Short Stories

Hotel Murder

The picture above is the room.

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"My name is Ashton DeVille and what I'm about to tell you is no joke and what happened was real and you have got to believe me, because they don't, they think I'm crazy. I'm not crazy and I will not lie to you. To know the following story you have to believe me and be strong because this information is dangerous and for your ears only." The videotape cracked and zoomed in on the man's face. His suit was tattered and torn in places, and his hair was a mess and all over the place. His face, gorgeous but scarred, was covered in dried blood. Videotape continues:

I left my office, in Connecticut, late that day because of a sudden increase in work. I was driving back home, to New York, when I saw a lady in a white dress standing on the sidewalk. The weird thing was that she wasn't standing; it was more like she was floating. I stopped to ask her if she needed any help. She whispered in a very ghastly and hoarse voice, "could you please take me back to the hotel so I can get back at my abusive husband?" I, of course helped. I took her to a hotel with a broken sign that hung off of it's hinges like it would fall off any moment.

I got out of the car to walk her to the lobby, but when I turned around to look for her, I couldn't find her. I walked towards the lobby only to find that the door was locked. "Can I help you?" said a very ragged looking man with a very heavy Russian accent. His hair was full of dirt, and by the looks of it, he had some dried blood on his white wife-beater.

"Umm, I'm looking for a lady in a white long dress, raven hair, scarlet lips and pale skin. Have you seen her?" I asked in an unsure voice. He mumbled something incoherent, probably an insult before he replied:
"You will not find her here. She gone long before. Told her not to do that, she don't listen," he said in very bad English and his accent making it almost incomprehensible. "You leave before darkness see you," he muttered something in Russian, looked around frightened half to death, and continued in his raspy voice, "It's seen you already, you dead already." He ran away clearly frightened by something.

I walked into the compound, which had a creaking set of steps leading up to the old rooms. The rooms were oddly numbered, without any sequence. A gunshot rang through the empty, soundless night along with the scream of a woman. I walked forward to find the source of the voice. I stopped in front of an odd door; it looked like those old vintage doors made of wood with intricate designs. It had a peculiar number plate of the devil's number: 666. The door creaked open and a gruff looking man stomped out and right through me like I wasn't standing there, but what almost left my sight was the pistol he was holding in his hand. A sob of a woman came from inside the room. I peeked in and saw the same woman who was in my car not too long ago, sitting on the floor with her hands pressing her wound on her swollen stomach. The scarlet monster slowly made its way out of the bullet wound and seeped into her delicate hands.

"This is why I wanted to get back at him. He killed me. I wanted him to suffer but Viktor told me that I was one year too late. Viktor is the receptionist you met not too long ago," the woman stood behind me, still floating, as she watched her death unfold. I looked at her like she was crazy. "You know," she said in a calm and collected voice, "This hotel, especially this room, is famous for murders. Mine was on of them. The famous: 'Crazy husband murders pregnant wife'" she told me as a stray tear betrayed her calm tone. She disappeared just as suddenly as she appeared.

A new, strange voice called out from inside the room. "Carol honey where are the kids?" his heavy English accent stated that he was clearly from Birmingham. He was a very appealing man, brown hair combed back in a vintage hairstyle, with bright blue eyes full of fear as he emerged from the toilet. His, what I assumed, wife was standing over the bodies of a little girl, not over six years of age and a boy, about ten years of age, holding a gun. "Darling" he continued, feigning a calm voice, "put the gun down." His eyes turned to look at his dead kids. "What did you do to Mary and James?" he screamed.
"They were misbehaving and hitting me. The doctor said that I should have a gun for protection against harm and I used it because they were harming me," she said in a cold voice as tears ran down her beautiful face. She had blonde hair and a cold shade of emerald pools, full of cruelty. Carol pointed the gun towards her husband and before he could protest or try stopping her, she fired and it was a perfect aim towards his heart. "I love you but if I die you die too," with that she put the gun in her mouth and shot herself.

"My husband was cheating on me and I couldn't leave my kids alone in this world," Carol's familiar voice came from behind me, "They called me a 'heartless mother'. I loved my kids very much and I saved them from living in this horrible world where no one can be trusted." She stated before disappearing.

Before I could witness any more murders I ran out of the room and downstairs towards my old, beat up car. What stopped me was a crowd of people, but their feet weren't touching the ground, instead they all were levitating off the ground holding weapons. "Blood. We need to spill his blood." Came a hiss from within the crowd.

"I can help you get your justice. I'm a lawyer, but if you kill me I can't help you'll." I tried persuading them to stop their advance towards me.

"We're already dead. Justice can't revive us." A different, more cold, and with an American accent, voice spoke out. His voice sounded ancient, like it had been alive for over a century. " My dead brothers and sisters, we must kill him and spill his blood. He must feel our pain and torture." He went on.

"YES HE MUST," came a chorus reply. They advanced towards me like I was the prey and they were the starved predators. I ran towards the road behind me only to crash into a solid figure.

"Whoops sorry mate, I hope I didn't hurt you," he said in an Australian accent. "You know I can't let you go because my buddies and I have a deal. They have your blood and I have my freedom." He said as he looked passed me at the angry mob of suffered ghouls. He pushed me towards them and they tore me into pieces.

The videotape cracked as he advanced towards me like he would get out of the television and drag me to hell with him. Before the tape ended he whispered something almost incoherent if the hotel room wasn't so ghastly silent. He said, "Look behind my darling." I turned behind hypnotically only to look into the blank eyes of Ashton DeVille. I was staying in room 666 of the hotel formally known as the Hotel Murder.