Room 173

Ah. Now this is where I say something informative and witty. Well, I wrote this in one day for a Halloween contest in Writing Club (Which I won, but only because there were only like 4 other entries).

     "Welcome to the Greendale Inn'" the receptionist said with a cheery, but obviously fake, smile."Have you reserved your room in advance?" She acted like checking me in was the highlight of her day. Business must be slow, I told myself as she stared, waiting for me to respond.

"Yes. I booked room 173 about a week ago. The reservation should be under Miles." 

"Ah," she said with an undertone of humor in her voice. "The Haunted Suite." She tapped a few keys on the keyboard of an old desktop, "Yes. Mr. Preston Miles. Room 173." She pulled open a desk drawer and handed me a key. "Enjoy your stay."

     The room was about as far away as you could get from the receptionist's desk without having to climb the stairs. I took my time walking down the hall. Halloween was only a couple of days away, but you couldn't tell due to the lack of decorations. The only thing that helped define the time of year was a group of pitiful looking plastic pumpkins sitting on a coffee table in the lobby. Other than that, the place looked pretty dull. That was of course, until I made it to my room. 

I'm surprised that I didn't even notice it at first. But when I went to pull the room key out of my pocket, I saw it in the corner of my eye. It was a poster, a really big poster, that looked like it was decorated by a bunch of third graders. It had "Beware of Room 173" scrawled across it in big black letters. There were ghosts of various shapes and sizes drawn on it and half a dozen gravestones were painted across the bottom. The whole thing was topped off with a crime scene tape border and red paint splattered in various areas. For a split second, I thought about tearing the thing down, but I didn't. 

     I hesitated outside the door of the room, worried about what I might find inside.Fortunately, there were no surprises. It looked more or less like every other hotel room I had ever been in. Normal bed, normal, desk, normal television, normal, but maybe a little large, mirror.

I fell back on the bed and closed my eyes. I was extremely tired even though I'd slept for an hour and a half on the flight to the city and even dozed off in the cab ride to the inn. I had nothing important to do, so I fell asleep. It couldn't have been more than half an hour later when I was scared out of my wits by the shrieking of the room's telephone.

"Hello?" I could hear the grogginess in my voice.

"Hello, Mr. Miles," I pictured the fake smile and the plastic pumpkins. "Would you be willing to entertain a small group of tourists?"

"What?"

"I know it's a strange request, but every year around Halloween, a few of people from the city come and reenact a murder that took place in room 173 around 20 years ago. It's spawned so many ghost stories that it's hard to keep count of them all." The child-like giggle at the end of her sentence made me question her sanity. "You may have seen the poster. The staff made it in order to increase tourism--"

"--And revenue, right?" I cut her off. I was tired and her voice was starting to annoy me. "Look, I didn't come here to play serial killer. Now, I hate to be blunt but I was in the middle of something important before you called. Thank you for the offer but goodbye." I hung up the phone, barely resisting the urge to slam it, and continued my nap.

     I didn't wake up until I heard a knock on the door. By then it was dark and I had to feel my way through the room to reach the light switch. As I made my way to the door, the knocking got steadily louder until the person on the other side was close to breaking the door down. I went to check the peephole but quickly realized there was none.

The pounding stopped abruptly. "Mr. Miles." It was the receptionist with the forced smile. 

"What?! Are you trying to get rid of me?"

I heard a deep, soft laugh come from the other side of the door.

"I talked to the rest of the staff. They said that they would help pay for your services, if you would reconsider our offer.

"Are you still trying to make an actor out of me? Look I--"

"Just please open the door Mr. Miles."

For a moment I swore I heard sincerity in her voice. I opened the door. That's when I saw them. Two big guys-security guards, gardeners, certainly not actors-grabbed me by the arms and pulled me toward the bed.

"Wait! Who are you!? What's going on!?" I looked at the receptionist. "Tell them to let me go!" 

"Thank you for reconsidering, Mr. Miles."

I struggled as long as I could. Then one of the guys hit me with my suitcase and everything went dark.

     When I woke up it was still dark outside. My head was pounding and the light in the room seemed brighter. I tried to move my arms and legs. I couldn't. I panicked. Was I paralyzed, was I dead? It took me a moment to realize that neither of these were true. I was tied to the bed. I heard noises outside the room. I tried to call out, but I couldn't do that thanks to the ductape. The noises were muffled, but I could make out the receptionist's voice.

"Today is the - something, something - of the murder of Mr. -something, something. Thanks to -something something- for organizing - something - and Mr. Preston Miles - something, something, something. Give them a hand, folks!"

     The applause must have been a rehearsed cue because soon one of the big guys came into my line of vision. He was holding a knife. On the other side, the side with the door, I saw light, then movement, then people. The mirror disappeared and a window took it's place. I panicked again. Tourists! I thought. They brought tourists! I fought against the ropes holding me down. The big guy laughed his soft, deep laugh.

   "Now ladies and gentlemen, this is a reenactment," the receptionist said, wearing the first real smile I'd seen from her all day. "Don't try this at home." She nodded to the big guy and he nodded back. The lights went from too bright to almost too dark. I struggled, I fought, I cried. They don't know! They'll never know!

     The last thing I heard was applause. The show was over. They would all get to go home. They would get to tell the story of Room 173.

Reviews

[mysteryman]

well-written in terms of tone, atmosphere, and suspense, but the ending left me befuddled saying wtf? i just didn't get it. part of the problem i think is that the characters were not well defined. one little typo/misspelling---the word ductape should be duct tape. i think one more rewrite to delineate the characters and tighten the ending would make it a gem of a story! (despite my criticisms, this is one of the better written stories i've found on here so far)

[Dytalus]

I liked it very much. It's well written and you do a good job of getting Preston's panic across. About the only downside is it being slightly predictable towards the end, but other than that you deserved the win. :)