A sagging neon sign at the edge of a nearly empty parking lot flickeredVacancy. The letters flashed, disappearing and reappearing, sometimes glowing brighter than they should. Overgrown hedges lined the cracked circular drive. When my headlights caught them, the hedges looked like twisted figures reaching out for me.
I stopped the car and stared.
This place looked like the opposite of safe. If Freddy Krueger, Leather Face, and Pinhead decided to build a house, it would probably be more inviting than this place. But what choice did I have? Go back, park on the side of the road, and hope I don’t get crushed by a falling tree? I didn’t have much desire to live, but I wasn’t suicidal. One couldn’t suffer if they were dead, and I owed her my pain.
Ever so slowly, I crept forward.
The building itself looked okay at first glance, but the closer I got, the more wrong it felt.
The hulking silhouette loomed against the nightsky, while angled gables and spires jutted up like broken teeth. Rainstreaked down weather-beaten brick and dark stone, discoloring the walls, making it appear as if the building were crying.
Ipulled into the parking lot and killed the engine, but made no move to get out. Instead, I sat there, staring at the windows. Some boarded up, others cracked, while some looked new. Yet they all glowed with an eerie light.
Maybe I was safer in the storm?
Looking back at the road I came in on, I contemplated my choices while rain continued to hammer down in a steady rhythm.
I couldn’t go back the way I came.
Washburn,North Dakota,wasn’tthe worst townI’dlived in. The people were nice and let me keep to myself. I stayed thereforthree months,longer than any other place. At one point,I thought it could be homeuntil last week,when my parents found me.
My gaze once again roamed over the building.
It was just a hotel, right?Maybe alittle rundown, but it was just a building.And buildings never hurt anyone.One nightwouldn’tbe so bad.I’dstayed in worse places. Plus,there were three other cars in the parking lot, so Iwouldn’tbe alone. Thatmademe feel better.
Resigned to my fate, I reached intothe backseat andgrabbed my jacket.
When I pushed the car door open, rain fought against me.I ran across the parking lot,holding my jacket over my face for protection, but it did no good. The rain seeped through the cloth, dripping on my head while wet gravel sucked at my shoes.By the time I stumbled up to the entrance,Iwasdrenched.
The double doors I stood in front ofwere tall and arched with peeling red paint that bled down like old wounds.
“That’s not creepy at all,” I muttered to myself.
My hand trembled as I reached outfor adulled green-tintedbrass handle. The metal was so cold,a shiver rolled through my bodyas I pulled the door open.
Icouldn’tdecide if the hinges were groaning an argument to my entrance, orif they were warning me. Either way,I’dcome too far to go back.
Warm air hit me and carried a hint of stale, wilted roses. It wasn’t the hung-and-dried kind, but the half-rotted, black-at-the-edges kind of floral scent, much like the roses I left on her grave.
I almost second-guessed stepping inside, especially when the door slammed behind me, shutting out the storm raging outside.My ears rang at the sudden, almost unnaturalsilence.
Pushing back the shiver in my spine, Isweptmyfaceclear of my wet hairand walked into the lobby.
I couldn’t help but be a little awe-struck.
Back in the day, this placemust’vebeen beautiful.All around me were signs of faded grandeur—an ornate chandelier with dusty and cracked crystals. Walls covered with faded red wallpaper whose golden fleur-de-lis looked as tarnished as the doorknobs. Crown molding framed the ceilinginthick,ornate,looping patterns that might once have been leaves.
The aura in this place was like stepping back in timeas if history had somehow bled into the present butdidn’tage well while doing it. I couldalmost picturepeople walking in here, sixty or seventy years ago, dressed in their finest while bellhops with red uniforms and cute little hats carried their luggage.
It was a grand hotel, the kind only the rich could afford, once upon a time. Now, it was as broken and run down as me. What sins did this place carry, and were they as bad as mine?
“I told you not to take that turn.”A woman’s voice rang out, drawing my attention to a couple standing side by side at the front desk.
There was an odd familiarity about them, butIcouldn’tplace my finger on what it was.
Rain dripped off me onto the floor as I watched the man lean against the counter and sign what I assumed to be a guestbook.
Nothing called out to me. So, why did it feel likeI’dseen them? I wasprobably overthinkingit. Weprobably passedeach other on the road or something simple like that.
