Don't Sleep In Room 13

Chapter 4: I Want To Stay In Room 13

The rain was violently pissing down and the streetlights were illuminating off the puddles in the gutter. Randall was speeding through the flooded rainwater building up on the sides of the road while vibing to his music. The giant offroad tires of the Bronco smashing through the puddles projecting water onto the sidewalks passing by. It wasn't more than five minutes into his rain filled drive, that Randall had to pull over to take a piss from the drunken seal he's been holding in all day — painfully about to rip the hack job of a hernia surgery he had earlier that year — He barely made it to the ditch without pissing himself. Just as he reached the hump of the ditch, the tight zipper of his jeans unzipped and the stream of urine sprayed out like Niagara Falls coming out of a pinhole.

A loud whimper came from the bottom of the ditch. It was a dog with one of it's hind legs half torn off as if he was hit by oncoming traffic — looking extremely raw and bloody. Randall quickly zipped up his pants and got back into the Bronco. The weird part is, the music was turned off and in the passenger seat sat Randalls childhood Ventriloquist doll Finn. With no idea how it got there, he threw it in the back and put his foot on the gas pedal peeling out.

Racing through his mind, the addictive brain couldn't help the urge to take a bump of the cocaine he bought five minutes prior. He grabbed the baggy from the console, dipped his pinky finger in and got enough in his nail to give the night a good kick. As soon as he felt the cocaine touch the tiny hair follicles of his nostril, an explosion of energy, anxiety, and euphoria hit him all at once causing him to yell at the top of his lungs with joy, as he just got the fix he needed to take away anything that's been bothering him over the past nine hours.

"In five kilometers, your destination will be on the left," announced the GPS through the speakers of the vehicle.

Randall drove for another ten minutes getting quite close to the motel.

"In 800 metre's your destination will be on the left, Your destination is on the left, Re-routing, In 600 metres your destination will be on the left"

Randall hits the dash a couple of times hitting it harder each time.

"What the fuck is going on with this app."
Randall drove for another five minutes and the app kept re-routing and glitching out.

"destination is on the, Your destination is on the left, Turn left, Re-routing, In 200 metres your destination will be on the left."

In the dark distance, red light from the motel leaked on the nearby trees surrounding the vicinity, and reflected off all the puddles on the beat-up road.

'Your destination is on the left, turn left.'

My god ...so this place is real Randall mumbled to himself in awe.

The Motel Rouge, read the red neon sign above the motel's check-in lobby. Right next to that was a blue neon sign that said Bar. Surprisingly plenty of people were parked out front despite the appearance of this place. Overgrown with weeds and moss, red trim all around the building with dirty white siding that's probably never been cleaned for ten some odd years, it's no wonder the rent is cheap.

Randall pulled into the parking space right in front of the check-in lobby, put out his smoke and walked in the enterance. That's when he met Darleen the motel manager who was just starting her night shift. A couple of fellas were playing a game of cards at a coffee table in the waiting area, probably waiting to get into the bar. The clock read 7 pm, and due to daylight savings time, it was dark as a nun ass outside for no good reason. The place looked well kept on the inside —a motel that was forgotten in time. The Beautiful vintage furniture gave it a timely classic feel, it was different than your average Ramada inn, which made you actually want to stay here. I presume that's all part of the plan if this so called haunted place exists within the motel.