American Horror Story Imagines

John Lowe- Elevators

Credit to:  tates-tortilla

I'm sorry; this phone call cannot be made, please try again later—

Placing down your phone, you continued to drive down the murky road. The road seemed to direct you into a black hole that you never seemed to reach. The only thing that kept you from falling into the obscurity was your headlights, on high because anything's whimsical in the dark and nevertheless, there hasn't been a car on that road for hours. Your CD of "The songs of the 70's" stayed on replay; you hummed to the lyrics, and tapped your fingers to the beat, all a distraction from the fact that you were undeniably lost. Hotel California slowly lifted the silence in the car, you couldn't help but lip-sync to the song you grew up loving. This song was long before you were born, but your father – a 70's freak...and a Michael Jackson lover, made you listen to every song ever made before the 2000's.

"Y/N, I'm telling you, this...this is art, this is real music," He would always say,

"Don't get sucked into that funky town music, or that techno shit, because if you do then I have honestly failed as a father"

He was the only person who could put an honest smile on your face, and ultimately, he was right, it was real music.

Still driving down the same road, and still not receiving any signal, you started to worry. You raised the volume of the radio, but not even that could help anymore, you were lost. You were invited to a party, but with your wonderful mapping skills that you somehow convinced yourself in having, you found your way into the longest road in the world – dramatic but acceptable. You should just pat yourself on the back for really fucking up big time. You sighed, lowering the volume; you checked your phone (not for signal because that train left hours ago) but to check the time, 1:00am. You were 2 hours late, in the middle of nowhere and the cookies you baked for her...half of them were already digesting in your stomach. Luck was certainly on your side tonight, because when you thought it couldn't get any worse, a rain droplet hit your windshield. The first stage of acceptance was denial, and that was certainly the stage you were in. You looked in your mirror in hopes of seeing more than just your headlights, but since luck was on your side (note the sarcasm)...there was no car in sight. By the time you hit the forth stage of acceptance—depression, if anyone saw the physical state you were in, you would be in a psychiatric ward before you could even blink. The quiet hums of your car deepen as you halt to a stop; Hotel California, playing for the 18th time, was shut off before it got to the chorus, you peeled your eyes off the radio and focused them on the yellow light in front of you.

The arm of the indicator was so far past E, that it would be a miracle if there were even a drop of fuel in your Honda Civic. This day was the Devil's reincarnate. The rain was still pouring freely, the only sound apart from your impatient sighs. You reached over to the passenger's side to assemble your purse, and umbrella that you ever so thankfully threw in your car the other day...at least there was some luck today. You took the key out of the ignition and zipped up your jacket; in one swift movement you leaped out of your car and opened your umbrella. You closed the car door and locked it, and began on the same journey you started 3 hours ago...accept now walking. About another hour of walking you finally reached a sign – Welcome to Los Angeles – You quickly pulled out your phone and saw that there was signal...a bar, but it was good enough. You called a taxi, and when they asked where you were the only thing you could say was;

"Ugh, beside some sign..."

Eventually the driver figured out your whereabouts and was in front of you 20 minutes later,

"Closest hotel please" You said, closing your umbrella before entering. The car ride was quiet...that was until he decided to play some soft rock. The driver stopped in front of a hotel, Hotel Cortez. He decided to lower the fee for the drive,