The Hairy Porter and the Bed Chamber of Secrets

Scene 4 - Some voices are better seen and not heard.

The night was quiet, boringly so. He hadn't had one customer contact him in the last two hours. In fact, the old crone Miss Prentagast checking out of her room had been the highlight of the night. Apparently she had some sort of "soiree" that she had to attend. Meaning she had to check out earlier than she had reasonably expected. He had nodded and feigned interest until she had paid and left.

"Tight bitch," he muttered, still annoyed that she hadn't left a tip. Despite him going to extraordinary lengths for her recently. Even when she'd asked for some of orange scented chocolate tea, he diligently found it for her without argument. Who the fuck drinks chocolate tea, let alone one, which smelt of oranges. It sounded to him like something straight out of fucking Hogwarts. He could never get his head round that story. If some 7ft nob head with more hair than face told him he was a wizard, he'd tell them to "fuck off" and ask themwhat crack they'd been smoking. As much as he'd tried to, he couldn't get into them after that. It was too "Unrealistic" for his tastes. Magic could go to hell, but music, now that, was his thing. He could close his eyes and feel the passion, dreams and wants of the person who had composed it.

Angus tried to quicken the speed of the slow night by spinning in his chair until he felt a little light-headed. The game was fun for all of five seconds. Reaching into the drawer he found his trusty flashlight and snickered to himself as he made phallic shadow puppets under the desk. After a while he really got into it, creating names and back stories for each of the shadows.

A "wum" noise broke his concentration, just when he was getting to the best part too. He looked around him but no-one was there. He shook it off at first, returning to one shadow penetrating the other on the his desk's surface. Another "wum" noise came again. This time louder than the last.

"Who's dere?" he said as he shone his flashlight into each of the dark corners of the foyer.

No one answered. Only another "wum" noise came again.

"Right! Now, I'm getting pretty pissed off. Show yourself before I kick your ass."

Only the "wum" noise answered, baiting him further.

"Right don't say I didn't warn you." He pushed himself out his chair and walked around the foyer. Probing the dark edges with precision this time.

Nothing.

He was starting to question his sanity lately. First it was imaginary women, now it was imaginary noises. He'd have liked to attribute it to tiredness but he felt fully wide awake; still buzzing a little from his last double espresso.

Angus thought, once again, of the top floor. Where the imaginary woman had reported the sound came from. He checked the computer, ignoring the next series of 'wum's. The top floor was empty. Miss Prentagast was the last person to check out.

Armed with flashlight in hand, he marched into the lift and pressed for the top floor. After hearing the celebratory ding noise, the doors parted revealing an empty hallway. Angus felt the "wum" noise increasing in frequency and volume as he neared room '704'.

He reached into his trouser pocket took out his key card ready to swipe the door. But was shocked tofind it already unlocked and left slightly ajar. Had he forgotten to lock it the previous night? It was possible; he was pretty tired that night.

Angus raised his flashlight, flicking the 'on' switch before pushing open the door in front of him. As the door parted from view, he saw the guitar, on the bed, exactly as he had left it. He was sure he had left a message for the cleaners to take it to the lost and found before his shift ended the previous night. Maybe they'd missed his note. It wasn't completely outside the realms of possibility. He was certain there was a monster which existed purely to eat small notes. He found it an impossibility to find his own notes sometimes.