Reddit Stories 2019

Postmortem Hotel

The room was grey, like everything was coated in a thin layer of ash. The furniture was clumped together on one side of the room, opposite of the blank wall, except for the coat rack by the door. Light fell through the gently swaying curtains. Like everything else in the room, it was soft and muted. A single flower sat wilting in its vase, bent over the pile of petals.

Otherwise the room was uncomfortably bare. Not even a single piece of art hung on the walls.

Quiet too.

I sat up in bed, letting the sheets fall to my knees. Every movement was a struggle, like wading through deep water, but my body didn't ache. Slowly, I wiggled my toes and fingers, pulling them out of numbness. I couldn't feel the weak breeze, but the room was neither hot nor cold. It simply was.

That did not make it any more comfortable.

A knock echoed in the silence, three beats, and without waiting for an answer, the man strode in. He wore a three piece suit and a derby, which he promptly placed on the coat rack as he turned the lock. The man, too, was grey, except for his eyes. I watched him cautiously as he pulled the chair away from the nightstand, not bothered by the horrible scraping sound. Placing his briefcase by the chair, the man sat. He studied me for a moment, staring at me with his green eyes, before straightening up and clearing his throat.

"Ms. Ackard, correct?"

I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. I squeezed my eyes shut, thinking, but the truth dawned on me all too quickly. "I don't know."

"Yes, that is a common problem." The man picked up his briefcase, unclasping it with robotic movements, and pulled a stack of papers. He straightened them on his lap and quickly scanned them. Nodding to himself, he carefully passed the papers to me, tapping the top of the page. "Bethany Ackard is your name."

It sounded familiar off his lips, so I nodded.

"Before we continue, I want you to know I was so sorry to hear of your passing."

"My passing?"

"I am so sorry."

I studied his face, trying to find the joke, but his eyes were soft. He was serious. My brain screamed at me to reject the idea and my heart... my heart did nothing. There was no quickening pace or tightening of fear. There was only numbness.

Throwing off the blanket, I ran for the window as best I could, straining on each step. Cars filled the grey street below, but there was no sound. The curtains swayed in the gentle breeze, but I felt nothing.

The world was grey and muted. So was I.

"I'm dead."

Somehow, I was okay with that.

"Unfortunately, Ms. Ackard, you are."

"Are you death?"

The man with green eyes shook his head, returning to his stoic expression. "Fortunately for us, I am not. I am just here to get your signature, Ms. Ackard."

"My signature?"

He motioned to the stack of papers on the bed. "You know, I am a huge fan. I've read all of your books countless times. I'm a huge fan of detective stories, but I guess that's obvious. I even have the first edition of Mountains in my office. Here, use my pen. When I heard about what happened, I asked to work your case. You inspired me into my career."

Hazy memories flooded in as I signed the dotted lines. Everything he said sounded like a distant dream, but at the same time if felt so real. I could remember the book tours, though even the memories were grey and faded.

Still, I had inspired him. That made me feel less numb.

"Thank you," I said quietly.

"No, thank you, Ms. Ackard." The green-eyed man took the stack of papers and filed them away in his briefcase, grinning widely at me. He pushed the chair back to its place and retrieved his hat from the rack. "I really do mean it, you know. I've been reading your books since high school."

"Before you go, would you mind answering some questions?"

"I don't see why not."

"What is this place? Is this the afterlife?"

He scratched his head. "I suppose it is in a way. This room is a product by our partner company, a sort of postmortem hotel. It allows us to talk with the dead - er, recently departed - if there's any unfinished business."

"Why is it all black and white?"

"Not all of it." He tapped his temples. "I'm not too good with technology. I don't know why that is."

The man picked up his derby, flipping it on his head in a surprisingly childish way. He looked completely different than when he entered, filled with energy and beaming. "Thank you, Ms. Ackard. Again, I do want to express my sincere condolences for your passing. This could've been a tragic loss."

"What happens when you leave?"

"Oh, don't worry about that. We'll take care of the rest. You just lie back and keep dreaming, Ms. Ackard." With a tip of his hat, the green-eyed man turned the lock, stepping out into the dark hallway.

"Wait!" I shouted. "Do you know what happened to me?"

With a sigh, he stepped back in. His smile faded. "I really shouldn't say."

"Please."

"Look, I could get in a lot of trouble. We're not supposed to talk about these things. It could hurt the product. But, I suppose I owe it to you. I am only here because of you. It was suicide, Ms. Ackcard."

"Suicide?"

"Your agent found you in your apartment. You were in the tub. I would rather not go on."

"So, I wasn't murdered? What was all of this for, then?"

"What do you mean?"

"I thought you were a detective."

"Oh, the outfit?" He laughed. "No, Ms. Ackard, I've just always had an appreciation for fashion. I work in publishing."

Even through the numbness, I felt a sinking feeling in my gut. The green-eyed man tightened his grip on the briefcase, as though he knew what I was thinking. "What did I sign?"

"Story rights, Ms. Ackard. Didn't you read the contract?" Fumbling with the lock, he opened the door into the dark hallway once more, keeping his eyes on me. "Perhaps I should have been more clear, but it's not my fault you didn't read it. Don't worry, though, the process of extracting the stories is painless, from what I hear."

The green-eyed man disappeared into the hall and once more I was alone in the grey room.