Dimmed Light

I opened it so she could go in first. As she passed me slowly, the smell reminded me of my late aunt’s home, cigarettes, and baby powder. The putrid smell made me gag inwards.

While I looked around, she hobbled around the other side of the long linoleum-covered desk. It was a small lobby with only two plastic Adirondack chairs serving as seating.  They sat next to a small brochure and advertisement holder. However, I did notice a makeshift crate table holding a coffee maker and small cups. It’s the small things, like coffee, that I struggle with to make me happy anymore.

“One bed or two?”

“I, uh, actually have a reservation. It should be under Samuel Lake.”

 Looking towards me with one eye, she made a deep sound in her throat. I wasn’t sure if she was about to cough or she scoffed at the word reservation, being the MOTEL was a dive.

She flipped through a ringed binder and looked down her nose at what was written.

Not saying a word, she pulled open a drawer next to her and took out a key attached to a metal ring with the number 7 printed on a half-broken plastic tag.

“You’re in room 7, out the door and to your right. No breakfast. Check out is at 10,” her weathered and age beaten visage looked up at me for a moment, searching my face, “Pull sheets off the bed and pile them by the door before you leave in the morning. My girls don’t need to be touching anything unnecessary when changing the beds.” 

I just looked at her, wondering what the hell was wrong with this place, and was about to respond sarcastically that whatever was left behind would be dry by morning. But again, I forced a smile and only nodded as she tossed the key on the counter.

The lights flickered as I passed the rooms on my way to number 7. There was no noise, no yelling or banging like the last place I stayed. For some reason, I found those annoying sounds comforting all of a sudden.

I reached my door and noticed the soft gurgling hum from an old yellowed soda machine several doors down. Debating about grabbing something to drink, I doubted it still had anything left in it, so I unlocked the room door.

Stale cigarettes and bleach assaulted my nose, along with something musky and human. 

I reminded myself the room was free and flicked on the switch by the inside of the door. Nothing happened. No light, only darkness.

Leaving the room door open, I could see the tattered yellow lamp on the cheap plywood stand by the large bed and decided to try that. A moment later, the soft blub glowed, filling the room.

I settled in and used the room’s only outlet to plug in my laptop and phone.

Deciding to shower, I took a look at the bathroom. It was nicer than the whole room and looked fairly remolded. Even the tub was bleached white and clean, so a nice soak sounded appealing.

I turned on the old box tv for background noise, and most channels came in static. Only one was pretty clear and not my favorite. 

The amped-up yelling about demons attacking families over generations echoed from the older man preaching on Tv and made me roll my eyes. His voice was so loud I had to turn the volume down. It was the only channel to come on without static, but it was something I wasn’t interested in.

 

I turned it down to a low murmur filling the room as I started the bath water.

I wasn’t sure how long I lay there soaking. The bath water was barely lukewarm by the time I got out.

The noise from the tub drains suddenly brought back memories I tried to force into the closet of my mind. 

I remembered her voice, the scream from the bathroom, and her mother’s gentle voice soothing her.

“Eek! It’s going to eat me, mommy!” 

Her delicate cherub-like voice screamed in panic when I walked in to see what had happened. 

Chrissy, my precious daughter, had clung to Rebecca, my wife, wrapped in a rainbow-printed towel. Her golden curls soaking wet on her head, dripping on her mommy’s shoulder.

“No baby, it won’t, it can’t fit through that tiny hole, see, and if it did, daddy would beat it so bad, it’d crawl back in and never come out!”

My wife’s reassurance made my daughter look back at the tub drain and point her finger, “Yeah! Hear that mister drain monster, don’t never ever come out, or my daddy will get you!” I had chuckled at that and felt full of warmth when she beamed at me and trusted in me.

I shook my head, ignoring the foggy mirror of the bathroom when I walked out. I didn’t want to look at myself anymore. It would only bring back anger, pain, and memories.

I slipped on shorts and lay down. The bumpy mattress didn’t bother me as much as I thought it would, the motel attempted comfort with a thin pillow top, so at least they knew the bed sucked.

My therapist once told me reliving the happy memories would act like a soothing pillow for my heart, that is, before he shoved Prozac and Xanax down my throat for a few months. Although it made me numb for less than a year, drowning out the reality of their deaths, I wish the numbness never went away.

I closed my eyes and tried focusing on the tv sound. The preacher ranted about demons and their purposes, how each one had a job. If you were an addict, there was an addict demon, or if you were gluttonous, there was a demon for that too. I sat up, finding it a bit unbelievable, and my phone rang when I planned on changing the channel. 

Looking at the time, I answered, “Eric, it’s 3 am. What do you want?”

“Just checking on my number one writer. Did you make it to the coast?”

I could hear the slur in his voice and multiple giggles in the background. 

“Yeah, sure. Goodbye.”

I hung up the phone and turned off the tv, tossing it on the other side of the queen-sized bed. 

Trying to fall back asleep, I turned the lamp off. Darkness filled the room, and I closed my eyes. I tried thinking of stupid things, random shit that had nothing to do with anything. 

I could hear the hum from the sign outside. It was so quiet in the room that my breathing seemed loud in the stillness. I rolled back over and faced the bathroom door. I thought about getting back up and taking a piss.

My inner debate was suddenly interrupted when a loud thump came from somewhere. I quickly sat up and looked around at the darkness.

I couldn’t tell if it came from the bathroom or the hotel room door, but common sense told me it was the hotel door, so I walked over slowly and opened it.

I stuck out my head to look around, and there was nothing but the lit-up parking lot, empty of any cars. The only sound I heard, besides the Motel sign buzzing, was the bugs clinking on the glass covering the lights hanging by each room’s door. There was a slight breeze but not strong enough to move even the leaves on the ground.

I didn’t see anything, so I shut the door, assuming maybe someone was staying in one of the rooms on either side and had bumped the wall.

Turning to shut the door behind me, I froze. 

The bathroom door was now wide open. I could even see the toilet from the light coming in from outside the room. I chuckled to myself, I wasn’t one to be easily spooked, but it grabbed my attention for a moment.

I rationalized that it must have opened from the slight breeze blowing outside.

Closing the door behind me, I walked in the darkness to the bathroom and flipped on the light, knowing the room would be empty, and it was. So I went ahead and relieved myself since I was up anyway.