a checkered red-and-white tablecloth. The walls are adorned with old movie posters and black-and-white photographs of people I assume are famous actors. The air is thick with the scent of coffee and bacon, making my stomach rumble.
"So, what's on the menu today?" I ask, hoping to change the subject. Tom hands me a menu, and I scan the options, debating between pancakes and eggs. "I'll have the pancakes, please." I look up at Tom, then Mark, waiting for their response.
"Excellent choice!" Tom says with a smile. "I'm sure you'll enjoy them. Mark, will you go ahead and get our order?" Mark nods and stands, making his way over to the waitress. I watch him go, still feeling a sense of unease. The air between Tom and me has become heavy, and I can't help but wonder what they want from me.
As I wait for our food, I glance around the diner again, hoping to find some escape route. The exit is right behind me, but a large man is sitting in a booth by the door, looking like he might be a bouncer at a bar. I don't want to make a scene, but I must leave.
The waitress returns with our food, setting down plates of steaming hot pancakes in front of us. The aroma is intoxicating, and my stomach grumbles in anticipation. I pick up my fork, debating whether or not to eat anything at all. Tom glances at my plate and smiles reassuringly as if he can read my mind.
A few bites in, I realize my anxiety won't let me eat anymore. I tried to find an excuse to leave and investigate the Motel further.
"I'm sorry, Tom. I feel like I need some fresh air," I say, smiling. "I'm going to step outside for a bit. Maybe go for a walk." I say, hoping he doesn't hear my voice shake.
Tom nods understandingly. "Of course, Riley. Take your time. We'll be right here if you need anything." He reaches across the table and gently pats my hand, his expression softening.
I push my chair back and stand up, trying to appear calm and confident as I walk towards the exit. As I pass by the large man in the booth, he gives me a quick once-over before returning to his meal. The air outside is cool and crisp, and I take a deep breath of fresh air. The Motel is just across the street, and I can see Tom and Mark sitting in the diner, watching me.
I stroll down the sidewalk, pretending to look at the shops along the way. But really, my attention is focused on the Motel. The neon sign flickers above the door, casting an eerie glow on the building. The rooms are arranged in a U-shape around a central courtyard.
I pause for a moment, debating whether or not to go inside. A part of me wants to know what Tom and Mark are up to, but another part is terrified of what I might find. Before I can decide, a car pulls beside me, and a woman rolls down her window.
"Hey, honey, need a ride somewhere?" she asks, her voice laced with a Southern drawl. She's probably around my mom's age, with long, curly, graying hair and a warm smile. Something about her seems genuine, and I trust her for a moment.
"Uh, no thanks, I'm feeling sick, so I'm going back to my room," I said before quickly walking away. It felt like the entire town was watching me.
I make my way back to the Motel, my heart racing. I try to calm my nerves as I approach my room. As soon as I unlock the door, I collapse onto the bed, feeling a mixture of exhaustion and fear wash over me. I close my eyes and try to think about anything else, but I can't shake the feeling of anxiety.
Now is an excellent time to look further into the dark opening at the end of the passageway I found last night. I carefully walk down the hallway, feeling the cool air from the vent blowing against my face. The walls are covered in peeling wallpaper, and a strong, musty odor makes me feel uneasy. As I approach the bookshelf, I attempt to reach for the Amity Hotel book, but when I pull it, nothing happens. I didn't dream that whole thing, did I? No, they must've changed the book, so I go through each individual book, pulling each one carefully.
"Can I help you find anything in particular?" Edna said with a bit of contempt as she snuck up behind me.
I spun around, startled. "Oh, uh, no. Just, um... looking for a book I thought I saw."
Edna raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "Well, you're not going to find it here," she said, gesturing to the bookshelf. "Those books are just for show." She paused, studying me for a moment. "Why were you looking for, anyway?"
"It was something about A Hotel in Amity. Considering where I am, I thought it would be a good read." I reply, still trying to play it cool.
Edna chuckles darkly. "Oh, that's Tom and Mark's favorite. One of them probably took it with them."
"Oh, okay. I'll look for something else then." I say, glancing back at the bookshelf. Edna watches me for a moment before disappearing back into her room. I stand there momentarily before continuing to search for the book lever that opens the bookshelf, trying to be as quiet as possible.
Finally, one book will only pull out some of the way. It had to be another lever, but remembering how loud the hidden door was, I decided to wait to pull it, when I hear the loud squeak tonight, hoping it would mask most of the sound of the gears turning behind the door.
Late that night, I creep out of my room and return to the bookshelf. The air is thick with the smell of stale cigarette smoke. I carefully yanked the book out as far as it could go before I could hear the gears. I'm confident the squeak is loud enough to mask the bookshelf. I opened it and slid into the passageway leading to the dark opening.
I step inside, and the squeak is almost too much, but I press on. I hear multiple men talking loudly and laughing as I enter the room. As I turn the corner, I can see lights dancing on the wall like someone was watching an old movie, and the smell of cigar smoke fills my lungs. Quietly moving further in, I can see a giant old movie projector that was making the stuttered squeak from its giant bent and dented film rolls scraping against the side of the projector.
I look to see what is playing on the screen, but I'm distracted by about eight men, mostly old except Tom, Mark, and another younger-looking man. They don't see me, or they don't care enough to acknowledge me.
They were sitting in a makeshift movie theater, but none of the fun.
Finally, I looked up at the screen and felt sick. They were showing a homemade old snuff film. Then I realized it couldn't be that old since I recognized Tom and Mark. They were doing unspeakable things with women of all ages.
I look down at the group of men and see them all staring at me with a menacingly evil grin. I froze in immense fear.
Staring at them for an eternity, I suddenly felt a sting in my neck, like someone had injected me with something. As my vision darkened, I could see the face of the man holding me with one hand and a syringe in the other. It was the bouncer-looking man I had seen in the diner.
When I wake up, my head is pounding. The room is spinning, and my vision is blurry. I can see little memory flashes of the group picking me up and moving me to the room next to the makeshift theater. My clothes are gone, and I'm naked except for a loose robe. There's a sour taste in my mouth, and my body feels heavy and sour. I'm tied to a mattress that smells like sweat and fear. I struggle against my bonds, but they're too tight.
I see an antique film camera on an even older tripod. There were huge lights all around me that were turned off. Suddenly, they were blinding me as I heard the men laughing.
"Oh, Walter Cronkite, what will we do with you?" I recognize Tom's voice, "You were THIS close! A shame, but I can't say I'm surprised. You have a lot of fight, and we LOVE that." The men laugh way too hard.
The camera is pointed at me; it's old and dusty but still working. I close my eyes and try to steel my nerves, but I can't help but feel sick. The memory of the snuff film plays over and over in my head, and I can't shake the feeling that I'm about to be a part of it.
"Now, now, Tom," I hear Mark say, his voice steady and calm. "No need for that. We've got plans for Anderson Cooper here." The other men chuckle menacingly. "She's going to be a star."
As Tom approaches me, I hear most men leave the room, and Mark sets up behind the camera.
"You want to know the full story, Hunter S. Thompson? I think you deserve to know at this point." Tom says as he undoes his belt, "Well, let me fill in some blanks for you," he sits next to me on the floor after taking off his shirt, "You see, my father, Jeremiah had a great business going here, and I'm not talking about the Motel. He would lure women to stay here, where he would drug them and film himself having his way with them while someone filmed through the two-way mirror. It was a great business, those films. Rich people from all around the world would buy them. Plus, most women never even knew what happened by the time they checked out, but the ones who gave us trouble had to be dealt with. Eventually, my mom, Sarah, got a little too nosey. She kept asking about how my father could make so much money while running a Motel, so she snooped into his things and found some evidence that would crumble our entire family. She confided her findings to her two oldest sons, but when she realized they were in on it too, she went crazy. We tried to keep her quiet, but she wouldn't let it go. Finally, one day, she couldn't take the guilt, and the madwoman opened every unlocked room; she would set anything flammable on fire. Eventually, the fire got out of control and started to spread. The fire killed my brother and father, along with a lot more of the women my mom was trying to save. We finally stopped it, and, being about 20 at the time, I already knew what was going on and was more than ready to take it over with some improvements." He stops for a second, reminiscing on memories.
He touches my face softly with the back of his hand. It's a rough hand that feels like sandpaper scraping my cheek.
"I was going to leave my mother alive, but when she kept talking about 'Saving victim's spirits,' she was making me nervous. I was close with my mother as a kid, so I didn't have the heart to kill her myself, but Mark here," he gestured toward Mark behind the camera, "He's a cold, hard killer." He stares at Mark for a long time. "We couldn't do it out in the open like my father and brothers did, so I had them build passages into the walls of the hallways, opened by various bookshelves. And added a whole hidden room at the end. Doing it during the restoration, it was a perfect cover. We still use all the equipment my father used, as you can see," He gestures to the antique camera that was now filming them. It's a bitch to find someone willing to develop the film, let alone someone who won't ask questions, but I had to keep it this way to honor my Father and Brother's legacy."
He pauses, leaning close to me, his breath hot on my ear. "And now, it's your turn. You're going to be the next big star. You're going to have your own room," He gestures around the damp, death-filled room, "your own things. You'll be taken care of and never have to leave. You'll be part of the family." His hand runs through my hair, cupping the back of my head. "And Mark, don't forget to get some shots of my good side."
"Oh, I won't," Mark says with a chuckle. He walks around me, positioning himself so the camera can point straight at my face.
I try to shrug off the chills that run down my spine as I think about the stories Tom has just told me, and all I see is a lost man looking for something to hold onto.
Tom gets on top of me and starts kissing my neck, and I feel like throwing up. I can feel the ropes on the left hand are loose, so I take a minute to wiggle it out without letting anyone in the room notice. Once I got that hand free, I could get the other free, but I wasn't ready to fight back; I needed to wait for the right time.
Suddenly, the camera audibly stops recording, and Tom notices and looks back at Mark.
"What the hell is going on?" Tom asks angrily.
"The film got stuck, shit! I'm going to have to get a whole new one. Hold on one second." Mark says as he turns his back to exit the room.
Tom gets up, and I finally feel like I can breathe properly. His back is turned, inspecting the camera.
"Old fucking thing," Tom says to himself.
I take the opportunity to untie both ankles. As soon as I'm free, I lunge forward, wrapping my arms around Tom's waist and pulling him off-balance. He lets out a surprised yelp as we both crash to the ground. I scramble to my feet and take a few steps back, breathing hard. Tom glares at me, looking furious.
"You little bitch!" he shouts. "You think you can just take it from me? From my family?" He scrambles to his feet as well, advancing on me slowly. "I could kill you where you stand!"
I back away, my heart pounding in my chest. "I'm not going to let you do this," I say, trying to sound more confident than I feel. "I'm not going to be another victim."
Tom laughs darkly, his eyes narrowing. "Oh, you think you're so special? You think you're the first one to say no?" He steps closer, "You're just like all the others. You're just another piece of meat."
My anger boils over, and I launch myself at him again. We wrestle for a moment, both of us grunting with exertion. He's stronger than me, but I push him against the bookshelf, where he loses his balance, and his head falls onto the corner of a dirt-stained counter. I walk slowly toward him, and I can see a pool of blood forming around his matted blonde hair. He's not breathing.
Mark, who must've heard the commotion, runs in just then. He freezes while looking down at his brother. "No, no, no, no! Tom! You can't do this to me! I can't do this shit alone!" Mark is sobbing while holding his brother's blood-soaked head.
I saw my opportunity and took it. I try to run past Mark, but he catches me by the ankle, making me drop to the floor. "You're not leaving!" he shouts, his voice hoarse with rage. He pulls a knife from his pocket, his hands trembling with fury. "You'll tell everyone you're sorry and then come with me."
I kick him in the face as hard as I can, making him release his grip on my ankle. He clutches his nose, blood pouring between his fingers. I turn and run, hearing him screaming obscenities behind me. I bolt out of the room, racing through the building while luckily not alerting anyone, not knowing where I'm going. I have to get out of here.
Outside, the air is cold and damp, the fog rolling off the ocean. I'm disoriented, my heart pounding in my chest. I am still determining where I am, but I know I must find help. I start running, my lungs burning with each ragged breath.
I come to a main road, a car's headlights blinding me as it speeds past. I wave my arms frantically, but the driver doesn't notice. Panic starts to rise up inside me as I realize that I'm alone and that no one knows what happened. I can't go back there, not after what I've done.
I start to walk, trying to figure out where I'm going. My feet are cold and numb, but I keep moving. The fog thickens, making it hard to see more than a few feet in front of me. I wish I had a cell phone to call the police and get help.
After what feels like hours of walking, I finally spot a streetlight. It's barely enough light to see by, but it's better than nothing. I walk towards it, hoping there might be a nearby house or business where I can find help. As I get closer, I see a police officer at a red light. I run to him, probably looking like a crazy crackhead with only a robe, and I'm sure I smell like death. The officer looks at me with a mixture of surprise and concern.
"Help me," I gasp out between breaths. "These people, they, they, they," I find myself unable to talk or see the words for what has happened. The officer takes my arm, his grip firm but not painful. He looks at me with concern, his brow furrowed.
"Take it easy. You're safe now. What's your name?" I tell him my name, feeling the fog of shock starting to lift from my brain. "Okay, why don't you tell me what happened?" I spend the next hour or so trying to explain everything to him, not caring how crazy I sound.
He listens intently, occasionally asking questions or nodding his head. When I finish, he sighs heavily, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. "Okay, I need you to come to the station with me. We'll get this all sorted out." We take off in his cruiser.
I spent the night at the police station, retelling my story to a half dozen people and getting medical care. The officer who saved me last night told me they sent someone this morning to the Motel to check it out. He said that night, no one except Edna was in the building. She let them look around, and eventually, they found the hidden passages in the walls leading to the basement where they found everything. They arrested Edna, and she denied involvement, but they kept her for further questioning. They claim Edna was the only one there, so Mark must've gotten away.
That was a little over a decade ago, and they still haven't located Mark. Maybe he's dead in a ditch where he belongs. Still, maybe, just perhaps, he could recreate their operation at a new Motel.
Any time I see one, I have PTSD flashbacks of laying on that dirty mattress. Once, I was shopping at a department store and saw this guy on every lane I went down. He never looked at me enough to get a good look at his face, but eventually, he left after I locked myself in the bathroom for an hour.
It's funny how the mind works. I'll be watching a movie, and I'll see a character get kidnapped, and I'll think, "At least they didn't cut my ear off like that guy did."

The first thing that hits me when I step out of the car is the overwhelming silence. Hollow Creek is a small town nestled in the middle of nowhere, with its dwindling population and a sense of desolation hanging in the air. It's different from the kind of place you'd expect to find much work as a freelance journalist. Still, with bills to pay and a need for a change of scenery, I decided to take a chance on this mysterious letter. It said the Whispering Pines Motel is promising a story unlike any other. Now, as I approach the front desk, I can't help but wonder if it was all just a cruel joke.
The receptionist, an elderly woman with a knowing smile, greets me with a forced warmth. Her name is Edna, and she tells me that I'll be staying in room 12, just down the hall. As I walk past the reception area, I can't help but notice the framed newspaper clippings on the walls: headlines like "Whispering Pines: A Haven for the Restless" and "Mysterious Noises Plague the Night." Stories of guests leaving in the middle of the night for unknown reasons.
My room is dimly lit, with a musty odor that reminds me of old books. The furniture looks like it's been here since The Motel was built, and the bedspread is threadbare. A small window by the bed is covered by a thin curtain that billows in the night breeze.
The Motel is on the main road, and the town's only restaurant is just a few doors down and across the street. Walking through the empty street, I notice that most buildings are boarded up or appear abandoned. The only light source comes from the diner's flickering neon sign, casting eerie shadows across the pavement.
I approach the diner and step inside. The atmosphere inside is comforting, almost cozy, with the smell of coffee and bacon filling the air. The waitress, a young woman named Lily, greets me with a warm smile and offers to take my order. I play it cool and order coffee, hoping to start a conversation.
I can't help but overhear snippets of conversations at nearby tables. One man, who looks like he's in his early twenties, is telling a story about a woman he met at the Motel with a haunting past and secrets she's willing to kill to keep. Intrigued, I walk over to them and introduce myself.
"You must be Riley," the man says, nodding in my direction. "I'm Tom, and this is my brother, Mark."
Mark glances up from his coffee, a cautious expression on his face. "Yeah, we heard you were new in town. Lily told us you're a journalist."
"That's right," I reply, sitting opposite them. "I got a letter from one of the Motel's former guests, offering me a story. Something about restless spirits and strange occurrences. I was hoping you could fill me in."
Tom leans in closer, "It's true, Riley. This town has a dark secret. You see there was a fire at the Whispering Pines. It started in one of the rooms, and half the building was destroyed when they put it out. People died in that fire, and their spirits haven't been able to find peace. They say you can hear them whispering in the halls at night."
I can't help but wonder if there's any truth to the story. Lily arrives with my coffee. I thank her and take a sip, savoring the warmth it brings to my hands.
"So, what do you think?" Tom asks, watching me intently. "You believe us?"
"It's an interesting story. But I'd like to see some proof before I write about it. Anything you can show me?"
Tom and Mark exchange glances, then Tom reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small, worn photo album. He slides it across the table to me, and I open it up. Inside are grainy photographs of the Motel, taken years ago. Pictures of the fire, rescue workers trying to contain the flames, and a group of people standing outside the Motel.
"These were taken just after the fire," Tom explains. "The woman in the photo was the Motel's owner's wife. Her name was Sarah. After the fire, she went crazy and talked about voices in the walls, freed spirits, and missing guests. A lot of people think she started the fire, trying to rid the place of the spirits."
I glance back at the photos, taking in the haunted expression on Sarah's face. Whatever she experienced during those dark days left a mark on her.
Lily arrives with food, setting a plate of eggs and bacon in front of me. "Here you go, Riley. Enjoy!" She says with a warm smile.
"Oh, sorry, I actually didn't order anything except coffee. Also, how do you know my name?" I ask, feeling a bit unnerved.
"Well, Riley, you see..." Tom begins, leaning back in his chair. "Sarah isn't the only one affected by the fire. The spirits reach out to certain people and make them see things. And sometimes, they share information. You must have something special about you that they recognized."
I glance around the diner, feeling a shiver run down my spine. The other patrons seem oblivious to our conversation, lost in their thoughts and newspapers.
"So, what else can you tell me about Sarah?" I ask, changing the subject.
Tom shakes his head. "No one could ever prove anything. The fire destroyed most of the evidence, and Sarah... well, she wasn't much help. She spent most of her time ranting about the spirits. But there were always rumors. Some people said she had help starting the fire; others said she was unstable and looking for a way out. As for the guests who went missing... well, no one ever found any bodies. There were whispers that the spirits had taken them, too."
He pauses, taking a sip of coffee, and I can see the pain in his eyes. "We all thought it was just a tragic accident at first. But over time, things started changing. We'd hear footsteps in the hallway, doors slamming shut on their own. It got so bad that some of us started avoiding the Motel at night."
"Do you guys work at the Motel?" I ask, trying to sound casual. "You seem to know a lot about what happened."
"Well, yeah, I've been here for a few years now. And Mark here has been working the night shift. We've all seen and heard things that... well, it's hard to explain."
I nod, "So, what do you think happened to Sarah?" I ask, unable to keep the curiosity from my voice. "Do you think she's still alive?"
Tom shrugs. "No one really knows. Some people say she's still here, trapped in her room, unable to escape the horrors she witnessed."
I glance at Tom, noticing the haunted look in his eyes. "What about you? What do you think happened?"
He takes a deep breath before answering. "Sometimes, I see her in the shadows, just watching us. Other times, I think she's a ghost, trapped here with the rest of them. But, it's clear that something bad went down at the Motel. And it's not just in the past. It's still here, lurking in the darkness."
The rest of our conversation lasted as long as it took me to eat. I was exhausted and needed to sleep before I started writing, so I went back to the Motel at around 8:30pm and settled in bed.
I could have sworn I heard footsteps in the hallway outside my room. They were faint, barely audible over the sound of my own heartbeat.
I could sleep through it, telling myself it was a staff member doing their duties. I finally fell asleep until I heard this high-pitched, non-stop squeak, stuttering every few seconds. It wasn't loud, but just enough to wake me up. I look over at the clock; it reads 3:08am. I decide to open the door slowly, its creak intensifying the mysterious squeak.
Nothing, no one there. I walk slowly as the noise gets louder, but I cannot locate it. I thought it could be an old furnace that they never replaced, but the air in the hallway was so cold. Deciding to believe my furnace assumption, I headed back to my room, but on my way, I could have sworn I had heard someone whispering. When I moved closer, it sounded like it was coming from the walls, just like the town folks said.
As I close the door and crawl back into bed, the whispering grows louder, like it's outside my door. It's getting harder to ignore; the whispers are saying something. I lie there, paralyzed with fear, until finally, the whispering fades away into the distance.
The next day, I push the strange occurrences out of my mind and focus on my work. I spent most of the day researching the Motel's history. As the day drags on, I can't shake the feeling that I'm being watched, that the Motel is alive with a malevolent energy that's intent on driving me mad.
Around dinnertime, I take a break from my research and venture into town. I'm hoping to find someone who might have some insight into what really happened to Sarah. As I walk along the empty street, the air is thick with anticipation, as if the town is holding its breath and waiting for something terrible to happen.
I stop at the diner and take a seat at the counter. The waitress, not the same as last night, an older woman with kind eyes and a knowing smile, sets a menu in front of me. I notice the prices are shockingly low. When I ask her about it, she just says, "Around here, we take care of our own."
I order a burger and a soda, hoping to gather enough courage to ask questions. When the food arrived, I couldn't help but notice that it was some of the best diner food I'd ever had. The waitress must be using some family recipes. As I eat, I discuss with an elderly man sitting at the end of the counter. His name is Hank, and he's lived in the town all his life.
"You're new around here?" he asks. When I confirm his suspicion, he leans close, lowering his voice. "You should be careful about asking too many questions. This town has a long memory, and we don't take kindly to outsiders who pry into our business."
His words chill me, but I can't help but press on. "I'm just trying to find out what happened to Sarah," I say, my voice barely audible.
Hank eyes me before leaning back in his chair. "Well, you've got to understand," he begins, "Sarah was...different. She wasn't like the rest of us. She didn't belong here."
I'm taken aback by his words, but I nod, encouraging him to continue. "But she was still a person, right? She deserved better than whatever happened to her."
Hank glances around the diner, lowering his voice even further. "You're right, she did. But you see, there was...an incident. Something that changed everything. Something that made people start talking, whispering." He hesitates momentarily, then leans in closer. "You see, there was a time when the Motel was different. It was...alive, in a way. People would come from miles around just to see it, just to see its magnificent décor and lively air." Hank sighed heavily as if the story's weight was too much for him to bear. "Back then, the Motel had another owner, a middle-aged man named Jeremiah. He was different, too. He was married to Sarah.
He pauses, looking haunted by the memory. "There was a fire at the Motel. No one knows how it started, but it spread quickly. Sarah and Jerimiah had four boys; two of the oldest sons died in the fire along with their father."
I let out a gasp, unable to believe the horror of the story. "But what happened to Sarah?" I ask, feeling a deep sense of dread creeping up on me.
"She went crazy and locked herself away in the Motel after they restored it. She would go on about how she freed those poor spirits. The now oldest son took over the Motel." he says.
"Did authorities not suspect Sarah?" I ask.
"Oh, they did. They brought her in for questioning, but they were never able to get anything other than her crazy ramblings. They never found enough evidence to prosecute anyone, so it was deemed an accident." He says.
I'm stunned, "So, she's still there?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
Hank laughs, "That's what people around here say, but that was forty-something years ago, and if I'm to guess by her looks, Sarah was in her mid-forties. That would mean she would be almost eighty, and I don't reckon she could stay alive that long without leaving her room."
"But...if she really did set the fire and hurt those people..." I trail off.
Hank shrugs. "Like I said, no one knows for sure what happened. And after all this time, it's probably best left that way." He glances at his watch, signaling that the conversation is over.
I nod, feeling a mixture of disbelief and horror coursing through me. Something about Sarah's story refuses to let me go. I thank Hank for his time and pay for my lunch, leaving the diner.
As I walk back to the Motel, I can't help but wonder; was Sarah genuinely insane or just trying to protect something? With its faded grandeur and haunted past, the Motel holds a strange allure for me now. It's as if I can feel the weight of its history pressing down on my shoulders, demanding that I uncover the truth.
I get to my room and spend the rest of the day exploring the motel grounds. The air is thick with the scent of old wood and damp earth and the sound of leaves rustling in the distance. I wander past open rooms with peeling paint and boarded-up windows.
I find a dusty photo album on a dresser in one of the abandoned rooms. Carefully opening the tattered cover, I discover a collection of faded photographs depicting the Motel in its heyday: couples dancing beneath twinkling chandeliers, laughing children running through the hall. There's even a picture of Sarah and Jeremiah smiling brightly for the camera.
I close the album, feeling a strange mixture of nostalgia and sadness. As I turn to leave, I notice a bookshelf in the hallway. Most books are dog-eared romance novels, but one title catches my eye: "The Haunting of the Hotel Amity: A True Story." It seemed morbidly fitting for the scene, but I decided to move past it and head to the front desk to interview Edna.
The afternoon passes quickly as I spend time with Edna, listening to her stories of working at the Motel and meeting various guests. She speaks fondly of Sarah, insisting that she is a good woman who only wants to protect the place she loves. Edna also mentioned that she had heard stories from other employees about strange occurrences in the Motel. Still, she always brushed them off as superstitious nonsense.
"Have you never experienced anything like that?" I ask, "Any strange occurrences?"
Edna pauses, her expression thoughtful. "Well, there was one time when I was cleaning a room, and I swear I heard someone calling my name. I thought it was just the wind at first, but the voice sounded so real. It gave me a chill." She shudders, her eyes distant with memory.
I nod, unsure what to make of her story. Even the people who were closest to Sarah were left with more questions than answers. I head back to my room.
It was only 9pm, but I was tired, so I lay down and drifted asleep.
As I closed my eyes, I thought about Sarah and her story. I couldn't help but feel that there was something more to the Motel than what had been revealed. Something darker, more sinister. Perhaps the faded photos in the album or the eerie silence seemed to permeate the halls, but I couldn't shake the feeling that a story was yet to be told.
I drifted off to sleep, dreaming of the Motel and its secrets. In my dreams, I wandered through its empty halls. I could feel the weight of history pressing down on me. And in the distance, I thought I heard the faint strains of a melody, like a distant echo of a time long gone. Suddenly, in my dream, I needed to look at the book I had spotted earlier about the Amity Hotel. Something about it drew me in, and when I went to pick it up, I was awoken by the loud, stuttered squeak like the one from the night prior.
I look at the clock again: 3:04am.
The dream felt real, and the urge to investigate the book was almost overwhelming. I slip out of bed, padding quietly across the carpeted floor. The eerie silence of the Motel seems to press against my ears as I make my way to the bookshelf in the corner. There, nestled between a romance novel and a travel guide, is the worn copy of "The Haunting of the Hotel Amity: A True Story."
I pulled it down, but it only moved slightly, getting stuck when I tried pulling further. Finally, after yanking a bit, I felt it give a little more; it's frozen in place as if it was tipping. Suddenly, I hear an amalgamation of gears turning behind it, and the shelf opens slightly on one side. I pull on the released side, and it opens like a door, leading to a passageway between the walls.
I step inside, flicking on my phone's flashlight. The narrow passageway is dimly lit by flickering bulbs every few feet, casting eerie shadows on the walls. The air is musty and stale. I make my way down the passageway, the squeak louder the further I go. I can see a dark opening at the end, so I put on a brave face and walk toward it when I hear a voice from the dark opening. I could barely hear it over the loud squeak and couldn't understand what they were saying, but I knew I shouldn't be here anymore, so I sneaked out of the passage. I tried to close the door as slowly as possible, but the voices were approaching fast, so I left it ajar.
Rushing into bed, slowly closing the door as it creaked louder than I anticipated. Finally, I was in bed, mind racing with the possibilities of what was in that room at the end of the passageway.
The voices grew louder as they approached my room. I shut my eyelids tight.
They were right in front of my door; this time, I could faintly make out some words. There were words like "her" and "Has to be," and the one that made my heart race was "Only guest here."
The handle turned slowly, and the door creaked open. I loosened my eyelids to peak at who it was, revealing a shadowy figure in the doorway. It was Edna, but there was something different about her. Her usually kind face was twisted in anger, her eyes burning with an unnatural light. She glanced at me, for just a moment before she turned her attention back to the others in the hall.
"Leave her for now," Edna said. The other voices murmured in agreement, their whispers echoing down the hall. As they turned away, I felt a chill run down my spine. Finally, they leave.
I slowly get out of bed, and as quietly as possible, I pack my things. I planned to jump out of the window if I had to.
Suddenly, the squeak stopped, and the Motel was much too quiet again. The eerie silence of the Motel seems to press against my ears as I try to calm my racing thoughts. I close my eyes, but I can't help but feel a sense of dread creeping up on me.
Just as I'm about to fall asleep, I hear a faint click coming from the hallway. My heart starts pounding again as I realize someone is moving through the Motel, methodically checking each room. The clicking grows louder as the person gets closer, and I hear footsteps outside my door.
I lie there, paralyzed. The footsteps pause outside my door, and I hear a low whisper. "She's in here?" I freeze. "Yeah, she's in there, but Edna doesn't want us to disturb her until Tom says it's time." Tom? I thought to myself. The guy from the diner on my first night? The one that already knew my name before introducing myself?
"Man fuck Tom," One of the voices said, "Just being Jeremiah's son is the only reason we have to listen to that prick."
"Yeah, unless you want to end up in one of his films, you better listen to that prick." The other man proclaims. The two sets of footsteps walk away from my door.
Films? What the hell were they talking about?
Why did Edna seem so angry earlier? Why were these men talking about me in the hallway like I was a film project?
As the night wears on, I can't help but feel like I'm at the center of some sort of twisted game. I lie awake, listening to the occasional creak of a floorboard or whispered conversation down the hall. Eventually, exhaustion overtakes me, and I fall into a fitful sleep.
I first notice the light streaming through the window when I wake up. It's morning, and with it comes a sense of urgency. I quickly dress and gather my things, making my way to the diner. As I approach, I see Tom sitting at a booth, already deep in conversation with Mark. They glance up at me as I enter, and Tom motions for me to join them.
"Good morning, Sunshine," Tom says with a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Care to join us?"
I sit across from them, trying to ignore the feeling of unease that settles in my stomach. "Good morning," I manage to say.
"So, how are you finding our little motel?" Tom asks, leaning in closer. "I hope we're taking good care of you." There's an undertone to his voice that I can't quite place.
I force a smile, trying to appear more confident than I feel. "It's been fine, I guess."
Tom raises an eyebrow at my noncommittal response. "I hope you don't mean that as a complaint. We've gone to great lengths to ensure you have everything you need."
I glance at Mark sitting next to Tom. His expression is unreadable, and he seems to be observing me. "It's not that," I say quickly, hoping to reassure them. "I'm just... I'm not used to being around so little people." There, that sounds believable.
"Well, hopefully, you will settle in a little bit before you have to leave. See my brother Mark here," he gestures over to Mark, "he's in charge of maintenance, and if there's anything he can do to help you feel more comfortable, let him know!" Tom says with a forced smile.
I nod, still feeling uneasy. "Thank you, I'm sure I'll be fine." I glance around the diner, trying to appear calm and collected. The place is filled with small wooden tables and booths, each covered in a checkered red-and-white tablecloth. The walls are adorned with old movie posters and black-and-white photographs of people I assume are famous actors. The air is thick with the scent of coffee and bacon, making my stomach rumble.
"So, what's on the menu today?" I ask, hoping to change the subject. Tom hands me a menu, and I scan the options, debating between pancakes and eggs. "I'll have the pancakes, please." I look up at Tom, then Mark, waiting for their response.
"Excellent choice!" Tom says with a smile. "I'm sure you'll enjoy them. Mark, will you go ahead and get our order?" Mark nods and stands, making his way over to the waitress. I watch him go, still feeling a sense of unease. The air between Tom and me has become heavy, and I can't help but wonder what they want from me.
As I wait for our food, I glance around the diner again, hoping to find some escape route. The exit is right behind me, but a large man is sitting in a booth by the door, looking like he might be a bouncer at a bar. I don't want to make a scene, but I must leave.
The waitress returns with our food, setting down plates of steaming hot pancakes in front of us. The aroma is intoxicating, and my stomach grumbles in anticipation. I pick up my fork, debating whether or not to eat anything at all. Tom glances at my plate and smiles reassuringly as if he can read my mind.
A few bites in, I realize my anxiety won't let me eat anymore. I tried to find an excuse to leave and investigate the Motel further.
"I'm sorry, Tom. I feel like I need some fresh air," I say, smiling. "I'm going to step outside for a bit. Maybe go for a walk." I say, hoping he doesn't hear my voice shake.
Tom nods understandingly. "Of course, Riley. Take your time. We'll be right here if you need anything." He reaches across the table and gently pats my hand, his expression softening.
I push my chair back and stand up, trying to appear calm and confident as I walk towards the exit. As I pass by the large man in the booth, he gives me a quick once-over before returning to his meal. The air outside is cool and crisp, and I take a deep breath of fresh air. The Motel is just across the street, and I can see Tom and Mark sitting in the diner, watching me.
I stroll down the sidewalk, pretending to look at the shops along the way. But really, my attention is focused on the Motel. The neon sign flickers above the door, casting an eerie glow on the building. The rooms are arranged in a U-shape around a central courtyard.
I pause for a moment, debating whether or not to go inside. A part of me wants to know what Tom and Mark are up to, but another part is terrified of what I might find. Before I can decide, a car pulls beside me, and a woman rolls down her window.
"Hey, honey, need a ride somewhere?" she asks, her voice laced with a Southern drawl. She's probably around my mom's age, with long, curly, graying hair and a warm smile. Something about her seems genuine, and I trust her for a moment.
"Uh, no thanks, I'm feeling sick, so I'm going back to my room," I said before quickly walking away. It felt like the entire town was watching me.
I make my way back to the Motel, my heart racing. I try to calm my nerves as I approach my room. As soon as I unlock the door, I collapse onto the bed, feeling a mixture of exhaustion and fear wash over me. I close my eyes and try to think about anything else, but I can't shake the feeling of anxiety.
Now is an excellent time to look further into the dark opening at the end of the passageway I found last night. I carefully walk down the hallway, feeling the cool air from the vent blowing against my face. The walls are covered in peeling wallpaper, and a strong, musty odor makes me feel uneasy. As I approach the bookshelf, I attempt to reach for the Amity Hotel book, but when I pull it, nothing happens. I didn't dream that whole thing, did I? No, they must've changed the book, so I go through each individual book, pulling each one carefully.
"Can I help you find anything in particular?" Edna said with a bit of contempt as she snuck up behind me.
I spun around, startled. "Oh, uh, no. Just, um... looking for a book I thought I saw."
Edna raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "Well, you're not going to find it here," she said, gesturing to the bookshelf. "Those books are just for show." She paused, studying me for a moment. "Why were you looking for, anyway?"
"It was something about A Hotel in Amity. Considering where I am, I thought it would be a good read." I reply, still trying to play it cool.
Edna chuckles darkly. "Oh, that's Tom and Mark's favorite. One of them probably took it with them."
"Oh, okay. I'll look for something else then." I say, glancing back at the bookshelf. Edna watches me for a moment before disappearing back into her room. I stand there momentarily before continuing to search for the book lever that opens the bookshelf, trying to be as quiet as possible.
Finally, one book will only pull out some of the way. It had to be another lever, but remembering how loud the hidden door was, I decided to wait to pull it, when I hear the loud squeak tonight, hoping it would mask most of the sound of the gears turning behind the door.
Late that night, I creep out of my room and return to the bookshelf. The air is thick with the smell of stale cigarette smoke. I carefully yanked the book out as far as it could go before I could hear the gears. I'm confident the squeak is loud enough to mask the bookshelf. I opened it and slid into the passageway leading to the dark opening.
I step inside, and the squeak is almost too much, but I press on. I hear multiple men talking loudly and laughing as I enter the room. As I turn the corner, I can see lights dancing on the wall like someone was watching an old movie, and the smell of cigar smoke fills my lungs. Quietly moving further in, I can see a giant old movie projector that was making the stuttered squeak from its giant bent and dented film rolls scraping against the side of the projector.
I look to see what is playing on the screen, but I'm distracted by about eight men, mostly old except Tom, Mark, and another younger-looking man. They don't see me, or they don't care enough to acknowledge me.
They were sitting in a makeshift movie theater, but none of the fun.
Finally, I looked up at the screen and felt sick. They were showing a homemade old snuff film. Then I realized it couldn't be that old since I recognized Tom and Mark. They were doing unspeakable things with women of all ages.
I look down at the group of men and see them all staring at me with a menacingly evil grin. I froze in immense fear.
Staring at them for an eternity, I suddenly felt a sting in my neck, like someone had injected me with something. As my vision darkened, I could see the face of the man holding me with one hand and a syringe in the other. It was the bouncer-looking man I had seen in the diner.
When I wake up, my head is pounding. The room is spinning, and my vision is blurry. I can see little memory flashes of the group picking me up and moving me to the room next to the makeshift theater. My clothes are gone, and I'm naked except for a loose robe. There's a sour taste in my mouth, and my body feels heavy and sour. I'm tied to a mattress that smells like sweat and fear. I struggle against my bonds, but they're too tight.
I see an antique film camera on an even older tripod. There were huge lights all around me that were turned off. Suddenly, they were blinding me as I heard the men laughing.
"Oh, Walter Cronkite, what will we do with you?" I recognize Tom's voice, "You were THIS close! A shame, but I can't say I'm surprised. You have a lot of fight, and we LOVE that." The men laugh way too hard.
The camera is pointed at me; it's old and dusty but still working. I close my eyes and try to steel my nerves, but I can't help but feel sick. The memory of the snuff film plays over and over in my head, and I can't shake the feeling that I'm about to be a part of it.
"Now, now, Tom," I hear Mark say, his voice steady and calm. "No need for that. We've got plans for Anderson Cooper here." The other men chuckle menacingly. "She's going to be a star."
As Tom approaches me, I hear most men leave the room, and Mark sets up behind the camera.
"You want to know the full story, Hunter S. Thompson? I think you deserve to know at this point." Tom says as he undoes his belt, "Well, let me fill in some blanks for you," he sits next to me on the floor after taking off his shirt, "You see, my father, Jeremiah had a great business going here, and I'm not talking about the Motel. He would lure women to stay here, where he would drug them and film himself having his way with them while someone filmed through the two-way mirror. It was a great business, those films. Rich people from all around the world would buy them. Plus, most women never even knew what happened by the time they checked out, but the ones who gave us trouble had to be dealt with. Eventually, my mom, Sarah, got a little too nosey. She kept asking about how my father could make so much money while running a Motel, so she snooped into his things and found some evidence that would crumble our entire family. She confided her findings to her two oldest sons, but when she realized they were in on it too, she went crazy. We tried to keep her quiet, but she wouldn't let it go. Finally, one day, she couldn't take the guilt, and the madwoman opened every unlocked room; she would set anything flammable on fire. Eventually, the fire got out of control and started to spread. The fire killed my brother and father, along with a lot more of the women my mom was trying to save. We finally stopped it, and, being about 20 at the time, I already knew what was going on and was more than ready to take it over with some improvements." He stops for a second, reminiscing on memories.
He touches my face softly with the back of his hand. It's a rough hand that feels like sandpaper scraping my cheek.
"I was going to leave my mother alive, but when she kept talking about 'Saving victim's spirits,' she was making me nervous. I was close with my mother as a kid, so I didn't have the heart to kill her myself, but Mark here," he gestured toward Mark behind the camera, "He's a cold, hard killer." He stares at Mark for a long time. "We couldn't do it out in the open like my father and brothers did, so I had them build passages into the walls of the hallways, opened by various bookshelves. And added a whole hidden room at the end. Doing it during the restoration, it was a perfect cover. We still use all the equipment my father used, as you can see," He gestures to the antique camera that was now filming them. It's a bitch to find someone willing to develop the film, let alone someone who won't ask questions, but I had to keep it this way to honor my Father and Brother's legacy."
He pauses, leaning close to me, his breath hot on my ear. "And now, it's your turn. You're going to be the next big star. You're going to have your own room," He gestures around the damp, death-filled room, "your own things. You'll be taken care of and never have to leave. You'll be part of the family." His hand runs through my hair, cupping the back of my head. "And Mark, don't forget to get some shots of my good side."
"Oh, I won't," Mark says with a chuckle. He walks around me, positioning himself so the camera can point straight at my face.
I try to shrug off the chills that run down my spine as I think about the stories Tom has just told me, and all I see is a lost man looking for something to hold onto.
Tom gets on top of me and starts kissing my neck, and I feel like throwing up. I can feel the ropes on the left hand are loose, so I take a minute to wiggle it out without letting anyone in the room notice. Once I got that hand free, I could get the other free, but I wasn't ready to fight back; I needed to wait for the right time.
Suddenly, the camera audibly stops recording, and Tom notices and looks back at Mark.
"What the hell is going on?" Tom asks angrily.
"The film got stuck, shit! I'm going to have to get a whole new one. Hold on one second." Mark says as he turns his back to exit the room.
Tom gets up, and I finally feel like I can breathe properly. His back is turned, inspecting the camera.
"Old fucking thing," Tom says to himself.
I take the opportunity to untie both ankles. As soon as I'm free, I lunge forward, wrapping my arms around Tom's waist and pulling him off-balance. He lets out a surprised yelp as we both crash to the ground. I scramble to my feet and take a few steps back, breathing hard. Tom glares at me, looking furious.
"You little bitch!" he shouts. "You think you can just take it from me? From my family?" He scrambles to his feet as well, advancing on me slowly. "I could kill you where you stand!"
I back away, my heart pounding in my chest. "I'm not going to let you do this," I say, trying to sound more confident than I feel. "I'm not going to be another victim."
Tom laughs darkly, his eyes narrowing. "Oh, you think you're so special? You think you're the first one to say no?" He steps closer, "You're just like all the others. You're just another piece of meat."
My anger boils over, and I launch myself at him again. We wrestle for a moment, both of us grunting with exertion. He's stronger than me, but I push him against the bookshelf, where he loses his balance, and his head falls onto the corner of a dirt-stained counter. I walk slowly toward him, and I can see a pool of blood forming around his matted blonde hair. He's not breathing.
Mark, who must've heard the commotion, runs in just then. He freezes while looking down at his brother. "No, no, no, no! Tom! You can't do this to me! I can't do this shit alone!" Mark is sobbing while holding his brother's blood-soaked head.
I saw my opportunity and took it. I try to run past Mark, but he catches me by the ankle, making me drop to the floor. "You're not leaving!" he shouts, his voice hoarse with rage. He pulls a knife from his pocket, his hands trembling with fury. "You'll tell everyone you're sorry and then come with me."
I kick him in the face as hard as I can, making him release his grip on my ankle. He clutches his nose, blood pouring between his fingers. I turn and run, hearing him screaming obscenities behind me. I bolt out of the room, racing through the building while luckily not alerting anyone, not knowing where I'm going. I have to get out of here.
Outside, the air is cold and damp, the fog rolling off the ocean. I'm disoriented, my heart pounding in my chest. I am still determining where I am, but I know I must find help. I start running, my lungs burning with each ragged breath.
I come to a main road, a car's headlights blinding me as it speeds past. I wave my arms frantically, but the driver doesn't notice. Panic starts to rise up inside me as I realize that I'm alone and that no one knows what happened. I can't go back there, not after what I've done.
I start to walk, trying to figure out where I'm going. My feet are cold and numb, but I keep moving. The fog thickens, making it hard to see more than a few feet in front of me. I wish I had a cell phone to call the police and get help.
After what feels like hours of walking, I finally spot a streetlight. It's barely enough light to see by, but it's better than nothing. I walk towards it, hoping there might be a nearby house or business where I can find help. As I get closer, I see a police officer at a red light. I run to him, probably looking like a crazy crackhead with only a robe, and I'm sure I smell like death. The officer looks at me with a mixture of surprise and concern.
"Help me," I gasp out between breaths. "These people, they, they, they," I find myself unable to talk or see the words for what has happened. The officer takes my arm, his grip firm but not painful. He looks at me with concern, his brow furrowed.
"Take it easy. You're safe now. What's your name?" I tell him my name, feeling the fog of shock starting to lift from my brain. "Okay, why don't you tell me what happened?" I spend the next hour or so trying to explain everything to him, not caring how crazy I sound.
He listens intently, occasionally asking questions or nodding his head. When I finish, he sighs heavily, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. "Okay, I need you to come to the station with me. We'll get this all sorted out." We take off in his cruiser.
I spent the night at the police station, retelling my story to a half dozen people and getting medical care. The officer who saved me last night told me they sent someone this morning to the Motel to check it out. He said that night, no one except Edna was in the building. She let them look around, and eventually, they found the hidden passages in the walls leading to the basement where they found everything. They arrested Edna, and she denied involvement, but they kept her for further questioning. They claim Edna was the only one there, so Mark must've gotten away.
That was a little over a decade ago, and they still haven't located Mark. Maybe he's dead in a ditch where he belongs. Still, maybe, just perhaps, he could recreate their operation at a new Motel.
Any time I see one, I have PTSD flashbacks of laying on that dirty mattress. Once, I was shopping at a department store and saw this guy on every lane I went down. He never looked at me enough to get a good look at his face, but eventually, he left after I locked myself in the bathroom for an hour.
It's funny how the mind works. I'll be watching a movie, and I'll see a character get kidnapped, and I'll think, "At least they didn't cut my ear off like that guy did."

The first thing that hits me when I step out of the car is the overwhelming silence. Hollow Creek is a small town nestled in the middle of nowhere, with its dwindling population and a sense of desolation hanging in the air. It's different from the kind of place you'd expect to find much work as a freelance journalist. Still, with bills to pay and a need for a change of scenery, I decided to take a chance on this mysterious letter. It said the Whispering Pines Motel is promising a story unlike any other. Now, as I approach the front desk, I can't help but wonder if it was all just a cruel joke.
The receptionist, an elderly woman with a knowing smile, greets me with a forced warmth. Her name is Edna, and she tells me that I'll be staying in room 12, just down the hall. As I walk past the reception area, I can't help but notice the framed newspaper clippings on the walls: headlines like "Whispering Pines: A Haven for the Restless" and "Mysterious Noises Plague the Night." Stories of guests leaving in the middle of the night for unknown reasons.
My room is dimly lit, with a musty odor that reminds me of old books. The furniture looks like it's been here since The Motel was built, and the bedspread is threadbare. A small window by the bed is covered by a thin curtain that billows in the night breeze.
The Motel is on the main road, and the town's only restaurant is just a few doors down and across the street. Walking through the empty street, I notice that most buildings are boarded up or appear abandoned. The only light source comes from the diner's flickering neon sign, casting eerie shadows across the pavement.
I approach the diner and step inside. The atmosphere inside is comforting, almost cozy, with the smell of coffee and bacon filling the air. The waitress, a young woman named Lily, greets me with a warm smile and offers to take my order. I play it cool and order coffee, hoping to start a conversation.
I can't help but overhear snippets of conversations at nearby tables. One man, who looks like he's in his early twenties, is telling a story about a woman he met at the Motel with a haunting past and secrets she's willing to kill to keep. Intrigued, I walk over to them and introduce myself.
"You must be Riley," the man says, nodding in my direction. "I'm Tom, and this is my brother, Mark."
Mark glances up from his coffee, a cautious expression on his face. "Yeah, we heard you were new in town. Lily told us you're a journalist."
"That's right," I reply, sitting opposite them. "I got a letter from one of the Motel's former guests, offering me a story. Something about restless spirits and strange occurrences. I was hoping you could fill me in."
Tom leans in closer, "It's true, Riley. This town has a dark secret. You see there was a fire at the Whispering Pines. It started in one of the rooms, and half the building was destroyed when they put it out. People died in that fire, and their spirits haven't been able to find peace. They say you can hear them whispering in the halls at night."
I can't help but wonder if there's any truth to the story. Lily arrives with my coffee. I thank her and take a sip, savoring the warmth it brings to my hands.
"So, what do you think?" Tom asks, watching me intently. "You believe us?"
"It's an interesting story. But I'd like to see some proof before I write about it. Anything you can show me?"
Tom and Mark exchange glances, then Tom reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small, worn photo album. He slides it across the table to me, and I open it up. Inside are grainy photographs of the Motel, taken years ago. Pictures of the fire, rescue workers trying to contain the flames, and a group of people standing outside the Motel.
"These were taken just after the fire," Tom explains. "The woman in the photo was the Motel's owner's wife. Her name was Sarah. After the fire, she went crazy and talked about voices in the walls, freed spirits, and missing guests. A lot of people think she started the fire, trying to rid the place of the spirits."
I glance back at the photos, taking in the haunted expression on Sarah's face. Whatever she experienced during those dark days left a mark on her.
Lily arrives with food, setting a plate of eggs and bacon in front of me. "Here you go, Riley. Enjoy!" She says with a warm smile.
"Oh, sorry, I actually didn't order anything except coffee. Also, how do you know my name?" I ask, feeling a bit unnerved.
"Well, Riley, you see..." Tom begins, leaning back in his chair. "Sarah isn't the only one affected by the fire. The spirits reach out to certain people and make them see things. And sometimes, they share information. You must have something special about you that they recognized."
I glance around the diner, feeling a shiver run down my spine. The other patrons seem oblivious to our conversation, lost in their thoughts and newspapers.
"So, what else can you tell me about Sarah?" I ask, changing the subject.
Tom shakes his head. "No one could ever prove anything. The fire destroyed most of the evidence, and Sarah... well, she wasn't much help. She spent most of her time ranting about the spirits. But there were always rumors. Some people said she had help starting the fire; others said she was unstable and looking for a way out. As for the guests who went missing... well, no one ever found any bodies. There were whispers that the spirits had taken them, too."
He pauses, taking a sip of coffee, and I can see the pain in his eyes. "We all thought it was just a tragic accident at first. But over time, things started changing. We'd hear footsteps in the hallway, doors slamming shut on their own. It got so bad that some of us started avoiding the Motel at night."
"Do you guys work at the Motel?" I ask, trying to sound casual. "You seem to know a lot about what happened."
"Well, yeah, I've been here for a few years now. And Mark here has been working the night shift. We've all seen and heard things that... well, it's hard to explain."
I nod, "So, what do you think happened to Sarah?" I ask, unable to keep the curiosity from my voice. "Do you think she's still alive?"
Tom shrugs. "No one really knows. Some people say she's still here, trapped in her room, unable to escape the horrors she witnessed."
I glance at Tom, noticing the haunted look in his eyes. "What about you? What do you think happened?"
He takes a deep breath before answering. "Sometimes, I see her in the shadows, just watching us. Other times, I think she's a ghost, trapped here with the rest of them. But, it's clear that something bad went down at the Motel. And it's not just in the past. It's still here, lurking in the darkness."
The rest of our conversation lasted as long as it took me to eat. I was exhausted and needed to sleep before I started writing, so I went back to the Motel at around 8:30pm and settled in bed.
I could have sworn I heard footsteps in the hallway outside my room. They were faint, barely audible over the sound of my own heartbeat.
I could sleep through it, telling myself it was a staff member doing their duties. I finally fell asleep until I heard this high-pitched, non-stop squeak, stuttering every few seconds. It wasn't loud, but just enough to wake me up. I look over at the clock; it reads 3:08am. I decide to open the door slowly, its creak intensifying the mysterious squeak.
Nothing, no one there. I walk slowly as the noise gets louder, but I cannot locate it. I thought it could be an old furnace that they never replaced, but the air in the hallway was so cold. Deciding to believe my furnace assumption, I headed back to my room, but on my way, I could have sworn I had heard someone whispering. When I moved closer, it sounded like it was coming from the walls, just like the town folks said.
As I close the door and crawl back into bed, the whispering grows louder, like it's outside my door. It's getting harder to ignore; the whispers are saying something. I lie there, paralyzed with fear, until finally, the whispering fades away into the distance.
The next day, I push the strange occurrences out of my mind and focus on my work. I spent most of the day researching the Motel's history. As the day drags on, I can't shake the feeling that I'm being watched, that the Motel is alive with a malevolent energy that's intent on driving me mad.
Around dinnertime, I take a break from my research and venture into town. I'm hoping to find someone who might have some insight into what really happened to Sarah. As I walk along the empty street, the air is thick with anticipation, as if the town is holding its breath and waiting for something terrible to happen.
I stop at the diner and take a seat at the counter. The waitress, not the same as last night, an older woman with kind eyes and a knowing smile, sets a menu in front of me. I notice the prices are shockingly low. When I ask her about it, she just says, "Around here, we take care of our own."
I order a burger and a soda, hoping to gather enough courage to ask questions. When the food arrived, I couldn't help but notice that it was some of the best diner food I'd ever had. The waitress must be using some family recipes. As I eat, I discuss with an elderly man sitting at the end of the counter. His name is Hank, and he's lived in the town all his life.
"You're new around here?" he asks. When I confirm his suspicion, he leans close, lowering his voice. "You should be careful about asking too many questions. This town has a long memory, and we don't take kindly to outsiders who pry into our business."
His words chill me, but I can't help but press on. "I'm just trying to find out what happened to Sarah," I say, my voice barely audible.
Hank eyes me before leaning back in his chair. "Well, you've got to understand," he begins, "Sarah was...different. She wasn't like the rest of us. She didn't belong here."
I'm taken aback by his words, but I nod, encouraging him to continue. "But she was still a person, right? She deserved better than whatever happened to her."
Hank glances around the diner, lowering his voice even further. "You're right, she did. But you see, there was...an incident. Something that changed everything. Something that made people start talking, whispering." He hesitates momentarily, then leans in closer. "You see, there was a time when the Motel was different. It was...alive, in a way. People would come from miles around just to see it, just to see its magnificent décor and lively air." Hank sighed heavily as if the story's weight was too much for him to bear. "Back then, the Motel had another owner, a middle-aged man named Jeremiah. He was different, too. He was married to Sarah.
He pauses, looking haunted by the memory. "There was a fire at the Motel. No one knows how it started, but it spread quickly. Sarah and Jerimiah had four boys; two of the oldest sons died in the fire along with their father."
I let out a gasp, unable to believe the horror of the story. "But what happened to Sarah?" I ask, feeling a deep sense of dread creeping up on me.
"She went crazy and locked herself away in the Motel after they restored it. She would go on about how she freed those poor spirits. The now oldest son took over the Motel." he says.
"Did authorities not suspect Sarah?" I ask.
"Oh, they did. They brought her in for questioning, but they were never able to get anything other than her crazy ramblings. They never found enough evidence to prosecute anyone, so it was deemed an accident." He says.
I'm stunned, "So, she's still there?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
Hank laughs, "That's what people around here say, but that was forty-something years ago, and if I'm to guess by her looks, Sarah was in her mid-forties. That would mean she would be almost eighty, and I don't reckon she could stay alive that long without leaving her room."
"But...if she really did set the fire and hurt those people..." I trail off.
Hank shrugs. "Like I said, no one knows for sure what happened. And after all this time, it's probably best left that way." He glances at his watch, signaling that the conversation is over.
I nod, feeling a mixture of disbelief and horror coursing through me. Something about Sarah's story refuses to let me go. I thank Hank for his time and pay for my lunch, leaving the diner.
As I walk back to the Motel, I can't help but wonder; was Sarah genuinely insane or just trying to protect something? With its faded grandeur and haunted past, the Motel holds a strange allure for me now. It's as if I can feel the weight of its history pressing down on my shoulders, demanding that I uncover the truth.
I get to my room and spend the rest of the day exploring the motel grounds. The air is thick with the scent of old wood and damp earth and the sound of leaves rustling in the distance. I wander past open rooms with peeling paint and boarded-up windows.
I find a dusty photo album on a dresser in one of the abandoned rooms. Carefully opening the tattered cover, I discover a collection of faded photographs depicting the Motel in its heyday: couples dancing beneath twinkling chandeliers, laughing children running through the hall. There's even a picture of Sarah and Jeremiah smiling brightly for the camera.
I close the album, feeling a strange mixture of nostalgia and sadness. As I turn to leave, I notice a bookshelf in the hallway. Most books are dog-eared romance novels, but one title catches my eye: "The Haunting of the Hotel Amity: A True Story." It seemed morbidly fitting for the scene, but I decided to move past it and head to the front desk to interview Edna.
The afternoon passes quickly as I spend time with Edna, listening to her stories of working at the Motel and meeting various guests. She speaks fondly of Sarah, insisting that she is a good woman who only wants to protect the place she loves. Edna also mentioned that she had heard stories from other employees about strange occurrences in the Motel. Still, she always brushed them off as superstitious nonsense.
"Have you never experienced anything like that?" I ask, "Any strange occurrences?"
Edna pauses, her expression thoughtful. "Well, there was one time when I was cleaning a room, and I swear I heard someone calling my name. I thought it was just the wind at first, but the voice sounded so real. It gave me a chill." She shudders, her eyes distant with memory.
I nod, unsure what to make of her story. Even the people who were closest to Sarah were left with more questions than answers. I head back to my room.
It was only 9pm, but I was tired, so I lay down and drifted asleep.
As I closed my eyes, I thought about Sarah and her story. I couldn't help but feel that there was something more to the Motel than what had been revealed. Something darker, more sinister. Perhaps the faded photos in the album or the eerie silence seemed to permeate the halls, but I couldn't shake the feeling that a story was yet to be told.
I drifted off to sleep, dreaming of the Motel and its secrets. In my dreams, I wandered through its empty halls. I could feel the weight of history pressing down on me. And in the distance, I thought I heard the faint strains of a melody, like a distant echo of a time long gone. Suddenly, in my dream, I needed to look at the book I had spotted earlier about the Amity Hotel. Something about it drew me in, and when I went to pick it up, I was awoken by the loud, stuttered squeak like the one from the night prior.
I look at the clock again: 3:04am.
The dream felt real, and the urge to investigate the book was almost overwhelming. I slip out of bed, padding quietly across the carpeted floor. The eerie silence of the Motel seems to press against my ears as I make my way to the bookshelf in the corner. There, nestled between a romance novel and a travel guide, is the worn copy of "The Haunting of the Hotel Amity: A True Story."
I pulled it down, but it only moved slightly, getting stuck when I tried pulling further. Finally, after yanking a bit, I felt it give a little more; it's frozen in place as if it was tipping. Suddenly, I hear an amalgamation of gears turning behind it, and the shelf opens slightly on one side. I pull on the released side, and it opens like a door, leading to a passageway between the walls.
I step inside, flicking on my phone's flashlight. The narrow passageway is dimly lit by flickering bulbs every few feet, casting eerie shadows on the walls. The air is musty and stale. I make my way down the passageway, the squeak louder the further I go. I can see a dark opening at the end, so I put on a brave face and walk toward it when I hear a voice from the dark opening. I could barely hear it over the loud squeak and couldn't understand what they were saying, but I knew I shouldn't be here anymore, so I sneaked out of the passage. I tried to close the door as slowly as possible, but the voices were approaching fast, so I left it ajar.
Rushing into bed, slowly closing the door as it creaked louder than I anticipated. Finally, I was in bed, mind racing with the possibilities of what was in that room at the end of the passageway.
The voices grew louder as they approached my room. I shut my eyelids tight.
They were right in front of my door; this time, I could faintly make out some words. There were words like "her" and "Has to be," and the one that made my heart race was "Only guest here."
The handle turned slowly, and the door creaked open. I loosened my eyelids to peak at who it was, revealing a shadowy figure in the doorway. It was Edna, but there was something different about her. Her usually kind face was twisted in anger, her eyes burning with an unnatural light. She glanced at me, for just a moment before she turned her attention back to the others in the hall.
"Leave her for now," Edna said. The other voices murmured in agreement, their whispers echoing down the hall. As they turned away, I felt a chill run down my spine. Finally, they leave.
I slowly get out of bed, and as quietly as possible, I pack my things. I planned to jump out of the window if I had to.
Suddenly, the squeak stopped, and the Motel was much too quiet again. The eerie silence of the Motel seems to press against my ears as I try to calm my racing thoughts. I close my eyes, but I can't help but feel a sense of dread creeping up on me.
Just as I'm about to fall asleep, I hear a faint click coming from the hallway. My heart starts pounding again as I realize someone is moving through the Motel, methodically checking each room. The clicking grows louder as the person gets closer, and I hear footsteps outside my door.
I lie there, paralyzed. The footsteps pause outside my door, and I hear a low whisper. "She's in here?" I freeze. "Yeah, she's in there, but Edna doesn't want us to disturb her until Tom says it's time." Tom? I thought to myself. The guy from the diner on my first night? The one that already knew my name before introducing myself?
"Man fuck Tom," One of the voices said, "Just being Jeremiah's son is the only reason we have to listen to that prick."
"Yeah, unless you want to end up in one of his films, you better listen to that prick." The other man proclaims. The two sets of footsteps walk away from my door.
Films? What the hell were they talking about?
Why did Edna seem so angry earlier? Why were these men talking about me in the hallway like I was a film project?
As the night wears on, I can't help but feel like I'm at the center of some sort of twisted game. I lie awake, listening to the occasional creak of a floorboard or whispered conversation down the hall. Eventually, exhaustion overtakes me, and I fall into a fitful sleep.
I first notice the light streaming through the window when I wake up. It's morning, and with it comes a sense of urgency. I quickly dress and gather my things, making my way to the diner. As I approach, I see Tom sitting at a booth, already deep in conversation with Mark. They glance up at me as I enter, and Tom motions for me to join them.
"Good morning, Sunshine," Tom says with a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Care to join us?"
I sit across from them, trying to ignore the feeling of unease that settles in my stomach. "Good morning," I manage to say.
"So, how are you finding our little motel?" Tom asks, leaning in closer. "I hope we're taking good care of you." There's an undertone to his voice that I can't quite place.
I force a smile, trying to appear more confident than I feel. "It's been fine, I guess."
Tom raises an eyebrow at my noncommittal response. "I hope you don't mean that as a complaint. We've gone to great lengths to ensure you have everything you need."
I glance at Mark sitting next to Tom. His expression is unreadable, and he seems to be observing me. "It's not that," I say quickly, hoping to reassure them. "I'm just... I'm not used to being around so little people." There, that sounds believable.
"Well, hopefully, you will settle in a little bit before you have to leave. See my brother Mark here," he gestures over to Mark, "he's in charge of maintenance, and if there's anything he can do to help you feel more comfortable, let him know!" Tom says with a forced smile.
I nod, still feeling uneasy. "Thank you, I'm sure I'll be fine." I glance around the diner, trying to appear calm and collected. The place is filled with small wooden tables and booths, each covered in a checkered red-and-white tablecloth. The walls are adorned with old movie posters and black-and-white photographs of people I assume are famous actors. The air is thick with the scent of coffee and bacon, making my stomach rumble.
"So, what's on the menu today?" I ask, hoping to change the subject. Tom hands me a menu, and I scan the options, debating between pancakes and eggs. "I'll have the pancakes, please." I look up at Tom, then Mark, waiting for their response.
"Excellent choice!" Tom says with a smile. "I'm sure you'll enjoy them. Mark, will you go ahead and get our order?" Mark nods and stands, making his way over to the waitress. I watch him go, still feeling a sense of unease. The air between Tom and me has become heavy, and I can't help but wonder what they want from me.
As I wait for our food, I glance around the diner again, hoping to find some escape route. The exit is right behind me, but a large man is sitting in a booth by the door, looking like he might be a bouncer at a bar. I don't want to make a scene, but I must leave.
The waitress returns with our food, setting down plates of steaming hot pancakes in front of us. The aroma is intoxicating, and my stomach grumbles in anticipation. I pick up my fork, debating whether or not to eat anything at all. Tom glances at my plate and smiles reassuringly as if he can read my mind.
A few bites in, I realize my anxiety won't let me eat anymore. I tried to find an excuse to leave and investigate the Motel further.
"I'm sorry, Tom. I feel like I need some fresh air," I say, smiling. "I'm going to step outside for a bit. Maybe go for a walk." I say, hoping he doesn't hear my voice shake.
Tom nods understandingly. "Of course, Riley. Take your time. We'll be right here if you need anything." He reaches across the table and gently pats my hand, his expression softening.
I push my chair back and stand up, trying to appear calm and confident as I walk towards the exit. As I pass by the large man in the booth, he gives me a quick once-over before returning to his meal. The air outside is cool and crisp, and I take a deep breath of fresh air. The Motel is just across the street, and I can see Tom and Mark sitting in the diner, watching me.
I stroll down the sidewalk, pretending to look at the shops along the way. But really, my attention is focused on the Motel. The neon sign flickers above the door, casting an eerie glow on the building. The rooms are arranged in a U-shape around a central courtyard.
I pause for a moment, debating whether or not to go inside. A part of me wants to know what Tom and Mark are up to, but another part is terrified of what I might find. Before I can decide, a car pulls beside me, and a woman rolls down her window.
"Hey, honey, need a ride somewhere?" she asks, her voice laced with a Southern drawl. She's probably around my mom's age, with long, curly, graying hair and a warm smile. Something about her seems genuine, and I trust her for a moment.
"Uh, no thanks, I'm feeling sick, so I'm going back to my room," I said before quickly walking away. It felt like the entire town was watching me.
I make my way back to the Motel, my heart racing. I try to calm my nerves as I approach my room. As soon as I unlock the door, I collapse onto the bed, feeling a mixture of exhaustion and fear wash over me. I close my eyes and try to think about anything else, but I can't shake the feeling of anxiety.
Now is an excellent time to look further into the dark opening at the end of the passageway I found last night. I carefully walk down the hallway, feeling the cool air from the vent blowing against my face. The walls are covered in peeling wallpaper, and a strong, musty odor makes me feel uneasy. As I approach the bookshelf, I attempt to reach for the Amity Hotel book, but when I pull it, nothing happens. I didn't dream that whole thing, did I? No, they must've changed the book, so I go through each individual book, pulling each one carefully.
"Can I help you find anything in particular?" Edna said with a bit of contempt as she snuck up behind me.
I spun around, startled. "Oh, uh, no. Just, um... looking for a book I thought I saw."
Edna raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "Well, you're not going to find it here," she said, gesturing to the bookshelf. "Those books are just for show." She paused, studying me for a moment. "Why were you looking for, anyway?"
"It was something about A Hotel in Amity. Considering where I am, I thought it would be a good read." I reply, still trying to play it cool.
Edna chuckles darkly. "Oh, that's Tom and Mark's favorite. One of them probably took it with them."
"Oh, okay. I'll look for something else then." I say, glancing back at the bookshelf. Edna watches me for a moment before disappearing back into her room. I stand there momentarily before continuing to search for the book lever that opens the bookshelf, trying to be as quiet as possible.
Finally, one book will only pull out some of the way. It had to be another lever, but remembering how loud the hidden door was, I decided to wait to pull it, when I hear the loud squeak tonight, hoping it would mask most of the sound of the gears turning behind the door.
Late that night, I creep out of my room and return to the bookshelf. The air is thick with the smell of stale cigarette smoke. I carefully yanked the book out as far as it could go before I could hear the gears. I'm confident the squeak is loud enough to mask the bookshelf. I opened it and slid into the passageway leading to the dark opening.
I step inside, and the squeak is almost too much, but I press on. I hear multiple men talking loudly and laughing as I enter the room. As I turn the corner, I can see lights dancing on the wall like someone was watching an old movie, and the smell of cigar smoke fills my lungs. Quietly moving further in, I can see a giant old movie projector that was making the stuttered squeak from its giant bent and dented film rolls scraping against the side of the projector.
I look to see what is playing on the screen, but I'm distracted by about eight men, mostly old except Tom, Mark, and another younger-looking man. They don't see me, or they don't care enough to acknowledge me.
They were sitting in a makeshift movie theater, but none of the fun.
Finally, I looked up at the screen and felt sick. They were showing a homemade old snuff film. Then I realized it couldn't be that old since I recognized Tom and Mark. They were doing unspeakable things with women of all ages.
I look down at the group of men and see them all staring at me with a menacingly evil grin. I froze in immense fear.
Staring at them for an eternity, I suddenly felt a sting in my neck, like someone had injected me with something. As my vision darkened, I could see the face of the man holding me with one hand and a syringe in the other. It was the bouncer-looking man I had seen in the diner.
When I wake up, my head is pounding. The room is spinning, and my vision is blurry. I can see little memory flashes of the group picking me up and moving me to the room next to the makeshift theater. My clothes are gone, and I'm naked except for a loose robe. There's a sour taste in my mouth, and my body feels heavy and sour. I'm tied to a mattress that smells like sweat and fear. I struggle against my bonds, but they're too tight.
I see an antique film camera on an even older tripod. There were huge lights all around me that were turned off. Suddenly, they were blinding me as I heard the men laughing.
"Oh, Walter Cronkite, what will we do with you?" I recognize Tom's voice, "You were THIS close! A shame, but I can't say I'm surprised. You have a lot of fight, and we LOVE that." The men laugh way too hard.
The camera is pointed at me; it's old and dusty but still working. I close my eyes and try to steel my nerves, but I can't help but feel sick. The memory of the snuff film plays over and over in my head, and I can't shake the feeling that I'm about to be a part of it.
"Now, now, Tom," I hear Mark say, his voice steady and calm. "No need for that. We've got plans for Anderson Cooper here." The other men chuckle menacingly. "She's going to be a star."
As Tom approaches me, I hear most men leave the room, and Mark sets up behind the camera.
"You want to know the full story, Hunter S. Thompson? I think you deserve to know at this point." Tom says as he undoes his belt, "Well, let me fill in some blanks for you," he sits next to me on the floor after taking off his shirt, "You see, my father, Jeremiah had a great business going here, and I'm not talking about the Motel. He would lure women to stay here, where he would drug them and film himself having his way with them while someone filmed through the two-way mirror. It was a great business, those films. Rich people from all around the world would buy them. Plus, most women never even knew what happened by the time they checked out, but the ones who gave us trouble had to be dealt with. Eventually, my mom, Sarah, got a little too nosey. She kept asking about how my father could make so much money while running a Motel, so she snooped into his things and found some evidence that would crumble our entire family. She confided her findings to her two oldest sons, but when she realized they were in on it too, she went crazy. We tried to keep her quiet, but she wouldn't let it go. Finally, one day, she couldn't take the guilt, and the madwoman opened every unlocked room; she would set anything flammable on fire. Eventually, the fire got out of control and started to spread. The fire killed my brother and father, along with a lot more of the women my mom was trying to save. We finally stopped it, and, being about 20 at the time, I already knew what was going on and was more than ready to take it over with some improvements." He stops for a second, reminiscing on memories.
He touches my face softly with the back of his hand. It's a rough hand that feels like sandpaper scraping my cheek.
"I was going to leave my mother alive, but when she kept talking about 'Saving victim's spirits,' she was making me nervous. I was close with my mother as a kid, so I didn't have the heart to kill her myself, but Mark here," he gestured toward Mark behind the camera, "He's a cold, hard killer." He stares at Mark for a long time. "We couldn't do it out in the open like my father and brothers did, so I had them build passages into the walls of the hallways, opened by various bookshelves. And added a whole hidden room at the end. Doing it during the restoration, it was a perfect cover. We still use all the equipment my father used, as you can see," He gestures to the antique camera that was now filming them. It's a bitch to find someone willing to develop the film, let alone someone who won't ask questions, but I had to keep it this way to honor my Father and Brother's legacy."
He pauses, leaning close to me, his breath hot on my ear. "And now, it's your turn. You're going to be the next big star. You're going to have your own room," He gestures around the damp, death-filled room, "your own things. You'll be taken care of and never have to leave. You'll be part of the family." His hand runs through my hair, cupping the back of my head. "And Mark, don't forget to get some shots of my good side."
"Oh, I won't," Mark says with a chuckle. He walks around me, positioning himself so the camera can point straight at my face.
I try to shrug off the chills that run down my spine as I think about the stories Tom has just told me, and all I see is a lost man looking for something to hold onto.
Tom gets on top of me and starts kissing my neck, and I feel like throwing up. I can feel the ropes on the left hand are loose, so I take a minute to wiggle it out without letting anyone in the room notice. Once I got that hand free, I could get the other free, but I wasn't ready to fight back; I needed to wait for the right time.
Suddenly, the camera audibly stops recording, and Tom notices and looks back at Mark.
"What the hell is going on?" Tom asks angrily.
"The film got stuck, shit! I'm going to have to get a whole new one. Hold on one second." Mark says as he turns his back to exit the room.
Tom gets up, and I finally feel like I can breathe properly. His back is turned, inspecting the camera.
"Old fucking thing," Tom says to himself.
I take the opportunity to untie both ankles. As soon as I'm free, I lunge forward, wrapping my arms around Tom's waist and pulling him off-balance. He lets out a surprised yelp as we both crash to the ground. I scramble to my feet and take a few steps back, breathing hard. Tom glares at me, looking furious.
"You little bitch!" he shouts. "You think you can just take it from me? From my family?" He scrambles to his feet as well, advancing on me slowly. "I could kill you where you stand!"
I back away, my heart pounding in my chest. "I'm not going to let you do this," I say, trying to sound more confident than I feel. "I'm not going to be another victim."
Tom laughs darkly, his eyes narrowing. "Oh, you think you're so special? You think you're the first one to say no?" He steps closer, "You're just like all the others. You're just another piece of meat."
My anger boils over, and I launch myself at him again. We wrestle for a moment, both of us grunting with exertion. He's stronger than me, but I push him against the bookshelf, where he loses his balance, and his head falls onto the corner of a dirt-stained counter. I walk slowly toward him, and I can see a pool of blood forming around his matted blonde hair. He's not breathing.
Mark, who must've heard the commotion, runs in just then. He freezes while looking down at his brother. "No, no, no, no! Tom! You can't do this to me! I can't do this shit alone!" Mark is sobbing while holding his brother's blood-soaked head.
I saw my opportunity and took it. I try to run past Mark, but he catches me by the ankle, making me drop to the floor. "You're not leaving!" he shouts, his voice hoarse with rage. He pulls a knife from his pocket, his hands trembling with fury. "You'll tell everyone you're sorry and then come with me."
I kick him in the face as hard as I can, making him release his grip on my ankle. He clutches his nose, blood pouring between his fingers. I turn and run, hearing him screaming obscenities behind me. I bolt out of the room, racing through the building while luckily not alerting anyone, not knowing where I'm going. I have to get out of here.
Outside, the air is cold and damp, the fog rolling off the ocean. I'm disoriented, my heart pounding in my chest. I am still determining where I am, but I know I must find help. I start running, my lungs burning with each ragged breath.
I come to a main road, a car's headlights blinding me as it speeds past. I wave my arms frantically, but the driver doesn't notice. Panic starts to rise up inside me as I realize that I'm alone and that no one knows what happened. I can't go back there, not after what I've done.
I start to walk, trying to figure out where I'm going. My feet are cold and numb, but I keep moving. The fog thickens, making it hard to see more than a few feet in front of me. I wish I had a cell phone to call the police and get help.
After what feels like hours of walking, I finally spot a streetlight. It's barely enough light to see by, but it's better than nothing. I walk towards it, hoping there might be a nearby house or business where I can find help. As I get closer, I see a police officer at a red light. I run to him, probably looking like a crazy crackhead with only a robe, and I'm sure I smell like death. The officer looks at me with a mixture of surprise and concern.
"Help me," I gasp out between breaths. "These people, they, they, they," I find myself unable to talk or see the words for what has happened. The officer takes my arm, his grip firm but not painful. He looks at me with concern, his brow furrowed.
"Take it easy. You're safe now. What's your name?" I tell him my name, feeling the fog of shock starting to lift from my brain. "Okay, why don't you tell me what happened?" I spend the next hour or so trying to explain everything to him, not caring how crazy I sound.
He listens intently, occasionally asking questions or nodding his head. When I finish, he sighs heavily, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. "Okay, I need you to come to the station with me. We'll get this all sorted out." We take off in his cruiser.
I spent the night at the police station, retelling my story to a half dozen people and getting medical care. The officer who saved me last night told me they sent someone this morning to the Motel to check it out. He said that night, no one except Edna was in the building. She let them look around, and eventually, they found the hidden passages in the walls leading to the basement where they found everything. They arrested Edna, and she denied involvement, but they kept her for further questioning. They claim Edna was the only one there, so Mark must've gotten away.
That was a little over a decade ago, and they still haven't located Mark. Maybe he's dead in a ditch where he belongs. Still, maybe, just perhaps, he could recreate their operation at a new Motel.
Any time I see one, I have PTSD flashbacks of laying on that dirty mattress. Once, I was shopping at a department store and saw this guy on every lane I went down. He never looked at me enough to get a good look at his face, but eventually, he left after I locked myself in the bathroom for an hour.
It's funny how the mind works. I'll be watching a movie, and I'll see a character get kidnapped, and I'll think, "At least they didn't cut my ear off like that guy did."

Hi there, I’ve recently been trying to remember a restaurant I went to a few years ago with my dad, I can’t remember exactly where it was but all I remember is that it was an old timey diner style restaurant with the checkered floors and red cushion booths, also a good burger and milkshake if that really helps lol, I seem to remember it being also along a street setting to where it didn’t have its own parking lot maybe? Idk, but if yall have any ideas please lmk, TIA!

The car's tires screeched to a halt across the street from the hospital. Kal jumped out of the driver's seat and carefully carried her into the building. I watched as few of the hospital staff rushed over to him. I worried for a moment that they'd want to ask a few questions, but once the staff turned to focus on Kaya Kal booked it back to the car, and we continued down the road.
I glanced down at my hands. "Do you think she'll be ok?"
Kal was silent for a few seconds, and I almost thought that he wouldn't respond when he shook his head. "Honestly, I don't know."
Kal told me that the man we were supposed to find was a vampire. Apparently the reason this vampire can walk among humans during the day without the concern of combusting was all because of Ilium's blood. In payment, the vampire would deliver packages, food, and other various things for them.
I remember the first time I'd seen a vampire, the same day I met Layla and Oliver. "Vampires may look human," Oliver had said. "But their true forms resembled that of giant, monstrous bats out of Hell." Or something like that. Of course, he told me that a few vampires work within the BSID. They only hunt down and capture rogue vampires and other rogue cryptids. I wondered what category the vampire we were looking for fell under.
We decided to stay a night at a small motel just down the street from our destination, and the next day we arrived at the small restaurant down by the water around six in the morning. The place was cool, contrast to the hot-as-balls weather we had outside. My eyes swept around the room and I made a sigh of relief when I noticed that the very few patrons inside were all human.
A waiter guided us over to a small booth by the large window that overlooked the water. I ordered a coffee and a side of fries and Kal ordered a coke and a plate of animal-shaped nuggets. I eyed his choice before I took a sip of my coffee. "Hm."
Kal glanced up from his food. "What?"
"Nothing," I answered. When Kal didn't drop his gaze I sighed. "It's just a bit interesting - you know - out of all the options, you decided to order something off of the kid's menu."
"So?" Kal shrugged between bites. "Don't criticize my food choices." He picked up a lion-shapped nugget and held it up. "Look how adorable he is! Anyway, what about you?"
"What about me?"
"Well, all you ordered was a coffee and fries - now that's interesting. At least I can have fun with my food," He released a "raaaah help me!" as he slowly brought the lion-shapped nugget up to his mouth, before biting its head off. He grabbed the bottle of ketchup, paused mid squeeze, and placed it back on the table. He shifted slightly in his seat as he stared over at a table somewhere behind me.
"I'm just saying. I'm also surprised you have the strength to eat after-" I leaned forward in my seat and dropped my voice to a whisper. "You were shot in the stomach."
Kal rolled his eyes. When he spoke, his eyes never deviated from the spot behind me. "I already told you the wound itself is healed. I just won't be able to shift. For how long, I don't know, that's why I need - hey, don't turn around you idiot!" Kal hissed. "I think we're being watched."
I shook my head. Don't worry. You're the only - we're the only demons here. I already checked."
Kal cursed and leaned in. "They're still watching us, and might I remind you that some demons have been known to use humans for their nefarious deeds."
"You never told me that,"
"Whatever, it's common sense."
"Common sense? Seriously? Oh, c'mon. They're probably watching us because you keep staring at them." I scoffed.
Kal was about to say something when we heard the door to the restaurant open. I watched as a tall, lean man wearing a long-sleeved grey turtle neck under a faded black blazer holding a black case in one hand walk in. His features were elegant and sharp like steel beneath a swoop of red hair.
The young man grabbed a large paper bag from over the counter, bowed his head slightly and turned. He was about to leave when his emerald green eyes landed on us. His thin lips pulled into a smile and quickly made his way over to our table. Kal slid over to make room for him to sit.
"What a surprise to see you here, Kalos," He said. His voice thick with an English accent. "It's been, what...about, uh, two years since we crossed paths?"
"Something like that," Kal nodded.
Peter turned toward me. "And who is this young man?"
Kal jerked his chin at me. "Peter, this is Gavin, Gavin this is Peter."
Peter turned his attention to me, and I stiffened slightly in my seat when I noticed his very sharp fangs. He extended his hand, and as he shook my hand, he gave me an appraising look; the intensity of it made me feel uncomfortable. His grip was firm, and his touch cold and clamy.
"It's nice to meet you, Gavin." He smiled.
"Nice to me you too," I said.
After a few seconds he withdrew his hand from mine and shifted his eyes to Kal. "I'm surprised to see you out and about in the open, pretty unwise. Your "pals" are still out there looking for you."
"Yeah, I know, but I wouldn't be risking myself like this if I wasn't desperate. I need Ilium's help."
Peter raised his hand in the air and snapped his fingers. "There we go," Peter said. "Now, let me take a look at the damage, eh?"
Kal nodded and lifted his shirt up, revealing the wound on his stomach.
"Those bastards shot ya with that?" Peter hissed. "Damn, mate. Look like it hurt like a son-of-a-bitch."
"Yeah, it sure felt like it," Kal winced when Peter touched it. "Your hands are cold, man!"
I made a cursory glance at the waiter coming back our way. "The waiter is coming back." I hissed.
Peter looked over his shoulder. "Oh, Don't worry about him, Gavin. Mind manipulation comes in handy for situations like this. These humans only see and hear what I want them to."
"Neat," I said.
"Do you know where I can find Ilium?" Kal interjected.
"Of course. You're probably not going to like it, but Ilium is residing in The Shadow Market currently."
"The Shadow Market?" I asked him.
"It's a Market where supernatural beings go to purchase magical artifacts and such," Kal interjected, and slouched back in his seat. "Damnit. That might make things complicated, but we're short out of options...we'll just have to-"
Peter's eyes brightened. "If you need a disguise, I may have just the thing you need." He said and pulled something out of his case. They were two face masks one would use for spas. "A lovely new product of mine, fresh off the workbench."
Kal and I take the offered masks before eyeing Peter curiously.
"These allow you to change your appearence. Just simply apply the masks to your face. You might feel a slight discomfort, but it works trust me. These masks will work their magic for two hours before the mask dries up and you're back to looking like yourselves again. Oh, and they're free of charge - because Ilium likes you." He said to Kal.
Peter got up from his seat and bids us farewell before he leaves the restaurant. Kal and I left the place a little while later and headed to a deserted public restroom to apply the masks.
I opened the package and slowly lifted up a tan - colored mask. It was thin and wet to the touch. I carefully applied the material to my face, making sure it covered my nose, mouth, and chin. The change was almost instantaneous; I could feel a tingling sensation, and I only felt a slight discomfort.
After the change was complete I blinked into the mirror, and I tentatively raised my hands to my face. The tan mask was gone, blended into my skin. I looked older, maybe around mid thirties, my face was more round and my nose was more pointed. Kal came around the corner and leaned up against the door frame. "Damn, whoever's face you're wearing, age was not kind to him,"
I glared at him. "Have you looked in the mirror?"
The face he wore had angular features. There was a light scar stretched across the bridge of his sharp nose. He shook his head and cursed. "Man, I wish Peter had better options. This face doesn't fit me at all, but it could have been worse."
"How long did he say these masks last?" I asked.
"About two hours. We should get going." Kal said.
I followed closely behind Kal as we headed deeper into the forest just outside of town. I cursed, silently as we made our way down a long stretch of trail, and I had to duck under hanging branches. After a few minutes of silence, Kal spoke. "Tell me something," He said, his eyes kept forward, not looking at me. "What happened back there with Amdusias?"
"I don't really know. One minute I was staring at her - him - and the next I was...somewhere else." I explained to him the best that I could of what occured between Amdusias and I.
Kal suddenly stopped walking. "Wait a minute, so you're telling me that you managed to enter a demon's domain?"
"I guess? But like I said, I don't know how I did it," I said, suddenly. "I was just there." My hands trembled as I remembered the look on Amdusias' face before he was pulled into the weird gate in the wall.
Kal whistled. "Holy shit. You exorcised him-you actually exorcised that bastard! You sure are full of surprises, huh?"
Was that what I did to him? The scene replayed inside my head: the portal in the wall, the grotesque hands dragging him back into the void where they came from. "Hey, is it possible for a demon to excorise another demon?"
Kal shrugged. "I mean, probably? I don't know - and I never asked."
I had so many questions that I probably wouldn't get any answers to, at least not at the moment. Kal didn't seem to have the answers. I decided to change the conversation with a question I knew Kal had an answer for.
"So, who is this Ilium? You stated that they could help you right?" I asked.
Kal simply nodded. "Ah, right. Ilium is a collector of sorts. They collect many different things; clothing, artifacts, and most importantly, medicine."
"What are they?" I asked. "Demon?"
"No. Ilium is Fae."
"Fae," I repeated. From what I've read about Fae is that they were some kind of mythical creature from European folklore. Does Ilium resemble ones from folklore or do they have a gorgeous physique, pointed ears, and a supposedly, leg-spreading voice like in one of the romance books Roland's mother loves to read. Now I'm just imaging what a Fae Werwolf hybrid would look like and I laughed to myself.
"What's funny?" Kal asked.
"What? Oh, it's nothing." I replied.
We made our way down a ribbon path that twisted a hundred yards or more through the forest. Looking ahead of us I could see only trees of innumerable shapes and sizes, and most of them covered with moss and shaggy growths. We turned right and came up to a stone arch surrounded by large rocks and leafless trees. On each side of the arch, two stone wolves sat staring at each other.
The stones looked as if they were built by someone who had no intention of making it perfect. "Ok, well that's random." I said. Suddenly, the large wolves on each side of the archway shook to life and circled us. I stumbled back. Oh shit..
Kal whispered. "Just relax."
I glared at him and I swear one of them sniffed around my ass. After they both seemed pleased with themselves, they went back on either side of the arch and sat back in their respected positions. The archway shimmered to life and the two of us went on through.
My eyes widened as I glanced up at the towering buildings in front of us; some were melded with a variety of little shops built so close to each other that they became and unending stretch of glass, wood, and rock.
I spotted a rugged, middle-aged man with milky white eyes with grey skin speaking rather aggressively to one of the shopkeepers that vaguely resembled a humanoid lizard. The short, chubby merchant behind the booth shook their head. Their thick green neck jiggled as they moved, replying to the man in the same aggressive tone. The man growled something unintelligible under his breath and stomped away.
As the two of us made our way up the cobble stoned street my skin began to crawl; some of the beings looked like normal humans while others looked vaguely so. They would yammer away about prices. Others stood around and discussed about minor trivialities or the weather.
Steam carts rumbled down the street, spitting hot clouds of vapor. I had to avert my gaze as Kal and I passed by a large, wide-opened meat shop; a stench of something foul permeated the air. A tall, burly beast of a man walked out of the shop carrying slabs of meat that hung from long metal poles.
I stood beside one of the booths across from the shop while he made his way across the street to speak with the guy. Suddenly I felt a harsh tug on my arm, and I almost yelped. I whirled around to face whoever it was. A plump, elderly woman with a mouth full of sharp obsidian teeth smiled up at me.
Her greasy black hair was pulled up into a messy bun that bobbed as she craned her head up to get a better look at me. "Hello, sir." She said, her voice was soft. "I have a wonderful selection of jewelry. This one is gorgeous," She said, happily picking up a blue sapphire bracelet. It looked expensive.
"Um," I made a quick glance over my shoulder and was relieved to see Kal leaving the store. I turned back to the old woman who still looked at me saccharine sweet. "I'm sorry, but I'm just waiting on someone. Let go of my hand, please."
The woman's demeaner changed suddenly. Instead of letting go of my wrist, she tightened her grip, and I winced as I was forced to bow to her eye level. The stench of her breath reeked of something putrid. "You're not leaving, boy," She hissed. "You were staring longingly at my booth-"
Before she could finish her sentence I grabbed her wrist and dug my fingers into her flesh, my claws lengthened and she cried out as they broke skin. "Let. Me. Go."
The woman released my wrist as if burned and shrank back behind her booth and rubbed at her wrist. I heard footsteps behind me and glanced up. "Is there a problem?" Kal asked as he came up to stand beside me.
"No problem." I said, simply. "Let's just go." I brushed passed him and we continued up the street.
We came up to a small brick building with green hedges. The inside was small. There were a couple of vacant offices down the hall to my right, and to my left. There was a single large oval desk in front of a door leading down stairs. We suddenly heard movement from somewhere downstairs and a voice muttering something before shouting, "Have a seat, and I'll be right with you!"
I was about to go and sit down when I spotted a large opened wooden chest to my left adjacent to the stairs. Curiosity got the better of me and I peeked inside. My fingers brushed against the assortment of toys. I gingerly picked up a small porcelain doll. Its blue, checkered dress was ripped in places and its Auburn hair was matted onto one side. My fingers touched something dry and crusty near the back of the doll's neck.
I felt a sudden hand on my shoulder, and I nearly panicked, almost elbowing the person behind me.
I turned around and came face to face with a tanned-skinned androgynous person with shoulder-length brown hair tucked behind pointed ears that were decked in piercings, and a nicely trimmed beard. They wore a skin tight, white tank top under a black, transparent buttoned shirt and black, high-waist suit trousers. Their icy blue eyes were wide, and their full lips were pressed into a frown.
"My apologies!" They said, quickly. "I didn't mean to frighten you." Then they said, "How may I help you two?"
"Hey, Ilium it's me, Kalos." Kal interjected, as he got up from his chair and walked over to stand beside me.
Ilium narrowed their eyes for a moment before they said, "Kalos? Peter told me you were coming, but..." Ilium leaned in and tilted their head. "Ah, he must have given you one of his masks because this is not a face you would have chosen yourself. It doesn't suit you at all, hun."
"Yeah, I'm thankful that it's very temporary. I'll have my handsome face back soon." Kal said.
"Of course you will," Then Ilium's smile faded, and sniffed. "It's been a while since I saw you last. Too long...that perhaps you might have forgotten me."
Kal smiled. "You? I would never."
Ilium chuckled at that. "What can I help you two with?"
"I need your help removing a substance from my body. I won't be able to shift until it's gone." Kal said, as he slowly lifted the front of his shirt.
Ilium bent down to inspect the bullet wound. "You were shot with a binding inhibitor. Not to worry, I have just the thing. Come!"
We both followed Ilium into one of the examination rooms. "I'll go grab the supplies. It will only take a minute." Ilium was halfway out of the room when they whipped around and pointed to the bowl of candy on the counter. "Help yourself. They're absolutely delicious."
I eyed the bowl to reach in to grab a peice when I remembered what Ilium was and jerked my hand away from the sugary goodness.
"What's the matter with you?" Kal asked. "It's just candy. It's not going to bite you,"
"Yeah, but isn't it a rule not to accept any type of foods from fae folk?"
Kal just rolled his eyes and walked over and grabbed one that closely resembled a tootsie roll before he popped it into his mouth. "First of all," He said in between chewing. "This is store bought candy, and second of all that rule only applies to humans. You'll be fine."
I turned from him and glanced over at the bowl before I moved away from it and sat down in a chair beside the exam chair. Kal laughed. "Oh, come on. You're just being paranoid. Are you really sure you don't want one?"
I glared at him, and crossed my arms over my chest. "Yeah, I'm really sure."
Kal shrugged, and grabbed a small handful for later. "Fine, suit yourself. More for me then."
A few minutes later Ilium came back with a wooden box tucked under their arm. They placed it on the counter and opened it. They grabbed a syringe and a vial filled with clear liquid. Kal hopped onto the examination table and lifted his shirt up. Kal inhaled sharply as Ilium disinfected the wound. "This will sting just a little," Ilium said right before they injected the needle into the scabbed over flesh.
I watched with no small amount of disgust as Kal was forced to grit his teeth to try and suppress his discomfort. After a few moments, Kal leaned his head back with a groan. He raised his right arm in front of him, and I watched as his flesh shifted into his demonic appendage. Kal released a sigh and laughed. "Ah, now that's more like it!"
He then turned to Ilium. "Thank you, Ilium,"
Ilium smiled. "Of course. Now-"
The conversation was suddenly interupted by the front door of the building opened and closed - did I just hear it lock? Ilium's head jerked toward the door, and then said quickly, but quietly. "You two stay right here. I'll be right back,"
I could hear Ilium speaking to whomever just walked through the door, and by the sound of their voice, they weren't happy. Ignoring Kal's whispering protests I slowly peeked around the corner.
Standing in the small lobby were two men. The taller man was attractive, and dressed impeccably. He wore a black business suit with a crimson tie. He was probably in his late 30s with short, black hair, and sharp features. The other was a short, chubby older man around his 50s with a balding head of brown hair wearing casual clothing.
I wondered if it would be too suspicious for Kal and I to walk out when I saw the man in the suit point in our direction. I pulled my head in and quickly walked over to Kal who told me to calm down. Yeah, easier said than done.
Kal and I kept our cool when the man entered our room alone. He gripped the knob and closed the door with a click. We were locked inside with him.
A cold sweat immediately broke out across my entire body. I could not stop staring at the man. The man's smile was sharp and his pale blue eyes devoid of any warmth. He wasn't a demon, otherwise I would have seen his true face, but he wasn't human either. Everything about this man screamed danger.
I knew that I was fidgeting - which probably, undoubtedly drew even more attention to us, but damnit I was already hyper aware of the area where my mask started to peel from my skin.
The man eyed me for a moment before his eyes slid over to Kal. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. "I'm looking for this man," He said, holding up a black and white photo of Kal. "Have you two seen him here by any chance?"
I was about to speak when Kal said, "No, we have not."
"Are you sure?" The man pressed. "Someone gave us a tip back in the human world that he and another young man were heading here. Kalos should have known that a vampire's compulsion doesn't work on a demon's familiar. In my honest opinion, Kalos isn't the brightest demon we hired. I mean, him coming here would be a very stupid decision. Wouldn't you agree?"
Well, shit.
"We haven't seen them," Kal said, tightly. "Is there anything else or are we done here?"
The man frowned before a smirk slowly crept upon his lips and he jerked his chin at Kal. "You got a little something on your face. Right there." The man raised his hand to Kal's face, and that was when all hell broke loose.
"Don't fucking touch me." Kal snarled. Just as he said this I could hear commotion in the lobby. Kal's nails lengthened and he immediately swiped at the man, who jerked back, and Kal followed.
The two of them struggled against each other before the man backhanded Kal in the face, sending Kal sprawling across the floor. The man was on Kal, and I could tell Kal's movements were a little sluggish as he fought the aftereffects of the shot.
I quickly grabbed the back of the man's suit and pulled him away from Kal. The man twisted around and shoved me up against the wall and drew a knife from his belt. But then he hesitated. His strike wasn't for my throat or chest - it was for my leg. His momentary pause gave me just enough of a window to slip from his grip just enough that the tip of his blade nicked me, and I hissed.
Then the realization hit me - my greatest advantage. These guys Kal had worked with had no intention on killing me. I remembered what Kal had said when he was impersonating as Aerian. They needed to take me in alive, so they couldn't kill me, not yet at least. I loosened my own blade and went straight for his heart.
I guess Kal was right. Me being a demon meant I was capable of more than what I had first thought because I didn't have to push in all that hard. The blade slid right in between his ribs with ease. The man locked eyes with me for a moment and I there was something there that I couldn't decipher.
Suddenly, he threw back his head and released a howl so loud that shudders my body as it echoes through the building.
I heard movement right behind me and I quickly pushed him off my blade and spun around, adrenaline coursed through me like an electric current. The man fell to his knees and stared at me for a moment before he collapsed to the floor.
"Ah, right. It's the same blade you used on me," Kal smiled as he came to stand in front of the man crumpled on the floor. Kal lifted his foot and nudged the man's shoulder. Then he turned around to face me. "You good?"
"Y-yeah," I replied. "Now what-"
My words died in my throat as I spotted the man got to his knees, his head lowered. Kal glanced behind me and yelped, "Fucking hell!" as he quickly moved to where I was standing.
"How dare you put your foot on me you flthy, half demon." The man growled out.
Half demon? I glanced over at Kal who's eyes seemed almost black and his expression close to downright murderous.
The man lifted his face up. Blood started to spill out of his mouth, nose, ears, and corners of his eyes. They weren't blue anymore, they were crimson. The man tilted his head, his lips stretched into a rictus grin. "Who the fuck do you think you are?" He spoke the words clearly with that disturbing smile on his face.
Suddenly I heard an audible snap and the man reeled back and hissed, "I knew you would be a failure," He growled. "We should have killed you long ago!" There was another snap and the man jerked sideways. Something was moving inside of him, and it was trying to force its way out. I turned for the door and tried to open it, but it stayed locked. I slowly turned around as realization settled in me like a cold stone.
We were trapped inside a small room with whoever or whatever this man was.
"Oh well, it's a small mistake, really." He gritted out through the pain. "There are more...important matters,"
Then he slid his eyes over to me for a moment before looking back over at Kal. "Something bigger has plans," The man groaned again, but he just kept smiling. He kept smiling even when I heard the sound of his bones splinter. "It doesn't matter how many humans you "save"" He choked out a laugh when he saw the look on my face. "Oh yes...we know what you did to Amdusias. Of course, possessing the bodies of humans is just the tip of the iceberg."
He choked on a guttural sob when his body arched forward as his back cracked and popped from some unseen pressure. "And the sweetest part of it all?" He said through gritted teeth. "The sweetest - ah - part is that the world won't see it coming until it's too late - fu-u-ck! - and let me tell you...the end result will be glorious!"
I tried for the door again, but it wouldn't open. I cursed.
"We are so fucked," Kal muttered.
There was an awful, wet, ripping noise as something large pulled itself free from its human suit and rose onto its four legs. The human body fell to the floor like a empty sack of flesh.
The monster was canine in appearance. Obsidian fur sprouted all over its body. Its four, long tails flexed back and forth. Something started to push its way out from different parts of its body. The hardened, red bone formed an armor like layer over its spine, the top of its head, ribs, and groin. Red and black, blade-like appendages sprouted out from just above its elbows.
Its crimson eyes glared down at us. It was huge, slightly larger than a Great Dane - and those dogs are massive. The scent of sulfur permeated the air around us. The temperature in the room became stifling.
For a moment there I was sure that Kal and I were going to be screwed until the door to the room was blasted off its hinges. Kal and I dodged out of the way just as the door blew inward, the force of it knocked the beast against the wall.
Kal muttered a "Run" I didn't need to be told twice. Kal and I bolted for the hallway. Just as we left the room, a bright yellow barrier appeared between is and the monster in the room. I looked over my shoulder and saw Ilium with their hands raised.
The beast snarled and brought its claws down against the barrier, which shuddered from the impact. Smoke poured from its mouth, the center of its chest glowed an orange color; it rose up its throat before releasing a ball of flame at the barrier.
Kal raised both his arms and flipped it the bird. The beast snarled at that and snapped its jaws. Ilium turned and motioned for us to follow them. We ran through the lobby and noticed the older man on the floor, black blood seeped from his mouth.
"What the hell is that thing?" I asked.
"A Hell Hound," Kal grimaced.
"Let's hurry! That barrier won't hold him for long!" Ilium said. We quickly side stepped the man's corpse and took off down a narrow set of stairs and through a long hallway carved out of rock. The lights along the wall cast an eerie glow. We turned a slight left and came up to a mahogany door.
The wood seemed to shimmer; swirls of intricate designs etched along its frame. Ilium stepped up to the door where a keypad materialized on the right side and swiftly punched a code into its panel. After a few seconds the door opened and we went inside. "We're safe in here - just don't touch anything,"
Kal and I peeled of our masks and threw them into a bin beside the door. The room was fairly large, and it had no windows. It was designed with expensive looking furniture. The room would have looked even bigger if not for all the clutter; we had to worm our way around various objects. I almost bumped into a wide shelf crammed with multicolored glass vials in different shapes and sizes filled with God only knew what.
Some of them wobbled slightly, and I froze, waiting to ensure that none of them toppled over and broke. I released a sigh of relief when they didn't and continued on, and slowly edged my way past a table piled with old scrolls and sweet smelling herbs. I turned to Ilium who was muttering, I know they're here someplace-here? Nope. Alright - hold on a sec-"
As I passed another table something moved from the corner of my eye to my left.
There was a large glass case, its frame covered in what looked like runes of some kind. In the center of the case was a black ball of shadow. I tentatively raised my hand and lightly tapped on the glass. Suddenly the ball grew, and then funneled and coalesced before it formed into a human - like shape no bigger than a small child. It didn't have eyes or even facial features, but I could hear faint, spidery whispers. It was all incoherent, but I knew that I heard it. "I know what you are," it said.
I cursed as I felt a hand on my shoulder. "Don't sneak up on me, dude!" I snapped. My concentration lapsed, the whispers went completely silent.
"What are you doing?" Kal asked.
"Did you not hear that?"
"Hear what?"
"Aha!" Ilium crowed. They lept off of a stool and strode up to us with a box under their arm. "I found it." Ilium looked up and frowned at me. "Be careful with that," they 'tisked' "I told not to touch anything."
"What is it?" I asked.
"Oh, that is a shade - or what some people call a shadow person. Don't worry, as long as it's inside that case it won't become a problem."
"Uh, good to know." I muttered.
Ilium placed the box on one of the tables and opened it. Nestled in the box were key cards. Ilium picked one out and held it up in front of us. "This room can be moved to different places around the world using these cards."
Ilium slid the key card into the panel and pressed in a couple of numbers. They turned the knob and the door opened up into a side street. I recognized the street we were on immediately. It was just a couple blocks down from the bar where Kal had found me at. 'What in the Howl's moving castle-'
"Thank you for your help, Ilium." Kal said, interupting my thoughts.
Ilium smiled. "My pleasure, Kalos. Of course I won't be able to go back to the Shadow Market any time soon, but honestly a change in scenery might be good for me." They said. "Both of you need to watch your backs. They're going to be out there searching for you so try not to get shot again or worse."
"You know me," Kal chuckled. "It will take more than that to keep this demon down."
"What about you?" I asked.
"Who, me? Ah, you don't need to worry about me, Gavin. It isn't my first time on the run."
After we said our goodbyes, I followed Kal out into the street of the city. "So, what's next?" I asked.
"You told me you were able to transform into your demon form, correct?"
"Yeah," I said, slowly. "But that was completely unintentional! I don't really know how I did it. Like I said, it just happened."
"Well, I guess that settles it then,"
"Settles what?"
"Our next training session will focus on your transformation into your demon form," Kal smirked, then. "This is going to be fun."

edit: i fixed it. i showed it how i did it down below... deciding not to delete this post so that it can help someone else in the future
so i was trying to make a version command for my github project, so when you input ve version, it checks the latest version, checks the latest version on github, and compares them. and if your version is outdated, it asks to you if it should download the latest version or not. when i was doing this i learned about http error codes, and decided to do a custom response for mostly every code.

if response.status_code == 200: latest_release = response.json() latest_version = latest_release.get('tag_name') elif response.status_code == 400: print("ERROR 400 Bad request:") print("") print("This status code indicates that there's something off with the request you sent to the server.") print("It's like filling out a form incorrectly or forgetting to provide essential details.") print("The server couldn't understand or process your request due to missing or malformed data.") print("") input("press enter to go back to simulation folder select") elif response.status_code == 401: print("ERROR 401 Unauthorized:") print("") print("This status code means you're not allowed to access the requested resource without proper authentication.") print("It's like trying to enter a restricted area without showing your ID.") print("You need to provide valid credentials, such as a username and password or an authentication token, to gain access.") print("") input("press enter to go back to simulation folder select") elif response.status_code == 403: print("ERROR 403 Unauthorized:") print("") print("You're being denied access, plain and simple.") print("Even with valid credentials, you're not allowed to access the resource because you lack the necessary permissions. ") print("It's like trying to enter a building without the proper authorization or access card.") print("You need to request permission from the appropriate authorities.") print("") input("press enter to go back to simulation folder select") elif response.status_code == 404: print("ERROR 404 Unauthorized:") print("") print("This status code indicates that the server couldn't find the resource you requested.") print("It's like looking for a book on a library shelf only to discover it's not there. ") print("The resource may have been moved, deleted, or simply never existed. ") print("Double-check the URL or try searching for the resource in a different location.") print("") input("press enter to go back to simulation folder select") elif response.status_code == 422: print("ERROR 422 Unauthorized:") print("") print("Ah, it seems there's a problem with the data you provided. ") print("This status code typically occurs when the server understands your request but can't process it due to invalid data. ") print("It's like trying to fill out a form with incorrect or incomplete information. ") print("Review the data you submitted and ensure it meets the server's requirements.") print("") input("press enter to go back to simulation folder select") elif response.status_code == 429: print("ERROR 429 Unauthorized:") print("") print("Slow down there! You've been making too many requests to the server within a short period. ") print("This status code indicates that you've hit a rate limit, and the server is asking you to ease up for a bit. ") print("It's like trying to take too many slices of cake at once, and someone politely suggests you wait your turn.") print("") input("press enter to go back to simulation folder select") elif response.status_code == 500: print("ERROR 500 Unauthorized:") print("") print("Uh-oh, something went wrong on the server's end, and it's not your fault. ") print("This status code indicates an unexpected problem occurred while the server was trying to process your request. ") print("It's like ordering food at a restaurant and having the kitchen catch fire. ") print("The server is apologizing for the inconvenience and asking for your patience while they sort things out.") print("") input("press enter to go back to simulation folder select") elif response.status_code == 503: print("ERROR 503 Unauthorized:") print("") print("Hold your horses! The server is currently unavailable to handle your request. ") print("This status code typically occurs due to maintenance or overload. ") print("It's like calling a store outside of business hours and getting a message saying they're closed for the day. ") print("You'll need to try again later when the server is back up and running.") print("") input("press enter to go back to simulation folder select") else: print("I Don't know what the fuck are you doing but I can't find an error code for you.") input("press enter to go back to simulation folder select") 

i even put an else if i didn't include one.
however, when i disconnect my internet and try to test it out, it gives this error:

Traceback (most recent call last): File "C:\Users\Saad_Abdullah\AppData\Local\Programs\Python\Python312\Lib\site-packages\urllib3\connection.py", line 198, in _new_conn sock = connection.create_connection( ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ File "C:\Users\Saad_Abdullah\AppData\Local\Programs\Python\Python312\Lib\site-packages\urllib3\util\connection.py", line 60, in create_connection for res in socket.getaddrinfo(host, port, family, socket.SOCK_STREAM): ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ File "C:\Users\Saad_Abdullah\AppData\Local\Programs\Python\Python312\Lib\socket.py", line 963, in getaddrinfo for res in _socket.getaddrinfo(host, port, family, type, proto, flags): ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ socket.gaierror: [Errno 11001] getaddrinfo failed The above exception was the direct cause of the following exception: Traceback (most recent call last): File "C:\Users\Saad_Abdullah\AppData\Local\Programs\Python\Python312\Lib\site-packages\urllib3\connectionpool.py", line 793, in urlopen response = self._make_request( ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ File "C:\Users\Saad_Abdullah\AppData\Local\Programs\Python\Python312\Lib\site-packages\urllib3\connectionpool.py", line 491, in _make_request raise new_e File "C:\Users\Saad_Abdullah\AppData\Local\Programs\Python\Python312\Lib\site-packages\urllib3\connectionpool.py", line 467, in _make_request self._validate_conn(conn) File "C:\Users\Saad_Abdullah\AppData\Local\Programs\Python\Python312\Lib\site-packages\urllib3\connectionpool.py", line 1099, in _validate_conn conn.connect() File "C:\Users\Saad_Abdullah\AppData\Local\Programs\Python\Python312\Lib\site-packages\urllib3\connection.py", line 616, in connect self.sock = sock = self._new_conn() ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ File "C:\Users\Saad_Abdullah\AppData\Local\Programs\Python\Python312\Lib\site-packages\urllib3\connection.py", line 205, in _new_conn raise NameResolutionError(self.host, self, e) from e urllib3.exceptions.NameResolutionError: : Failed to resolve 'api.github.com' ([Errno 11001] getaddrinfo failed) The above exception was the direct cause of the following exception: Traceback (most recent call last): File "C:\Users\Saad_Abdullah\AppData\Local\Programs\Python\Python312\Lib\site-packages\requests\adapters.py", line 486, in send resp = conn.urlopen( ^^^^^^^^^^^^^ File "C:\Users\Saad_Abdullah\AppData\Local\Programs\Python\Python312\Lib\site-packages\urllib3\connectionpool.py", line 847, in urlopen retries = retries.increment( ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ File "C:\Users\Saad_Abdullah\AppData\Local\Programs\Python\Python312\Lib\site-packages\urllib3\util\retry.py", line 515, in increment raise MaxRetryError(_pool, url, reason) from reason # type: ignore[arg-type] ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ urllib3.exceptions.MaxRetryError: HTTPSConnectionPool(host='api.github.com', port=443): Max retries exceeded with url: /repos/ingenarel/Split-It/releases/latest (Caused by NameResolutionError(": Failed to resolve 'api.github.com' ([Errno 11001] getaddrinfo failed)")) During handling of the above exception, another exception occurred: Traceback (most recent call last): File "l:\cachesplittertest\split_it.py", line 658, in  response = requests.get(url) ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ File "C:\Users\Saad_Abdullah\AppData\Local\Programs\Python\Python312\Lib\site-packages\requests\api.py", line 73, in get return request("get", url, params=params, **kwargs) ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ File "C:\Users\Saad_Abdullah\AppData\Local\Programs\Python\Python312\Lib\site-packages\requests\api.py", line 59, in request return session.request(method=method, url=url, **kwargs) ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ File "C:\Users\Saad_Abdullah\AppData\Local\Programs\Python\Python312\Lib\site-packages\requests\sessions.py", line 589, in request resp = self.send(prep, **send_kwargs) ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ File "C:\Users\Saad_Abdullah\AppData\Local\Programs\Python\Python312\Lib\site-packages\requests\sessions.py", line 703, in send r = adapter.send(request, **kwargs) ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ File "C:\Users\Saad_Abdullah\AppData\Local\Programs\Python\Python312\Lib\site-packages\requests\adapters.py", line 519, in send raise ConnectionError(e, request=request) requests.exceptions.ConnectionError: HTTPSConnectionPool(host='api.github.com', port=443): Max retries exceeded with url: /repos/ingenarel/Split-It/releases/latest (Caused by NameResolutionError(": Failed to resolve 'api.github.com' ([Errno 11001] getaddrinfo failed)")) 

i searched for the error on the internet and it seems to be a dns error. but i did include an else when
checking the server response, so wouldn't it solve that?
or am i missing something?
here my version checker code:

# checks the version elif folder_name.lower() in ["ver", "version"]: # Specify your GitHub username and repository name repo_owner = "ingenarel" repo_name = "Split-It" # Get local version of your tool (replace this with your logic) local_version = "v0.8" # Example local version, replace with your own logic # Get latest release version from GitHub url = f"https://api.github.com/repos/{repo_owner}/{repo_name}/releases/latest" response = requests.get(url) if response.status_code == 200: latest_release = response.json() latest_version = latest_release.get('tag_name') elif response.status_code == 400: print("ERROR 400 Bad request:") print("") print("This status code indicates that there's something off with the request you sent to the server.") print("It's like filling out a form incorrectly or forgetting to provide essential details.") print("The server couldn't understand or process your request due to missing or malformed data.") print("") input("press enter to go back to simulation folder select") elif response.status_code == 401: print("ERROR 401 Unauthorized:") print("") print("This status code means you're not allowed to access the requested resource without proper authentication.") print("It's like trying to enter a restricted area without showing your ID.") print("You need to provide valid credentials, such as a username and password or an authentication token, to gain access.") print("") input("press enter to go back to simulation folder select") elif response.status_code == 403: print("ERROR 403 Unauthorized:") print("") print("You're being denied access, plain and simple.") print("Even with valid credentials, you're not allowed to access the resource because you lack the necessary permissions. ") print("It's like trying to enter a building without the proper authorization or access card.") print("You need to request permission from the appropriate authorities.") print("") input("press enter to go back to simulation folder select") elif response.status_code == 404: print("ERROR 404 Unauthorized:") print("") print("This status code indicates that the server couldn't find the resource you requested.") print("It's like looking for a book on a library shelf only to discover it's not there. ") print("The resource may have been moved, deleted, or simply never existed. ") print("Double-check the URL or try searching for the resource in a different location.") print("") input("press enter to go back to simulation folder select") elif response.status_code == 422: print("ERROR 422 Unauthorized:") print("") print("Ah, it seems there's a problem with the data you provided. ") print("This status code typically occurs when the server understands your request but can't process it due to invalid data. ") print("It's like trying to fill out a form with incorrect or incomplete information. ") print("Review the data you submitted and ensure it meets the server's requirements.") print("") input("press enter to go back to simulation folder select") elif response.status_code == 429: print("ERROR 429 Unauthorized:") print("") print("Slow down there! You've been making too many requests to the server within a short period. ") print("This status code indicates that you've hit a rate limit, and the server is asking you to ease up for a bit. ") print("It's like trying to take too many slices of cake at once, and someone politely suggests you wait your turn.") print("") input("press enter to go back to simulation folder select") elif response.status_code == 500: print("ERROR 500 Unauthorized:") print("") print("Uh-oh, something went wrong on the server's end, and it's not your fault. ") print("This status code indicates an unexpected problem occurred while the server was trying to process your request. ") print("It's like ordering food at a restaurant and having the kitchen catch fire. ") print("The server is apologizing for the inconvenience and asking for your patience while they sort things out.") print("") input("press enter to go back to simulation folder select") elif response.status_code == 503: print("ERROR 503 Unauthorized:") print("") print("Hold your horses! The server is currently unavailable to handle your request. ") print("This status code typically occurs due to maintenance or overload. ") print("It's like calling a store outside of business hours and getting a message saying they're closed for the day. ") print("You'll need to try again later when the server is back up and running.") print("") input("press enter to go back to simulation folder select") else: print("I Don't know what the fuck are you doing but I can't find an error code for you.") input("press enter to go back to simulation folder select") # Check if latest version is available and prompt user to download if latest_version: print(f"Current version: {local_version}") print(f"Latest version: {latest_version}") if local_version == latest_version: print("You are already using the latest version.") input("press enter to go back to simulation folder select") else: while True: print("A new version is available. Do you want to download it?") print("You if you want to use the latest version, you need to start it from the downloaded version though.") print("It creates a folder called latest_build and stores the zip there.") choice = input("press y to download and n to cancel: ") if choice.lower() == "y": # Download the latest build assets = latest_release.get('assets', []) if assets: # Create a folder to store the downloaded files download_folder = "latest_build" os.makedirs(download_folder, exist_ok=True) for asset in assets: download_url = asset.get('browser_download_url') download_response = requests.get(download_url) if download_response.status_code == 200: # Save the file file_path = os.path.join(download_folder, asset.get('name')) with open(file_path, 'wb') as file: file.write(download_response.content) print(f"Downloaded: {asset.get('name')}") break else: print(f"Failed to download: {asset.get('name')}") input("press enter to go back to simulation folder select") break print(f"All assets from the latest release have been downloaded to '{download_folder}'.") input("press enter to go back to simulation folder select") break else: print("No assets found in the latest release.") input("press enter to go back to simulation folder select") break elif choice.lower() == "n": print("Skipping download.") input("press enter to go back to simulation folder select") break else: print("Invalid choice. Please enter 'yes' or 'no'.") continue else: print("Failed to retrieve the latest version from GitHub. Please check your internet connection and try again.") input("press enter to go back to simulation folder select") continue 

sorry if i'm being dumb.....

EDIT:

learned that there was something called try except... asked chatgpt to give me some directions on how to use it.
used

except requests.exceptions.RequestException as e: 

in my code to handle the network error...
and then implemented it to my code...

try: url = f"https://api.github.com/repos/{repo_owner}/{repo_name}/releases/latest" response = requests.get(url) if response.status_code == 200: latest_release = response.json() latest_version = latest_release.get('tag_name') else: if response.status_code == 400: print("ERROR 400 Bad request:") print("") print("This status code indicates that there's something off with the request you sent to the server.") print("It's like filling out a form incorrectly or forgetting to provide essential details.") print("The server couldn't understand or process your request due to missing or malformed data.") print("") elif response.status_code == 401: print("ERROR 401 Unauthorized:") print("") print("This status code means you're not allowed to access the requested resource without proper authentication.") print("It's like trying to enter a restricted area without showing your ID.") print("You need to provide valid credentials, such as a username and password or an authentication token, to gain access.") print("") elif response.status_code == 403: print("ERROR 403 Unauthorized:") print("") print("You're being denied access, plain and simple.") print("Even with valid credentials, you're not allowed to access the resource because you lack the necessary permissions. ") print("It's like trying to enter a building without the proper authorization or access card.") print("You need to request permission from the appropriate authorities.") print("") elif response.status_code == 404: print("ERROR 404 Unauthorized:") print("") print("This status code indicates that the server couldn't find the resource you requested.") print("It's like looking for a book on a library shelf only to discover it's not there. ") print("The resource may have been moved, deleted, or simply never existed. ") print("Double-check the URL or try searching for the resource in a different location.") print("") elif response.status_code == 422: print("ERROR 422 Unauthorized:") print("") print("Ah, it seems there's a problem with the data you provided. ") print("This status code typically occurs when the server understands your request but can't process it due to invalid data. ") print("It's like trying to fill out a form with incorrect or incomplete information. ") print("Review the data you submitted and ensure it meets the server's requirements.") print("") elif response.status_code == 429: print("ERROR 429 Unauthorized:") print("") print("Slow down there! You've been making too many requests to the server within a short period. ") print("This status code indicates that you've hit a rate limit, and the server is asking you to ease up for a bit. ") print("It's like trying to take too many slices of cake at once, and someone politely suggests you wait your turn.") print("") elif response.status_code == 500: print("ERROR 500 Unauthorized:") print("") print("Uh-oh, something went wrong on the server's end, and it's not your fault. ") print("This status code indicates an unexpected problem occurred while the server was trying to process your request. ") print("It's like ordering food at a restaurant and having the kitchen catch fire. ") print("The server is apologizing for the inconvenience and asking for your patience while they sort things out.") print("") elif response.status_code == 503: print("ERROR 503 Unauthorized:") print("") print("Hold your horses! The server is currently unavailable to handle your request. ") print("This status code typically occurs due to maintenance or overload. ") print("It's like calling a store outside of business hours and getting a message saying they're closed for the day. ") print("You'll need to try again later when the server is back up and running.") print("") else: print("I Don't know what the fuck are you doing but I can't find an error code for you.") print("") input("press enter to go back to simulation folder select") continue except requests.exceptions.RequestException as e: print("Failed to retrieve the latest version from GitHub.") print("Please check your internet connection and try again.") continue 

hope this helps someone else in the future