Don't Sleep In Room 13

Chapter 10 : It's Me

   Even the slightest stint of blood  made Randall nauseous, no matter the quantity. The long jagged cuts separating the skin down Sally's arms were throbbing blood from the pounding of her arteries, spewing to the floor. The stretching skin of her neck leaning back tore the muscles were far more than Randall could handle —Putting him past his weak heaving stomach —in return projecting vomit all over the already filthy carpet. His eyes were blood shot from the amount of pressure the heaving gave him blinding him for a split second each time.  As Randalls sight came back, the wounds on Sallys arms and neck were gone.

   "Are you okay? I didn't think I would make you throw up all over the place like an incoherent baby." Sally said.
"It wasn't that. Thank god, it was all in my mind. I.. Just seen you, neck and wrists slit, blood all over the place, dead. Sorry, I wish you never had to witness that, I'm embarrassed."
"It's the drugs."
"What do you mean the drugs, I thought covering the vents would stop it."
"No, not that, the drugs are wearing off. They make you see things at a high dose, and when your coming off them your body hallucinates because it's not receiving the dose it's used to."
"That explains maybe a small portion of whats been fucking happening. I was a calm happy person before all of this Sally."

  "I believe you, but there must be a reason why your in room 13. You don't just end up here for no reason Randall, I too have played this game before. The hardest part of being here is finding a way out, before gettin put down. That's what happened to me."

  "That's what happened to you?, I don't know what that means. I came here to write a book about a haunted motel. This isn't haunted, this is someone game, it's entertainment for someone out there, some sick, sick, son of a bitch."

"Things slowly start changing, you probably noticed that, and it just gets worse. Just like in your book Mr. Kane."

"hey how do you know that?"

Sally disappeared and the wall to the parking lot closed in, the door,  was gone and the windows were now absent, but a lone book rested on the dresser labelled, Don't Sleep In Room 13 written by Randall Kane.

It wasn't long before Randall grabbed the book with his name on it, penned by him, he skimmed through the book quickly to find the second half of the book has yet to be written. Randall started savagely ripping the pages from the binding and tossing them on the floor only to throw the meat of the book into the trashcan. Randall looked back at the dresser mind blown at the fact his book was still sitting there, unharmed, unripped, everything seemed to have happened in his head.

The drugs began to worsen as the vents were't actually closed off, Sally was in fact nothing short of another hallucination from the drugs being pumped into the room and breathed in by Randall himself.  He took off his shirt and wrapped it around his face like a hospital mask to stop any other particles from entering his airways. Though Randall knew this would only work for a short while as the shirt will begin to dampen and the protection of cloth doesn't work as good at a hospital mask if we are talking about the Swiss cheese method of protection. More layers, more protection.

A loud bang started rattling the wall near the closet, lifting dust off the surface of the wallpaper. Muffled from the thick drywall panels a mans voice screamed for help.

"HELP ME PLEASE SOMEBODY HELP."

Randall was un-phased by the screaming as it was nothing new at this point — that is until he started recognizing the voice as it got clearer and sharper. The voice got so loud it might as well have been in the room with him. The voice started to sound familiar a voice he hadn't heard in a long while. The voice behind the wall sounded like his Father whom was kidnapped. The panic began to kick back in.

"Dad is that you?" Randall yelled into the wall.
"Help ME PLEASE."

Randall began to rip the water stained moldy wallpaper like he was  a psycho patient at two south — The Psych Ward at the Fleet Hospital, if someone brings you there, they don't let you out until they know for sure your not going to harm yourself or others, it could take years. The nurses there are beastly demons that'll chew you up and spit you out before you can explain it was a mistake, surely making you a psycho in their eyes.

The ripping of the wallpaper tore very poorly small bits came off with each tear leaving the back end of the wallpaper still attached to the main wall. Tearing just wasn't enough, He has to start scratching it off to see what was on the other side. Randall took the sharp end of the hatchet and began scraping the excess off of the wall, one part of the wall was solid wood, the trim of the door was located under the wallpaper, but the door was under a full panel of drywall. He took that very same Hatchet to demolish the panel of drywall and pulled the pieces off with his hands revealing a door— the type that used to connect units when motels needed you make more money by offering a "Family Suite" — we all know motels don't operate like a five star hotel and especially not in Fleet, they need to accommodate in any capacity.

The scream for help continued as Randall tried to Rattle the door open. The knob was seized and required him to smash it off with the hatchet which was still laying on the ground not far from him.

It only took a few hits to break the knob apart, tearing all the mechanicals inside to shrapnel. With one big hip check to the frail door Randall plowed through it like a football player playing defence at the Super Bowl.

On the other side of the door stood a man with his flesh melting off his bones eagerly trying to crawl toward Randall while still crying for help, but he had a message.

"Just do what they say, life will get worse by the day if you don't conform. Look at me Randall, Look at me." Said the man as Randall puked all over himself.  The man grabbed him by the shoulders with every ounce of strength he had left in his decomposing body.

"They sent me here after years of rebellion, addiction, and selfishness. I had PTSD and didn't want to deal with it. Look at me now Randall, is this how you pictured you would see your father?"

"It's not you, they told me you were kidnapped, This isn't happening, it's not you, it can't be , it's the drugs."

"History repeating itself I see."
"Shut up you don't know what your talking about, you haven't been around my whole life."
"Life father like son."
"Shut the fuck up, At least I watch my child grow up you son of a bitch."

A gas like substance slowly leaked from the vents along the baseboards drifting above floor until the room was filled with toxic gases. Randall began choking as the air began to thicken, his lungs practically caving in while his consciousness drifted in an out.
It's okay this always happens in my dreams just before I wake up I pass out and snap back to reality, Randall thought to himself.

The faint voice of Junebug could be heard from the hallway door. "It's me June bug, let me in!"

"Help me, please Junebug I didn't believe you I admit it."
Randall said before passing out in his own bile.