Part 6 – Late Night Visit

Hey everyone. I know it’s been a few days since my last post. I’ll just jump right into it. So the guy who wanted room 14. It was a… weird interaction. We spent the better part of an hour arguing over the existence of the room. He was insistent that not only did we have one, but he had stayed there, multiple times. I walked him down the hall to show him the blank wall between room 13 and 15, and he was still adamant. Eventually I offered to look up all of his past reservations to show him. When I pulled up his information though, he didn’t have a single record of ever staying at the motel. Not just none for room 14, none at all. Even with this, he was still standing his ground. He pulled out multiple old pictures of himself and his family trying to make his point. The pictures looked like they had been taken several years apart from each other, but he wasn’t wrong. They all contained the same thing. Him, his wife, and two little girls standing right in front of room 14. I flipped through what must have been 15 or so before I came to another one with them in it, standing in front of a sign with “The Fredmont Motel” written in old style script letters. After a little more back and forth, he finally agreed to stay in room 15 and that was that. I still haven’t been able to stop thinking about it though. I’ve been digging around trying to find anything I can about the history of the motel, but I haven’t had any luck so far. I did eventually ask the librarian, Janet, if she could look up some information for me and she agreed. I’ll let you guys know if she gets back to me with any more information. Anyway, what else has been going on. Room 63 is still closed, and I doubt that’s ever going to change. The pipes haven’t been spitting out that goo or rattling anymore and I still haven’t seen bathrobe guy again. Oh, this is a fun one. The damn writer called the front desk earlier today absolutely freaking out. Apparently, Richard is expanding his thieving ways. He had gotten into room 40 and that guy was screaming like a banshee. Gary and I came up there running, hoping to be able to just shoo him out the door before anything too destructive happened. By the time we got there though, the writer had actually caught Richard in a pillowcase. Gary didn’t take it well. He didn’t say anything specifically, but I could tell his feelings were hurt a little. I mean this long of trying to trap him and he was outdone by a writer in complete fight or flight mode. That was until he tried to hand the pillowcase over. Gary suddenly yelled like his hair was on fire, dropped the pillowcase and started shaking his hand violently. He claimed that Richard nipped his hand, and swears he didn’t mean to drop it, but Richard used the chance to shoot out of the door and out into the night. Between you and me, I still think that was on purpose. He may cuss that little possum out, but I could tell he wasn’t ready to admit defeat. I think he secretly enjoys the interactions even if that admission never leaves his lips. There was one incident though that really stuck with me from yesterday. A woman came in dragging a trash bag behind her. She was maybe mid-40s or 50s, and stunk to high hell. Her clothes were kind of beat up, her hair was a rat’s nest. I couldn’t tell if she was homeless or heavily drugged out. I don’t know maybe it was both? Anyway, she asked for a room. Now, Mr. Freedman has a pretty cut and dry policy when it comes to letting people get rooms. If they’ve got an ID and the money, they’re good to stay, it is just a roadside motel after all. We’re not really trying to be the Ritz Carlton. I explained to her what we needed to allow her to stay and believe or not, she had it all. Well, I mean she had a library card but good enough. She also had a handful of wadded up cash and a bag of coins. After tallying it all up though, she covered the cost of the room and I gave her the key and told her she was in room 26. Before she left, she turned around and asked me a few questions, like what time breakfast was and what not. She wasn’t too pleased when I informed her that we in fact did not do breakfast. She just grabbed her trash bag and mumbled something on her way out. After giving the office a quick spray down of Febreze, I went right back to my all-important work. I kicked up my feet and started watching YouTube. A couple of quiet hours went by before I got a call from room 26. I just sighed as I picked up the phone. “Front desk. How may I help you?” “There’s someone under my bed.” It was at that moment that I could confirm it was drugs. Still, I tried to do my best. “Did you see somebody go under the bed?” “No.” “Did you see somebody come into your room?” “No.” “Okay. Ma’am, I’m fairly certain there isn’t anyone in your room. I can come look if you would like though.” “Well, he’s gone quiet now.” “He was talking to you?” “Yes.” “Okay ma’am. I’ll come check it out.” I got up and locked the front door and proceeded to her room. She opened the door before I could even get a chance to knock. It’s like she was watching through the peep hole, waiting for me. I made my way inside and checked around the room, making sure everything was clear. Aside from the pile of bath towels and rags in the bathroom, there wasn’t anything of note. After assuring her no one was anywhere in the room, I got down on my hands and knees and peered under the bed. Nothing was there, surprise, surprise. I popped back up and gave her the good news. “Well, I checked everything and I didn’t see anyone anywhere.” “I could have sworn he was there.” “It’s okay ma’am. If you need anything, I’ll be in the front office. Just give me a call.” I just put on my best fake smile, walked out the door and headed back to the office. Don’t do drugs kids. By the time I had made it back to the office, I had basically forgotten all about it already. I sat back down, kicked my feet back up and continued the YouTube rabbit hole of watching people mowing horrifically overgrown lawns. About an hour later, the phone rang again. Room 26. Great. “Front desk. How can I help you?” “He’s back.” “Okay ma’am. I’ll be right there.” I got back up and started the trek back to her room. This time though, the door was open and she was standing outside the room. “Ma’am are you okay? Do you want to go back in?” She shook her head, “Not while he’s talking.” I looked through the open doorway. “What’s he saying?” “I don’t know.” “You don’t know?” “He stopped when you got close.” I just paused and looked at her for a second before continuing into the room. I went to the other side of the bed and knelt down like before, shining my flashlight under it. Still, I didn’t see anything, just the other side of the room. I got back to my feet and tried to give her another comforting smile. “See? Still nothing.” She didn’t respond. She just stood there staring at the bed. That’s when I heard a soft subtle sound. “Again.” I just froze for a second. I looked at her and asked, “Did you say something?” She shook her head no. I took a second and then looked back at the bed. I heard it once more. “Again.” Her eyes darted up to mine. “Told you.” I got down slower this time. It was annoying before but… what the hell? I held my breath as I lowered myself down. I swung my flashlight under the bed and still, there wasn’t anything there. It was empty. I stood back up and started to walk over to her. I was stopped when something shot out and grabbed my damn ankle. I hit the floor hard. Pain shot up my leg like a vise was around my ankle. She screamed. I started violently kicking my free leg back at whatever had a hold of me. I couldn’t tell if it was the bed or what but I was making contact with something. I couldn’t get turned around to see it but I could feel that I was starting to get dragged backwards towards the bed. I kicked and kicked and kicked. I continued to get closer to the bed, my foot no longer visible. Kick. Kick. Kick. My hands frantically grasped for anything I could get a grasp on. Still closer. Kick. Kick. Kick. Finally, there was Gary. He had heard her screaming and was coming to see what was happening. He rushed through the open door and grabbed both of my hands. He pulled and pulled. Digging his feet in as best he could. In a flash, whatever it was let go. Gary and I crashed to the floor, scrambling our way out into the hallway. It was silent. No more voices. Nothing sticking out from under the bed. We sat there panting, trying to catch our breath when Gary asked. “What the fuck was that?” “I don't know.” The woman pointed toward the room. “That's what I was trying to tell him,” she said. “Yeah. You’re not staying in there any longer ma’am.” We continued to sit there. Gary eventually looked over and asked me. “Can you stand?” “Yeah.” I tried. “Nope.” I pulled up my pant leg to check it out. There was a huge looping bruise from my ankle up to my calf. It was already swelling. Gary helped me to my feet and threw one of my arms over his shoulder. We locked the door to the room from the outside, and then the three of us headed back down to the office. We ended up moving her to another room on the other side of the motel. I didn't charge her for it. After spending half the night treating her like a crackhead only to almost get dragged under a bed by God knows what, it seemed like the least I could do. I sat there with a bag of ice on my ankle hoping to get the swelling down while Gary got her taken care of. He came back down to the office and looked at my leg once more. It was getting worse. So yeah. That’s how I ended up at the Bellweather Hospital at four in the morning. The hospital isn’t that bad. The lights are bright. The receptionist looks as tired as I do. There’s that weird sterile smell that is also kind of nice? I don’t know how to describe it. There is only a couple of other people in the waiting room. A mom and her son, who’s got an awful cough. Some old guy who… maybe is just asleep, I hope. The intake nurse didn’t really seem impressed when I told her what happened. “What brings you in?” “Uh… something grabbed my ankle.” “Something?” “Yeah.” “What grabbed your ankle?” “Well… something? It was under a bed.” She just stopped typing and looked at me. “It was at work. I work at the motel.” “Right…” She just went back to typing and continued. “Was it a person?” “I don't think so.” “An animal?” “I don't think so.” “Do you know what it was?” “If I did, this conversation would be going a lot better.” After that, I got my sweet little fall risk bracelet and sat down in the wheelchair they gave me. I had been there for a while when I finally went back to get my exam. As they wheeled me back to my room, they were covering a patient up with a cloth. I asked the nurse and apparently the patient had an aneurysm and they couldn’t save him. I felt bad for the guy. Suddenly, my ankle didn’t seem that big of a deal. They completed my exam and had an X-ray done. Nothing was broken, thankfully, but I got a pretty bad sprain. The doctor gave me a prescription for some pain killers and then they started to wheel me back to the front so I could wait on Gary to pick me back up. On the way back, we passed by that same room again. As the bed came into view, I could have sworn I saw the guy sit up, the sheet still covering him. I asked the nurse, “What the fuck? You saw that too, right?” “Nope.” She just kept wheeling me back to the front without saying another word. It didn’t take long before I saw Gary’s truck pull up. He helped me get in and told me that things had been quiet since he got back. Then he asked about my ankle and what the doctor said. “Everything good?” “Sprained ankle.” “That's it?” I thought about the guy sitting up under the sheet. “Yeah. That's it.”