Four Lights Motel

Chapter 1

The stories that circulated about Brightbell were very hard to ignore. Too intriguing and deliciously fascinating to pass up. I needed that story, I needed to cover those deaths and write it like I've never written before. Otherwise my career was over.

The town had a sort of Sleepy Hollow feel to it, or so I heard; a small society clustered together in the middle of nowhere, hidden underneath a white veil of fog and snow. I questioned my sanity briefly when I pulled my car off the main road a few miles away from the town itself, into the empty parking lot (save for an old blue pickup) of the Four Lights Motel, it's retro neon sign buzzing ominously. It was a sad, decrepit looking place with no more than one or two lights in the windows. It was eerie, yet the silence was welcoming after the tumultuous racket of the city. Despite its unsettling qualities, it did have some redeeming ones.

I made my way around the aging building, the wooden foundation underneath creaking to the rhythm of my steps, my breath visible before me. It took a few minutes to make my full way around until I located the doors to the registration office. As I pulled open the door, the doorbell twinkled pleasantly and I made my way to the front desk. Unlike its aging exterior shell, the innards of the place had a totally different appearance. The office was well maintained, cozy even. Fresh  paint on the walls, lacquered mahogany desk in the centre of the room, ornate golden picture frames running along the walls. It wasn't long before I felt the chill in my fingers disappear, the blood return to my face.

I rang the bell on the desk three times before I heard a door open somewhere in the back behind the desk, and what emerged quite literally, took my breath away. Out came the most striking woman I had ever laid eyes on. Long, straight jet black hair cascaded down her shoulders, falling just a few inches above her waist, framing her oval face. In her practically flawless, pale features were embedded the most exquisite blue eyes. They were so blue that against her creamy white complexion they reminded me of two lapis lazuli. Somehow despite her very casual wardrobe (a pair of ripped faded blue jeans and a baggy light grey sweater), she was, in every sense of the word, elegant.

"Hi there," she beamed, revealing perfect white teeth. "Welcome to Four Lights! I'm Sara, the manager here. Will you be needing a room today?"

"Uh, yeah," I muttered, a little dazed. "Yeah, I will. Please."

"Sure thing!" I watched as she reached behind her and took a set of keys from the board on the wall, room numbers labeling each key hanging underneath. I got room 107.

"Here you go!" she said. Her smile was infectious; I couldn't help but smile myself. I took the keys from her, and our fingers gently grazed. I didn't fail to notice the velvety softness of her skin. She pulled out a rather worn leather binder from under the desk and pushed it towards me, each page filled top to bottom with signatures. Her perfectly manicured finger pointed at the line beside my room number. "I just need your name here, please."

I wrote my name in messy cursive: Garett Whitaker. My fourth-grade teacher loved to comment about my chicken scratch whenever I handed in a paper. "My goodness, Garrett," she would exclaim dramatically each time. "How do you expect me to make this out?" She made it out just fine, but never failed to make a show of it. I never really cared about it, until now when I slid the binder back to Sara and she had to bend a little closer to the page to decipher my name.

"You're all set Mr. Witake!" she said pleasantly, pronouncing it as "White-ache".  I felt my ears burn.

"It's uh, Whitaker, actually."

"Oh!" she glanced at the page again. "My mistake! Your room is around the corner and it's the fourth room down."

"Thank you," I said quietly. I grabbed my duffel bag and made for the door.
"Let me know if you need anything!" she said cheerfully. I smiled over my shoulder before exiting the office.
The temperature outside seemed to drop drastically, forcing me to half jog awkwardly around the corner as directed as I made my way past the doors until I reached room 107.

The room was not quite as impressive as the main office, but pleased me just the same. I had been through my share of motels, and this one was the best one so far. Despite its external appearance, there was no stains on the walls of the room, no peeling paint, and from what looked like a quite new, functioning television. The furniture was nicely polished oak. Clean, yellow curtains fell over the windows, stretching all the way to the floor and lay in neat even folds, its shade matching the lime green duvet and the sheets on the bed. The walls were the same shade of cream as Sara's office and incited a mellow, relaxed kind of feeling. I dragged my duffel bag along the cream carpet, too tired to carry it further, and threw it on the bed. I pulled out my cell phone and dialed my editor. The phone rang continuously before reaching his automated voice mail.

"Hey Dean, it's Garrett," I said. "I'm here at a motel in Brightbell. This place is eerie, man, the rumours hit the nail on the head with that one. Anyways, uh, I'll start my interviews tomorrow morning. Call me back."

Only when I sat down did I notice a vase filled with the most unusual looking flowers. They stood upright in the vase, each stem reaching for the ceiling, each velvety petal looking like a delicate parfait glass. An odd choice, considering it didn't exactly go with the ambiance of the room, but they were so unique I couldn't resist admiring them. I made a mental note to ask Sara what they were. Mom would appreciate a new addition to her garden.

That evening I spent confirming my interview meeting places and times, followed by an incredible hot shower and flipping through my usual channels. I was pleasantly surprised to find out this motel had a History channel, and I tuned into an compelling documentary about the Tibetan Book of the Dead, before falling into a deep, dreamless sleep, a snow storm raging outside, the wind howling in the background.