Motel From Hell

Horror Hour

"Ahhh! AHHH!" My back stiffens, and my blood runs cold.

"Do you hear that?" I ask, fear settling in every limp of my body.

"You mean the uncomfortable moans coming from Madison? Sadly, yes." Chester replies, talking about the episode of American Horror Story Coven we're watching.

"No, not that." I state my eyes widening in horror. "The voices!" I whisper under my breath. Chester pauses the show, allowing the hushed voices to amplify. Hundreds of hushed panicked voices frantically whisper, and rush at my ears, every voice drumming at my eardrums. My hands fly up to cover my ears, but muffled screams, and terrified whispers still come from every direction. I jump when large hands cover my hands on the sides of my head, helping to muffle the noise.

"Yeah, I hear them." Chester confirms. They all sound so miserable, like they're in pure agonizing pain. What's going on?! Chester said I'm the only person checked in right now!

"It's coming from the motel." I shout over the voices, and stand onto my feet.

'Blake, wait!" Chester yells after me as I swing open the door, and march determinedly barefoot to the lobby. I stop dead in my tracks at the horror show in front of me, feeling the hairs on the back of my neck prickle, and my stomach knot so tight I might vomit. The two floor grimy motel has hundreds of people jammed inside of it. Hanging bodies choked by nooses swing in the windows, and hang like meat from the second floor railing.

Blood is splattered on the windows, and pour down the staircase like an overflowing bath. Lights flicker on and off madly in every room, lighting up every maddened and pained face in the doorways and windows. Dead bodies spill out of every room by the dozens, and pile on the landing and ground. The whispers are actually screaming last words, and pained screams echo in off key, making my ears ring. Oh my god...

"Don't look," Chester suddenly appears in front me, blocking my horrifying view. He covers my eyes with his huge hands, making me realize that I've been crying when salty tears pool in my lashes.

"Its okay... its okay, they're not real" Chester's warm voice speaks in my ear. His forehead softly falls against my forehead, and his nose brushes the tip of my nose. Him being so close pulls me back, makes the voices seem far away, and the pain and disgust of the sight in front of me fade.

"It's not actually happening, they're not real. It's just you and I here." Chester says. I swallow thickly, giving into the safety of his hands, and the warmth of his voice.

"What's happening?" I desperately ask, my voice shaking. "Make it stop, please." I beg, my voice cracking.

"I can't make it stop, no matter what I do." Chester says, his voice sounding bruised, and defeated. "The motel is scared with their dying moments, and sometimes the motel plays their deaths like a recording." Chester explains. My throat closes up, and something is overflowing, and making the world spin. Suddenly I'm balling, tears spilling out from the cracks of Chester's hands, and violent pants, and sobs blend into the ones from the motel.

"Shh," Chester arm's twists around me, pulling me into his tall, warm frame. I bury my head into his chest, dampening his shirt, but he just runs a hand through my hair.

"Since you're human you're sensitive to all this pain. Just try to think of happy thoughts." Chester says. The bone chilling air of the night disappears, and I feel blankets pull over my head, and surround me with warmth. I open my brown eyes to find us in the apartment again, back on the leather couch in front of the TV. Chester must have teleported us away from the mass suicide, and murder spree at the motel.

"I'm sorry you had to see that." Chester murmurs, wrapping his arms around me, and pulling me into his chest.

"I never wanted you to see that."