Blue and red lights whirled outside the Bates Motel while I sat, wrapped in a fleece blanket, by the telephone. Lilly had helped me back to the motel, bandaged my hand and phoned the police. They interrogated me so much so that I began leaving them with unfinished sentences and broken stories starting in different sections. It was soon too much for me, and Lilly finally had to tell them to leave me alone. They understood, tipped their hats, and went to investigate the house or talk among themselves. When it was just me, Lilly, and one police officer, Lilly came over to me and knelt in front of the chair I was sitting in. I was still shaking.
“Hey, it’s going to be all right, okay?” she promised me as her gentle hand smoothed my face.
Amazed at her control under such circumstances, I asked,” Aren’t you scared?”
She broke into a somewhat offended smile and replied in a whisper, “I am completely terrified. The only thing that’s keeping me sane is talking with you.”
“Then talk for however long you want, I promise I’ll listen,” I said, reaching out to her from underneath my blanket. I clutched her arm and pulled her closer. She didn’t lean against my hand, instead, she followed it eagerly until she was resting her head on my legs. “What do you think they’ll do now?”
“I don’t know, they’ll probably talk to my mother.”
“I don’t want to go to any courtroom or whatever. I know who my father was: he was murderer and he doesn’t need any justification. And as for my mother, she was just as crazy, but probably didn’t want to be because she was so in love.” I grew silent and my fingers found her blonde hair. I stroked her to keep myself from crying.
“Tell them that,” Lilly said, raising her head and studying my sorrowful look. “You’re eighteen now, right? You have the right to be an adult. You can tell them you don’t want to go to court; I’ll stand up for you if they insist. You don’t need to relive it a second time.” Her head returned to my lap.
She was right. I didn’t have to testify if I didn’t want to. Slipping off the blanket, I gently placed it over her shoulders and whispered something in her ears. I then stood up and walked out to meet the police. I told them what I was going to do. And surprisingly, they agreed.
“And the house and motel, Mr. Bates?” the officer asked me.
Looking at the burned out neon light sign, and then at the dark house on the hill, I chewed on my bottom lip, slipped my hands in my pockets, and said in a strong voice, “Burn it all. I don’t want to know about this place ever again.” With that, I turned back to the motel once more to only gather my belongings and go home.
Four years later, I’m twenty-two and graduated from college. I proposed to Lilly just a week ago, and we’re already excited about getting married. I had a special change done with my name, changing it from Oliver Bates to Oliver Rawlings—a last name that had nothing to do with my formal life. Though, even though my origin had been erased, and the house and motel erased, the memories were still fresh in my mind. Every night, lying in the dead silence, I would hear the opening of a door and then the loud, crisp voice of an old lady screaming, “I’ll be your mother! You’ll be Norman; I miss my Norman!”
With every haunting sensation, I would fling upright in bed and search for Lilly, but she wouldn’t be beside me as she wasn’t my wife yet. So, there, at three o’clock in the morning, the house was to myself until daylight cleansed the atmosphere. I did everything to keep myself sane until then. I played music, drank tea, or even called my dog into bed beside me. Though, not matter what or who I consoled myself with, I knew I would never be left alone.
“I’ll be your mother! You’ll be Norman; I miss my Norman…”
THE END
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MOTEL CHILD (Haunted)
Mystery / ThrillerHe is left with only one inheritance: his father's motel. Gentle, quiet, and sensitive, young Oliver is oblivious to his father's psychotic past until an older woman and her daughter come to his motel. Their stay is brief, but they leave behind a c...
