"I can't stay here forever, you know?" I say, laying down on my stomach on Chester's made bed. Chester is sitting against his headboard, his lap full of bills, and a chewed up pencil in his fingers.
"I thought you took the job already." Chester says, his eyes still glued to his paperwork, but his brows do arch up.
"I did. I'm talking about crashing in your room." I specify. This grabs his attention, pulling his head up from his paperwork.
"Oh, that's right, I did promise room and board." Chester says, scratching the back of his neck.
"Obviously I have plenty of rooms up in the motel-" Chester starts but I go rigid, and cut him off.
"No, not again." I interrupt.
"As the owner of this fine establishment I will not take that personally." Chester mumbles bitterly. I give him an apologetic look, sorry, I send him a thought. I didn't mean it like that, I think. I stretch out my fingers, and brush them across his knuckles in an affectionate apology. I catch the corner of his mouth twitch up, and he locks a pinkie with mine.
"But back to that room and board, if you don't want to stay in the motel there's only one solution." Chester says, sitting up and walking out of the room. I quickly follow after him, nearly running to keep up with his long strides. We walk further into the apartment, pass the bathroom to the end of the hall where a wooden door sits shut.
"This is the only place left." Chester says, opening the door. A small dark blue square room is half empty, the other half is occupied by a white washing machine, and a matching dryer. Two dusty old windows give the room natural light, their old wood window panes splintering, and chipping paint.
"I think we can push a bed into the corner." Chester says. I walk into the empty half, stretching out my arms and only coming a few feet away from brushing the blue walls. It's tight, that's for sure, but there's this coziness, and charm that I find, and like.
"You don't hate this shoebox?" Chester asks. "Blake, you actually like it?"
"Yeah, I do." I say with a grin.
"Alright, then it's yours. Let's go online, and look for a bed." Chester says, walking out of the room. Before I have a chance to stop myself, to really think, I think over his words, and think he gets internet connection out here?
"I heard that!" Chester shouts from outside. "And yeah, I do! My wifi is Not Norman Bate's Wifi for your information!"
YOU ARE READING
Motel From Hell
HorrorBlake is a teenage runaway who finds a job at a haunted motel in the middle nowhere. In each room someone has either been murdered, or has committed suicide. As the new maid she is cleaning up murders scenes, interacting with vengeful spirits, and h...
