The Horror Collection

The Wayside Motel(DRAFT)

It's currently the evening in this small American town. It's a little past six o'clock. The weather is a bit gray, as if it's about to rain or snow. In this weather though, it's more likely to snow then rain.

"Excuse me, how much is it for a room for the night?" A light hearted man asks the motel owner.

"Thirty-five dollars a night." The Motel Owner replies. Running a motel isn't a glamorous business, but at least you get free room and board. Someone has to stay up all hours to help any potential customers with getting a room and making sure that people return the keys to the rooms after they're done.

"Wonderful, I'll be checking in for three nights then."

"Cash or card? Plus, I'm going to need to see a little I.D. So if you have your I.D, please show me it."

"Here it is." The man says to the motel owner replies.

"I see, so John is your name?"

"Yes, it is. Here's the cash for my three nights." John says as he hands the motel owner his cash. As John hands the cash, the motel owner hands John a key.

"Your room is room 3-A" The motel owner begins to explain. "Cleaning crew comes around in the morning. They are allowed access to your room. So do not lock it during the mornings, but also here is the password to the wifi so you can use your devices while you're here. Enjoy your stay!" The motel owner says to John with a smile as he writes down on a notepad and tears it, handing it to John.

"Thanks! If you'll excuse me." John exclaims as he leaves the small building where the motel owner operates from. It's a quaint little building with a few pictures of locations hanging from the ceiling. Some of the pictures actually have the owner himself in them! There's also a light, welcoming, brown color to the building itself. Of course though, there are vending machines on the outside of the building. These vending machines are not owned by the motel owner, but he gets a cut of the profits from them.

A few hours pass by and night falls into the city. They're on the outskirts of the city itself. The city they're in is called Harrisonville in the United States of America, but they're far from any of the actual day to day business of the city.

Eventually, the motel owner's cellphone goes off.

"Hello." The motel owner calmly says into the phone.

"They're asleep, now is the time." A female cackling like voice responds.

"Understood, do you have the cleaning crew ready?"

"Of course, time to make your move."

The motel owner creeps outside of his office building and begins walking around the parking lot of his motel. There's not a single car inside of the parking lot besides one red pick-up truck. It's owned by those who checked in to room 3-A. The motel itself is old, with an older sign closer to the street that merely states "Wayside Inn." The Wayside Inn has wooden like buildings that are of a light teal color that serve as the traveler's rooms and a small brown, brick, building that serves as the breakfast house as one of the perks of the place. The Wayside Inn been passed down from generation to generation. This current generation found a new scheme to avoid financial insolvency.

Sneaking over to room 3-A, the motel owner pulls out his trusty master key and unlocks the door to the room. He creeps into the room with a silent step and even more silent breath. In the room one can see nothing, but the glow of the moonlight on some heroin needles on the ground and two men and a woman laying on a bed, completely passed out. The woman and the other man both have dark hair. So one cannot distinguish what color their hair is in the darkness, but the other man is John. As he passes by a mirror, the motel owner can see his ghostly like complexation with his blonde hair. He's like that of a ghost.