KEVIN JOHNSON climbed from his car just outside a dirty little building that appeared to be the town’s only motel. The place didn’t really seem like an ‘Alpine Resort’, despite what the sign in the parking lot said. As he walked, he noticed several large bugs, probably cockroaches, skirt into the shadows, away from his menacing step. Their sleek, brown bodies squeezed into the crack between the building and the cement as easily as if their shells had been coated with grease. He cringed as they disappeared from sight but even so, Kevin dreaded the idea of seeing those little buggers where he slept. Kevin shook his head and gave the motel a look over. A pool, covered with a blue tarp and closed for the season, nestled in the middle of the parking lot. The rooms (probably only 6 or 7 single bed rooms) surrounded the pool and ended with the lobby. The white paint on the outside crumbled off the walls in large flakes—the motel definitely needed a face-lift. Like most of the buildings in town, large trees, their leaves in the middle of making the transition to autumn, surrounded the motel and continued in thick forest behind.
The lobby door hung loosely to the frame, so when he pushed it open the door swung all the way around into the wall. A small bell hung from the corner and jingled loudly as it smashed between the door and wall. Kevin chuckled and glanced around the little room, but stopped short when he saw a large, stuffed bird sitting above the desk in the corner, not unlike the infamous owl that watched over Norman Bates’ dirty work. In the corner opposite the desk stood a bookshelf that housed several nice, leather-bound books—coupled together with a few pictures of who Kevin assumed were the family of the motel owner. A large painting of the forest hung on another wall, an almost exact resemblance, as far as Kevin could tell, to the world that surrounded this little town. A guy in his thirties sat behind the desk and flipped through a hunting magazine. The man looked up from his magazine and pushed his glasses further up on his nose, and brushed a few strands of hair from his face. The hair fell neatly into place, covering the large bald spot that spread down the sides of the man’s head and forehead. Sweat created dark stains around his armpits, which were made very visible when he reached to forward to shake Kevin’s hand. Kevin shook the man’s hand firmly
“Hello, sir. Welcome to Mapleton, Virginia—the greatest place on earth, except Disneyland. Name’s Michael Jones and this here is my establishment. Can I get you a room?” Michael tried to remain calm and collected—professional, but he jerked excitedly as he prepared the papers. Even his eyes jittered about with excitement. Kevin eyed the man warily. Michael’s smile still hadn’t faded and Kevin decided that the motel’s clerk either suffered from insanity or loneliness. But the smile seemed genuine enough and he certainly didn’t seem like the type to dress in his mother’s dress and wig and kill women while they bathed themselves. Kevin returned the smile and began to look through the forms Michael slid over the counter for him to sign.
“I’m Kevin Johnson and yes sir, I would like a room.” Kevin set his things on the floor and slid his credit card from his back pocket. “And you will probably be seeing a whole lot of me Mr. Jones. I’d like to book a room for a month, if that’s all right with you.”
Michael looked as if he might explode with excitement and Kevin grinned.
“Yes siree,” Michael said, taking the credit card, “if you don’t mind me asking, why would you stay here a month?” He asked, but then quickly clarified, “this is a beautiful spot and all, but there just isn’t much to do around here. We only got one movie theater and that only has one screen. You have to drive 30 miles or so for groceries-“
Kevin held up his hand to stop the clerk from continuing his list, chuckling as he did.
“I want it like this,” Kevin said, “quiet. I picked this town to work in specifically because of those unique qualities.”
Michael eyed him carefully over his glasses, suddenly suspicious. Maybe, Kevin thought, he thinks I’m making a joke—either that or he has his worries about serial bathroom killers too.
“What line of work are you in?”
“I’m a writer and I’m working on a few projects. Plus I just need some time to think, and thought that this would be nice area for that.” Kevin replied, returning a look of curiosity, “is it a problem to book a room that far in advance?”
“No, no, no,” the clerk corrected hastily, “it’s just that I have never, ever had a guest book a room that far in advance. And I’ve owned this motel for almost a decade now.”
“Well, I guess I’ll be the first then,” Kevin looked around, his eyes lingering on the stuffed owl, “I like it here. I think this motel will be perfect.”
“What kind of things do you write?” Michael asked.
“Horror novels,” Kevin responded simply.
***
Outside, Kevin pulled a few heavy bags from his car and walked to the room. He stopped, staring off into the East. A heavy storm brewed in the distance. Kevin stared at the bruised and bubbly clouds and shrugged. The massive storm swallowed most of the eastern horizon. The clouds, dark and ominous, rolled on windy chariots to this little haven in the wooded hills. Kevin felt the electricity building itself up in the air and let the feeling invigorate his mind and body. He loved thunderstorms, and kicked himself mentally for not noticing this storm earlier. Kevin loved to walk outside during thunderstorms, smelling the rain and feeling the thunder as it rumbled—but he wasn’t a fan of getting wet and had forgotten his umbrella.
A poem that he'd recently read and marked for use in the novel he was working on suddenly popped in his mind. One by the good Mr. Poe. In particular, two lines at the end of the work stuck in his head, like an old song on repeat, about thunder and storms.
How fitting, he thought as he shut the door to his car and started for his room.
For the next chapter, click here.
© 2008, Derrick Hibbard. All Rights Reserved.
For the next chapter, click here.
© 2008, Derrick Hibbard. All Rights Reserved.
No comments:
Post a Comment