Surreal Life Orgins Part One: Who Done It?

Chapter 1: Hellos and a Good bye

Those who are living must cry out for the departed, for the dead cannot.

As the sun's bright rays diminished upon the island of Kwailalilii, causing distant hills to wear shroud of grey, a lonely breeze whispered through the trees and a shabby rental car pulled up to the vacant lot, save three cars, of the Three Angry Tikis Motel, carrying five teenagers, five teenagers who had no idea of what was to come of them within the night.

The Three Angry Tikis Motel was not scary looking, as the name might suggest. It was just a generic, grotesque motel. The reason Samson pulled up to the deteriorating building is that he and his friends, Joni, Jack, Sasha, and Heads (his real name is Clifforn. He goes by Heads because he always wears headphones) had been travelling by train, plane, and car for twelve hours, and they needed to rest somewhere, anywhere, before venturing another hour to their actual hotel.

When they entered the lobby, Samson went to the desk to get a room. There was no one behind it. (Which would be expected, not many people want to sleep in a trash can.) When Samson rang the bell, an old man came slumping out, as if he had a bum leg.

"Wehl, ha many of ye be stayin wit us t'nit?"

He spoke with an accent of a sailor who had one too many bottles of rum.

This old sailor fissured a nearly toothless smile, and whatever teeth that were left where stained as the grass of a battlefield, soaked in the blood of its warriors.

"There are five of us," Samson said, as he tried to hold back his vomit upon seeing this establishment's manager, or at least that is what his name tag said.

The manager looked behind Samson and saw the four other teens, who were mucking about.

"Ah! I see," the manager said as he sneered his revolting grin again, and seized a key from behind him, and gave it to Samson, "Ye'hl be in rem on tirty tre, I'hl get the bellop te bring ye tre cots."

"Thank you," Samson said, as he began to leave the desk.

"Ah, an sun..."

Samson turned around to face the manager again.

"Yes?"

"Ye gonna be in the rem next e an impernt kstmer, an he don like dem loud noisen. Ye be qiet na, ke?"

"Alright," said Samson. As he turned, he uttered under his breath, "Hard to be louder than your breath."

About an hour into their stay, a deathly scream awoke the teens. Samson, Jack, and Heads jumped out of their cots. (and almost out of their skins) Joni and Sasha scurried out of their beds. They all bolted out to the hallway.

Before anyone could guess what happened, the manager came, stomping down the hall.

"I tought I tode ye te-"

Heads cut him off, "It wasn't us. It came from in there!"

The manager's face quickly turned from anger to fear. He ran to the door, pushing Joni and Heads out of the way, and hurriedly unlocked it.

He flung the wooden plank and hoary handle open. He had taken but two steps in the room, when he stopped, frozen with shock.

The teens entered the room and instantly saw what had shocked the manager.

A corpse. The corpse of Bernard Tikarrondé.

It looked as if all the color had been drained from his body. There laid a knife embedded in his heart. A puddle of blood rested beside him, no bigger than a soccer ball.

This was definitely not an accident, or suicide, but murder.

Sasha, who read the most Sherlock Holmes, and who felt the most qualified to solve this mystery, said to the manager, "Gather everyone in this motel into the lobby, we're going to find this killer, tonight."