Tales from the Overlook

Waiting... Waiting...

The room smelt of perfume, so heavy that it was frankly nauseating, the smell so thick that it would not be a stretch of the imagination to say it was visible in the air if one were to look hard enough about the space. It was an unfortunate fact that even once the room had been vacated, the scent of blackcurrants and roses - oddly reminiscent of a warm summer's day in a warm and cosy woodland cottage, a pie cooling happily on the windowsill as the children laughed and played in the grass, the sun dappling the world with pockets of gold - would not be fading any time soon, try as they may to chase it away. There weren't any rose petals scattered about, thank the lord, but there might as well have been given the overall presence of the room.

But, even through this suffocating decadent luxury, the woman was anxious, wringing her hands with such fervently worried actions it was a marvel she had not worn away her skin altogether. The ring upon her wedding finger still twinkled in the fading light of the window, pretty and definitely not being removed during the proceedings, for she had no shame in admitting she was a married woman even as she whiled away the hours in the company of men that were younger than her son was. She knew the decadent lifestyle that she lived was the awe of all her friends, less important, and more importantly less affluent than she was, as she took this as a badge of pride that she wore among the excess of grand garments that she could replace a dozen times over if the whim to do so ever took her, and would leave her with no guilt in the matter whatsoever.

The low chime of the clock rung out through the hotel. Loud and proud, as if shouting to all that may hear it 'I was here long before you took your first breath, and I will still be here long after you were reduced to naught but dust six feet buried! Heehee!'

Yet another hour passed by on the slow and eternal march towards oblivion, and yet there was silence beyond the intentionally unlocked door of room 217. Not a knock, not a call, absolutely nothing beyond the forever stretching silence. It was as if all sounds had been snatched away from the world, leaving an insufferable nothingness it its wake.

She was just being a silly, fretting old woman, Mrs. Lorraine Massey tried to reason with herself, but reason rarely held a place in times of stress. Had he been injured? Killed? Drawn away on some horrible business and was denied the chance to rush back to her welcoming side? Or was he too busy shagging one of the pretty little things they kept on as maids, the wandering eyes of youth having distracted him from the prize that so eagerly awaited him?

The man in question was already far away from the Overlook, having grown exceptionally fed up with being trotted around and expected to play the pitiful, uncomfortable and, worst of all embarrassing  role of a pompous old woman's boytoy. He had far better things that he could be spending his hours doing aside from letting inane complements spill from his lips like the lies of Dolos. The moment he had managed to secure enough money, he was off, the nervous yet exciting intention of purchasing a lovely ring to propose to his beloved the only thought in his mind, making the acts he would kick himself for bearable. The two were happily wed and raised two lovely children, one boy and one girl, and lived a wonderfully happy life, however they were not the subject of this tale.

Her nerves were well and truly getting the better of her, but try as she did to chastise, to reassure, to distract herself she could not chase away the horrible feeling of nerves that felt more like what she would have had to imagine rat torture might feel like, all those frantic little hands tearing away at her stomach until she was lost to the world. She had to shake her head vigorously, her earrings tinkling and twinkling as she did so, to try and dismiss the morbid thoughts that dared assault her on an evening that was supposed to be of the enjoyable nature.
The woman couldn't help but peer out into the hallway again, hoping if not expecting to see the familiar face she had been waiting for to turn the corner and come running to her. But, just as it had been each and every time she had looked out before this, there was nobody out there that she even remotely wanted to see.
This did not mean there was nobody at all out there, and she had frightened a guest with her frantic glancing out into the hall, leaving the impression in their mind that there was some danger present, and had even gone so far as to call over a busboy to ask if he had seen the man she was so anxiously waiting for. It offered no relief to her already heightened nerves when he informed her that he had not seen anyone who fit that description in the last few hour, no ma'am, even if he'd do his darnedest to keep an eye out in case he did.

With her mind abuzz with thoughts she would much rather avoid thinking about, she decided that it would do her a world of good to pamper and treat herself, to hell with him! She deserved it, and she knew it. With a hum that was not as cheerful as the tune might have suggested, she set about running herself a bath, having decides that a nice soak in some warm, pleasant smelling water would chase away all the storm clouds that were trying to form in her mind.
When the water was just right, she shed what little she had been wearing and vanished under the water, the thought this would be the last thing she ever did not quite there in her mind yet.