Motel Heaven

A Story by Abishai100

Stranger account of feelings/events of inexplicable eeriness in the American roadways, linked to a random American motel, with a manager with jagged eye.

Psycho (Alfred Hitchcock) inspired motel-hell short. Happy Xmas December (and football!),

DISCLAIMER: This work of creative fiction contains images/references with no commercial/explicit ties to any representative person(s)/body (e.g., Alfred Hitchcock) and is cast as purely a 'personal' expression for social art (for 'open' interpretation).

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I was trekking across the country, this fantastic American Homeland, and I knew I wanted this special retreat for a motel-view, and I wanted to mark multiple motels on the roadway of my journey as tourism/hospitality special, and I found one quite-special motel managed by an eccentric man (more eccentric than I conceived) who always wore shades (Selfie-like!).

MANAGER: Thanks for being our guest this season, miss.

ME: Thanks, gent...I plan to stay here just 1 full fantastic week (haha).

MANAGER: You're very beautiful, miss.

ME: And you're quite the dapper mote-manager (American?).

MANAGER: I'm from Algeria (originally); made some money on Wall-St. to run this.

ME: Good read, gent...maybe I'll invite you to my motel room for wine (Saturday).

MANAGER: Whatever...here's your key (Facebook-like).

The affable soft-spoken American (Algerian?) motel-manager, unnamed, turned out to be an American psycho (damn). I was actually thinking of having sex with him, but I invited him to my motel-room (Saturday's Eve); and he appeared, in a bizarre terrorist-costume and get-up, holding a toy machine-gun. I laughed and laughed and showed him my wine-bottle for us and invited him inside; and I took a shower. He vanished before I got out, and he left this eerie note. Read it.

"Miss, my toy gun was filled with acid...I was gonna put you in a mind-warp experiment for the Eve...I realized you were too precious for it...like, you reminded me of some media-magazine doll or something...my mother (Nina) used to read Stardust (magazine)...I decided to forego the Saturday 'examination' and return to my manager-life...hope you enjoy the remainder of your motel-heaven 'fiction' with us (Facebook-like)."

I fled the motel-heaven scene then. I decided to zoom around town and made for 'discovery' that there'd been a string of strange disappearances (of tourists/travelers!) in that American Homeland roadways-area; and I had to wonder (suddenly) if the vanishings were linked to guests at the motel managed by that eccentric (psycho). I visited a local cemetery and felt pure-fright when I read a tombstone reading, "Here lies Liz Banks, American traveler, once-resident of this US-state...found dead shortly after the day she was to check out of her motel."