It happened each day, the day after the grand opening that no one had attended.

We'd spent untallied hours acquainting ourselves with the original construction, the deteriorations; summarily, renovating the estate with utmost care, making the grounds and rooms ready. I myself had researched the history of the place and as lead architect had set about the most attentive historical restoration. I knew who had visited with whom, and which room they had stayed; for how long, and whether any particular event of importance had been tied to the duration (*vacation, business, or pleasure, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera).

When I say "making the grounds and rooms ready" it is to be understood that they were precisely appointed as in the circa 1802, when the hotel had been at its pinnacle of excellency and all the VIP of the region had sought the shelter of its walls, for whispers, secure dealings, and silent escapism. I even had the most illustrious fountain pen, The Original, refurbished to perfection, for sign in... though it had been encrusted by char from the fire, the pen itself was unaffected. The inferno itself had been estimated to have raged an astonishing 1060 degrees Celsius. The precious pen having been made of Gold not Silver, escaped affliction by narrowest margin, having a melting point of 1064° C. Had it been Silver, a puddle is all that would have been recovered, though I would still have taken pains to have it melded back into its likeness. Such was my conviction of its signature significance since the authentic sign-in album of leather and vellum had miraculously survived the blaze unscathed.

As proprietor, as well as supervisor of the project, I uncontestedly assumed the rôle of maître d' and stationed myself in the foyer. Fortunately, I brought a book to read... the grand opening seemed a complete and utter failure.

The hinges of the double French doors never swung open.

The morale of the modest staff plummeted understandably, as they said, " Sir...?" and I sent them about their business to "Carry on," hoping that the esteemed visitors we desired were simply waiting out the initial tide of nouveau riche curiosity seekers. Like a fortress, we had every provision, and no need to leave the premises. The hired live-music played for no one, the cooks cooked for staff, the maids made up the anterior and posterior chambers... though we ourselves were the only guests. Or so I thought.

The second night, I seated my aching feet in a lounge chair to the left of the main entrance by the gigantic palm. I was less engrossed in my novel and shifted my eyes about to see "What had I done wrong?" ...that was when I noticed it for the first time.

The fountain pen was hovering above the record album and registering something. I put down my Count de Monte Cristo and took off my Pince Nez. The pen had laid itself back down on the counter, and I shuffled towards, polishing my lenses on the tailcoat of my evening jacket. Replacing my glasses I peered down at the page, half full of signatures!! but how?!

Naturally, I did not wish to alarm the staff. I curtly informed the Valet that I was going to inspect the rooms (as I do as matter of routine since commencement of the project) and he yawned in response, reassuring me God Bless that he knew nothing. I moved stealthily from wing to wing, suite to suite, surveying the quarters. The hotel was such that it had somewhat pompatically been arranged to represent various parts of the world, and different epochs. There was the Tomb of the Pharoah (a poetic conglomerate), the Louis's from XIV to XVI Chambrés (very romantic),  the Swiss Alps Chalet (very rustic like in various nonfictional stories), the Jungle Room (yes just like fantasy in Graceland), the Piazza di Campo section (on the balcony side, very Tuscan, almost Philosophical), and too many others to list or describe, the hotel having exactly 400 rooms. All empty tonight.

When I returned, the Valet was at the window outside facing the drive, and the pen was once again scribbling a sign in! I looked to the key rack. Nothing had been taken. As an interesting side note, the keys were new, we had chosen not to stick to this much accuracy of maintaining the authentic skeleton type. Perhaps this was my mistake; or my salvation! In the course of the next few days, sign in continued. I took care to prevent others from seeing. I had become a bit paranoid that I was channeling something evil or esoteric or otherwise erratic. The staff as it was, was growing weary and received the news with relief that we were obviously not ready, and a hols was needed to reassess our prospectus. I suggested arbitrarily that we would reconvene at the beginning of the next month.

And so finally, I had the place to myself. I mopped my brows, and poured a tall glass of tonic; what was to be done?! I thought about calling in assistance, but who... who would understand... then I mused that the former maître d' who had given input concerning the structure of the hotel, might also understand something of the residents. Determined, I dialed the operator, and asking for the exchange, I was connected to a nurse of Old Irish accent who told me the missus had finally succumb to dementia and pnuecoccal pnuemonia on the very day of our Grand Opening, may the poor soul rest in peace and she promptly began to wail laments into the phone... 

I was on my own. Lucky or unlucky. I noticed the pen was missing. The album was now blank. I looked on the floor. I scanned the counter. I looked behind the counter. Absurdly, I patted my pockets. I pulled out my pipe, lit it, pulled in a slow drag, and proceeded with new determination down the corridor, taking the album with me as a precaution. The lights flickered with apprehension, or was it anticipation? I began to hear a giggle and whispering from the Russian Embassy Suite, where the door was now ajar... the dull thud post silencer made my blood run cold as I swung it fully open on its hinges and saw... The Pen writing on the wall... I read hurriedly:

Having betrayed the Agency of Requisitions, in the matter of ... in a conspiracy to confuse and distract... the machinations of... in the subversion of public interest... manipulation of opinion... and doctoring of numbers and figures... Guest No. 901 killed by Agent X, this day...

Suddenly the album was thrust from under my arm and opened itself before me. The pen dropped as if exhausted between the pages. The room was no longer vacant but showed all the signs of occupancy, and struggle. The rifled drawers, the blood stains upon the carpeting, scattered documents... there was no body, just the attributes of life taken. And I wrote it down. Everything. The notes upon the wall. The articles I saw. Once written, I quickly noticed each symbol disappearing... or perhaps it was disappearing even before writing, I cannot sure, I was now in a complete frenzy. Like automaton I moved from room to room. Writing. Days passed. Like I said the hotel was huge. The album was soon almost full. The cramps in my arm almost unbearable and my eyes propped open by unknown forces.

Thus exhausted, I smelled it. The unmistakable scent of something unwarranted burning. I was on the upper most floor and getting out was no small matter. I tucked the album into my cummerbund and plunged my portly self into the laundry chute. Like a child at an amusement park, I felt the thrill and the fear, with that sink in the pit of the stomach which results from rapid change of movement. I covered my face with my pocket handkerchief and was relieved that the fire was most obviously on the main floor or above, because the basement was not flooded with smoke. I could make my way to the Bilco doors by the dim light of the security cameras and industrial Exit sign. I fumbled with the latch and threw open the dual metal flaps. 

Gulping in fresh night air I stumbled up the stairs and out into the rear of the hotel, now running as best I could, panting out of breath and sweating something awful. I checked that I still had the album. I did. Having made it a reasonable distance away, I slowed and turned around. The hotel was up in flames, just like it had been prior to my attempted renovation. I clutched my chest. This time it was going down for good.

I had the book.

06.07.2023

Paranormal pen challenge @Mamba

Pick

"You know...she told me what you fucking did," I say as I look down on him, standing and clutching the bottle. He is tied to the chair, unable to move.

"And I mean EVERYTHING." I raised the bottle to my lips, and the instant fire rushing down my throat makes my jaw clench and eyes shut.

"But... PLEASE! All that was years ago, you know I’ll never do that now" that asshole says to me. "Please! I never do it again!" he begs again. I lean in close to him and put my lips next to his ear. "Yeah... is that after the first time... or the tenth time you put her outside?" I spat at the side of his face. "More than once, am I right? Outside?" I asked him as I reach towards the table picking up a toothpick. "Yet that isn't the worst of it, is it?" I asked him as I put the pick in my mouth. The snot begins to run down his mustache like the disgusting fuck he is. "IT WAS YEARS AGO!" he screams at the top of his lungs, hyperventilating after each breathe.

"Yeah, I'm sure she felt the same way you do now, right? Scared, wanting it to end? Not knowing what the fuck I'm going to do?" I get the pick out of my mouth and pick up his head with my hand so I can stare at his eyes. "See, I don't get it though. You keep doing everything you told her not to. Why do you keep shutting your eyes as if you don't like, this?" I grabbed the toothpick with my right hand, held it between my fingers, grabbing his left eyelash with the other hand, pulling it just enough for the inner lid skin to show. "NO NO NO NO," he begins to scream. I positioned the toothpick just under his top eyelid. "I don't know why you keep hoping for a miracle? She waited for one and it never came... well then again, in a way it did, now am I right?" I laugh.

"AHHHHHHHH,"

That glorious, beautiful scream he lets escape is something out of a dream, a dream she imagined every night if she could.

I lift the toothpick just enough for it to be poking through, but not breaking his skin. "DAMN! That must hurt, but like I said, I wouldn't want you to close your eyes or else you wouldn't like it!" I laugh as I place the bottom end of the toothpick on top his upper cheek bone while the other end fights to break the skin underneath his lid. "Now, don't blink, or at least try not to so hard... you wouldn't want the toothpick to pierce through, now would you?" His eye began to turn bloodshot red, as his head began to shake, fighting the urge to shut his eye.

"See, here's the thing..." I pull up a chair and sit in front of him. "You keep talking about how you've changed, blah blah blah." I slap his knee, and with one quick violent twitch, the toothpick tip pierces right through.

"AHHHHH!" he screams in agony, but I swear it's an accident.

"To be fair, you should have seen my hand. Your eye was open." I laugh. A shitty excuse for a shitty person who deserves it. "Now” I looked at him, staring at his eyelid. It's fine; its twitching enough to close a little. "You can tell me all day and night how you've changed..." I pull the chair closer until both our knees are inches away from each other. "... but there really is only one way to see if that's the case." I get up from the chair and reach behind him.

“Here it is.”

Shining like a water oasis in a desert, his eye began to widen. A crystal-clear bottle shines from the light of the only lamp in the room. He tries looking away, but I slap him where the pick is, and the bottom half of the pick pierces into his cheek like a needle. Nothing but the air escapes his lungs, holding in every ounce of pain, his chest started convulsing as he breathes in and out. Under his breath, he whispers, "I won't." And I tilt my head in confusion, not quite sure if he understands the situation he's in. But that doesn't matter. I raise the bottle closer to his face and begin to take the cap off.

"MMMMMM, smells good, don't you think?" I ask him as drool begins to run down from the corner of his lip. Running the glass underneath his nose, his mouth began to twitch. "Damn, even your body is forcing itself to drink some. It remembers the taste, and I'm sure that side you say ‘isn't there’ still is." I take a quick swig from the bottle before placing it down between his legs, his eyes peering down as if a puppy looking at dropped food.

"If you don't want it, why do you keep looking at it?" I ask him. Shaking, he just stares at the bottle.

"So, the deal is..." I walked towards the other side of the lamp. "... I can place the bottle on the table with a straw, and you can drink to your heart's desire while you tell me everything from your mouth... and then I kill you..." I move into the corner, engulfed in shadows, and roll out an IV with an empty plastic bag attached. "Or... I tie this around your neck and the needle in your arm and make you tell me and watch you die slowly from the poisoning." I grab the bottle between his legs and cross my arms. "Your choice."

That piece of shit tries spitting on me.

"So be it."

He tries to wiggle out of the chair, but he isn't going anywhere. I made sure he had to feel powerless, just like he made her feel. I get the bottle and pour it into the IV. "What are you doing?" he asks me, freaking out. "NO NO NO! PLEASE, I'LL DRINK IT!"

"Too late. You should have taken the chance when I offered," I laugh as I roll the IV behind him and begin wrapping the plastic tube around his neck, piercing his veins with the needle.

"See, the thing with injecting alcohol directly into the bloodstream..." I tell him as I'm pouring a shot glass into the bag. "... is once it hits the bloodstream, it works a little more differently... Well, at least according to Google, anyway..." I put a clip on the tube to slow the drip. "... so, I thought I'd try to slow the drip and see if we can slow the process down just a bit so I can see you change in front of me, and well, if that doesn't work, then it doesn't work. Either way, you're dead, and that's all I really want in the end." I walk back in front of him, sat down, and looked him in his eyes.

"Now... she told me she used to sleep outside whenever you came home... rain, winter... Hell! She said one night she had to use plastic trash bags to keep warm while she heard you snore from the outside." He started to cry, trying to find any words he can. I looked at the IV; a couple of drinks in here and there since we started, and it's still going pretty well. "She told me one time you locked her in the shed because you were just mad one day. Now, is that really true?" I ask him, he doesn't say anything. "Well, so much for Google being right, huh? I guess it doesn't work as fast, but that's fine." I get up and stretch out a little. "I'm not going anywhere," I laugh.

About five minutes go by while I'm in the restroom, and I can see it starting to hit him. "How are you feeling, huh? Doesn't it feel good again? Remember this feeling? You barely feel the toothpick, right?" I laugh as he begins to lick his lips, the toothpick moving little by little with every expression he gives. But that doesn't matter since he can taste the alcohol now. His eyes look glazed and lost. "Yeah, it's been a while. Give it a few minutes; I'm sure you'll be back to your original self." I can see the change happening. He has heavy breathing, a deeper voice, and a look of nothingness to his eyes. "That's it. Feel it coming back, don't you?" He begins to tilt his head up from the chair, wobbling, and he laughs. "Yeah, you remember..." He just smiles and laughs while looking at me.

"You remember THAT night, don't you?" I asked him, but he just can't stop smiling at me, his eyes burning red. "... the one night you promised she was fine, and it was OK for her to be inside." He just smiles and looks at me. "... you came home that night... promised she would be fine..." He lets out a little chuckle, "... what did you do... tell me..." I lean closer. "Tell me!" I began to raise my hands and open my palms to wrap around his throat.

"We wouldn't be here now if I didn't," he whispers and laughs, opening his legs as wide as he can. The sick fuck sticks his tongue out.

I wrapped my fingers around his neck, feeling every muscle tighten between my fingers as the blood rushes through my palms. I squeezed until his eyes are out of their sockets, his face bloated and swollen. He starts to shake as I watched every ounce of life leave his body.

Then he was still, quite,

lifeless.

Yet, I still feel as if he is smiling at me.

“We wouldn’t be here now if I didn’t.” still haunting my head.

A couple of hours go by, and I'm finally home. Nothing more I want to do than just go to bed. I take off my shoes as I hop into bed and roll over. A few hours go by, and there is a knock on my bedroom door. "Mom?"

She opens the door.

"Can you come downstairs, please?" I see her eyes are red, holding back tears. "I mean, is everything OK?" I ask her again. "Just please come downstairs," she tells me again as she walks back down the hall. I turned around to put on my shoes and begin to walk down the hall, passing by my grandmother's room.

There she is, just looking out her window, sunlight creating a radiant glow around her. She turns to look at me and gives me a smile and I smiled back. I turned back around and headed downstairs, where my mother is sitting at the table. "Please sit," she tells me, holding a tissue to her face.

"Is everything fine?" I ask her, already knowing what the answer was.

"The police came... they found..." Here it is I thought. "They found... your grandfather. He's gone," she says crying into my arms.

“Mom…” I say looking at her, but before I can say anything else my grandmother walks in and places her hand on my shoulder.

So, I stayed silent for her.

A tall white block stood above the hedges and orchids while the sun rose. There was a pathway straight to the doors that contained golden knobs. An angel statue stood next to the doors looking innocent. A visitor arrived with a suitcase and a bag, and she knocked on the door. She was excited that she could not wait patiently to explore the pretty world inside.

When no one opened the door this morning, Vanilla, a visitor, stared at the angel statue. She thought she saw the wings flutter and said, “This is not fantasy, is it?”

The maid opened the door as Vanilla stood there baffled at the statue. The maid snapped her fingers, “Are you the visitor for the month?”

Vanilla stuttered, “Y-y-yes, ma’am.”

After the maid closed the door, Vanilla moved her belongings into the living room. The angel statue grinned mischievously. While Vanilla sat on the sofa and looked at the picture frames with silhouettes, the maid gave her the cup of tea and biscuits from the kitchen. Vanilla ate those slowly. “It is so sweet.”

Then, the maid led her upstairs to room 50. Vanilla thanked her and opened the door. “Something smelled like cigarettes,” she thought and dropped her things to find the maid, who was on the staircase. The maid said, “I already cleaned the room yesterday.

Vanilla said, “No, the room smells like cigarettes. You need to come and look.”

The maid followed her to the room. They found nothing as the smell was gone. Vanilla was lost in thought when the maid said, “I need to make lunch so you can stay here.”

Vanilla went inside with her belongings and put them on the carpet. She sat on the bed and thought, “How are the cigarettes not here? Is this a fantasy?”

She explored the closet with curiosity. Suddenly, she found the golden box with a lock outside. She grabbed the box and put it on the bed. She looked around for the golden key, which was not there.

So she went into the hallway in search of the key. Before the maid called her, Vanilla looked at the angel statuette, on the pane in the farthest hallway. That one was smiling, so she ran and bumped into the tall, dark angel’s torso. Then, she looked up as the angel grinned.

The maid shouted her name, “Vanilla!”

The visitor snapped in the maid’s embrace. Her mouth dropped open as the maid shook her hard, “Vanilla, it is lunchtime.”

Vanilla said, “I saw something… that looks like an angel… with large wings… and a smile… that… makes me feel uncomfortable.”

“First, you have to eat lunch. Then, we talk about it.”

In the living room, Vanilla did not eat lunch. She instead hears a story than to explores the hotel. Her thoughts were saying, “Who is that angel? Is that real? Is that a fantasy-like creature? Am I the crazy one here?”

The maid sits beside her at the table and says, “The angel is not what you see. It is a boy dressed in a long robe and has large feathered wings. He was there to impress visitors with his smile.”

Vanilla said, “So is a boy trying to impress me?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“What he wants to do next?”

“It is unpredictable.”

“What about the statue on the porch?”

“That one… This hotel has many statues, small and large. The boy can bring it to life with his mind and tricks that you see smiles, but it is all just imagination.”

“Creepy.”

“You can go to your room, and I will call you for dinner.”

In room 50, the visitor lay on the bed thinking nothing but wishing the hotel not to give her the creeps. The smile of an angel is the wickedest one. She did not know why she, was brought here. Her parents were out of town for the month that she assumed was the best vacation for them. Vanilla never experienced lonely times on vacation. The hotel experience is the first.

Then, her eyes snapped open to the shadow at the end of the bed. She moved to the side and was on the floor. She stood as the shadow disappeared. “That one is different. It cannot be the angel statue,” she muttered.

She went to the bathroom to wash her face and hands. The angel statuette was in the bathtub. She heard the faucet turning. Eventually, she looked at the tub with shock. Dark angel was smiling at her with his hands on the tub. She turned off the sink and exited the bathroom to dry with the towel. She said, “That is not happening.”

She turned her head to see the angel in the long towel. “Did you just shower?” she asked while her face was red.

He approached her with his hand out to her face. She moved to the bed. He was at the edge of the bed and smiled. She said, “Do not hit me, please.”

Unfortunately, the maid was here holding her shoulders tightly, “Vanilla, it is dinnertime.”

“What did I just see?” Vanilla said.

The maid left first. The visitor sat on the bed. Then, the towel fell to be soft and warm. She stood and went out of the room. As the door closed behind her, the angel statuette on the window pane smiled again.

Vanilla sat on the chair with her stomach growling. The foods on the table were delicious and savory. She grabbed the drumstick and added the barbecue sauce on top; finally, she ate it slowly. The maid dropped off the suspicious cake at the center of the table. Vanilla asked, “What is that? A birthday cake?”

“No, it is for us.”

“That cake is big and round with lots of frosting and…” she found the pair of wings on a candle symbolizing the dark angel.

The maid explained, “He is joining us now for dinner.”

Vanilla dropped the bone onto the plate, and she stood. Before she could leave, the man appeared in a tuxedo and smiled at her wishing her to stay. Vanilla felt suspense in the air. Will I move or sit down as if nothing happens to me? She sat down on the chair with her head down. My life is going to end soon or in a month. Finally, she sighed deeply.

What made her feel uncomfortable, he sat across from her. He was looking at her with indifference. Still looking down at the plate, Vanilla cannot think of an escape. The maid said, “Welcome, Sir Max.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

His eyes glued on Vanilla, who did not move at all. He asked, “What is your name?”

Vanilla looked up and said, “Vanilla. Vanilla Mart.”

“What a beautiful name.”

“Uh, thanks.”

All three at the table sang a birthday song to the angel. She thought that the dark angel’s birthday was today. The maid cut the cake into slices and gave one to Sir Max, Vanilla, and herself. Vanilla stared at the candle with angel wings on the cake.

Suddenly, she took out the candle from the cake. She found the key to the golden box, which stayed in the room. Sir Max said, “The key has chosen you, Vanilla.”

She looked at him in shock, “Chosen one? You mean the box?”

“You can open it later.”

Everyone ate their slices except Vanilla, who stared at the key for any clue. She asked, “Where is the dark angel? You know that his birthday is today?”

Sir Max grunted, “He passed not too ago.”

The maid added, “Not to worry about it, Vanilla.”

The visitor went upstairs to reach the room. She entered and found the box on the bed. She plugged the key into the lock to turn it, but the box moved by the smoke. She smelled the cigarettes in the air.

“Dark angel,” she called him. “Are you on drugs?”

“Give me the key!” he demanded.

“The key has chosen me,” she said.

“Now or never!”

So she submitted the candle with angel wings to his hand. He smiled, “Looks are deceiving. The box is not what you see as a lucky box.”

“You mean the Pandora’s box? I am Pandora, the curious lady trying to open the box and unleash--” Her hands are on the box.

“Give me the box.”

She handed him the box with disappointment. “Why?” she asked.

“You will unleash all the evils and sufferings into the world you live in. Evils are from Adam and Eve’s first sin. I am just warning you.”

Vanilla sat on the bed thinking hard while the dark angel rushed to fly away into the night. He would drop this box into the unforeseen hedge, where he died not too long ago. He thought this would heal his heart from damage. Before he can do that, he must hide the box and key from the maid. If the maid found him carrying those things, she would be furious and call for help. He would be dead for good.

The maid knocked on the door interrupting Vanilla from her thoughts. When the visitor opened the door, the maid said, “You need to shower and sleep.”

“The candle and box are gone.”

The maid asked, “Who takes them?”

Vanilla shrugged. “No idea.”

The maid slammed the door in her face. Vanilla thought, “The maid is not nice. What is her problem? Did she want the box so badly than me? I need to follow her.”

Vanilla found the hotel doors open, so she ran outside, and the maid in the hedge maze, who was looking for the items in the darkness. Vanilla gasped that the angel statue was on the porch quietly with a candle and box in his hands. He was smiling.

He said, “Thanks for your help.”

Vanilla blushed, “I-I did not. I shrug because the consequences are cruel to the world.”

“Lead the maid to the vines, where her daughter slipped and fell to her death.”

“In the hedge maze?” she asked.

“Yes.”

Sir Max was already behind Vanilla. He heard the last words and touched Vanilla by surprise. Then, the angel statue vanished before he got caught. Sir Max demanded, “I heard you and my son are working together, wanting the maid to die.”

Vanilla reassured him, “We are not doing that. We are-- err, um, she needs sleep.”

“Ladies need sleep. You look tired, ma’am,” he looked at the maid, who was in dirty clothes. Her face was sad and tired. She walked past the visitors to the room and showered.

Sir Max and Vanilla were in the living room, communicating quietly. Sir Max warned her not to bring death to the maid because she befriended him since his son passed away. Vanilla wanted to know more about a thing or two between him and the maid. He insisted, “Tomorrow over breakfast.”

“Aww, okay.”

Vanilla showered and slept in the bed with a Minion plushie from the bag. She slept soundlessly with it while the smoke came into her room. It was the dark angel and the two items. He smiled at her and slept with her throughout the night.

The maid knocked on the door and opened it. Then, she found the usual hair next to Vanilla’s head. She came to remove the blanket, a dark angel woke up, and finally, he vanished with the items before she took them. That made Vanilla open her eyes and find the maid looking angry at the empty side of the bed. Vanilla asked, but the maid stormed out of the room.

At the dining table, Sir Max welcomed the maid and talked about the story to Vanilla, who listened carefully. The maid screamed and threw the plates on the floor. She did not say a single word. Sir Max said, “She is not sleeping well, I guess.”

“Right,” Vanilla agreed.

The maid pointed her finger at Vanilla, saying, “I saw her sleep with your son, Sir Max.”

“I did not see him. It was empty on my right side,” Vanilla said.

“Then, that is your imagination? Huh? You are one crazy lady here. I will kill you.”

Before the maid chokes the visitor, Sir Max puts himself between these two females. He said, “Just calm down, ma’am.”

“I am not a ma’am. Just call me Lucy.”

“Lucy, calm down,” Sir Max reassured her.

“Not until I kill the girl and--”

The maid fell on her belly and was silent. The dark angel has knocked her out with the golden box. He looked at her with harsh treatment and said, “You are the troublemaker, Lucy. You should mind your business the way your daughter is supposed to be in the first place!”

“Son, you should have gone!” Sir Max shouted.

“I came to finish my job.”

Before Vanilla asks, the maid stands and grabs the candle key. She is using it to stab the angel’s torso. She was angry for pushing her down to the floor. He turned into smoke, so the box vanished. The maid ran around the hotel until she was tired.

Sir Max said, “He should have gone before the maid tried to kill him.”

“I want to ask him, but he runs away from Lucy.”

“This has to stop completely.”

For an entire month at the hotel, Lucy, a maid, was restless and destroyed many things inside each room, including the rooms downstairs and the kitchen. All she wanted to do was to catch the dark angel and get the box to unlock to release her daughter, the evil one.

Vanilla grabbed her belongings from room 50. She was already outside looking at the sad hotel. Sir Max came with a cell phone talking to the police. The car parked at the edge of a maze and two police people, who reached the building to find the maniac.

Sir Max approached her and said, “This is for her good.”

“What about the dark angel? I have not seen him in a while,” she said.

“I hope my son is okay.”

What she noticed was the dark angel holding the box with his face. He has decided to crush it with his pair of dark wings. She ran towards him, but the wings covered him completely. She heard the box crushed open as Sir Max explained, “That is his job.”

“To destroy the box forever so there will be no more troubles in the world,” she said.

The police came with the maid in handcuffs. They were already in the car. The maid said nothing to both Vanilla and Sir Max. She already loses the battle for her daughter. Then, the vehicle has driven off away.

The wings around the angel disappeared. Vanilla touched his shoulder, so he turned around as a human boy. She asked, “Are you okay, dark angel?”

“I am no longer a dark angel. I am a human boy.”

“So, what is your name?” she smiled.

“Michael Max.” He stood to embrace Vanilla. “Thank you, Vanilla.”

She blushed once more while the candle with angel wings burned in the kitchen fire and exploded the hotel to pieces. The big smoke released heavy cigarettes. Sir Max shouted at the children to move away from the fire. Trio was at the edge of the maze looking at the stunning fire until nightfall.

“At last, that is the end of their crazy lives,” Michael said with a smile.

As soon as the ink dried on the deed to the quaint Hawthorne Hotel, a cold shiver of swept over me. The hotel, with its Victorian charm, held more than just the promise of a profitable venture; it held a mystery that would take me to the edge of reality.

The first week passed without incident. It was during the silence hours of my eighth night that the spectral shenanigans began. A chilling wind whipped through the closed corridors, sending ancient wallpaper to a frenzied dance. Distorted whispers curled around the hotel's rafters, barely audible, but distinct enough to make my skin prickle.

Mischievous rather than malevolent, the spectral inhabitants seemed to enjoy playing with the hotel's antique elevator, sending it to floors without passengers, and dimming the crystal chandeliers to an eerie glow. They communicated through cryptic messages words etched in morning on the lobby's glass pane, recounting stories of unrequited love and tragedies long forgotten.

The staff and guests were not spared. Maids reported rooms impeccably cleaned before their arrival, while guests spoke of comforting lullabies resonating in the middle of the night. Far from scaring them away, these events seemed to bring a sense of wonderment, turning Hawthorne Hotel into a paranormal spectacle.

Driven by insatiable curiosity, I sought the help of local historians and paranormal experts. They unveiled the hotel's colorful past, from being a Civil War infirmary to a speakeasy during the Prohibition era. An antique locket, discovered within a hidden chamber, held the portrait of a young woman - a spectral figure perhaps, still in search of her long-lost lover.

The spectral encounters left me with a sense of bewilderment and awe. Far from madness, this journey instilled a relentless pursuit of truth. With the passage of each spine-chilling day, I found myself more engrossed, dedicated to understanding the spirits, to giving them a voice. That eerie month became the beginning of my lifelong journey as the caretaker of the unseen innkeepers of the Hawthorne Hotel.

I dig. It is well after midnight but only hours after the funeral and burial. My younger sister was a spiteful, hateful creature. And now she was dead. In a manner of speaking, looks like I won, sister.

My father long ago had promised me the ring his grandmother had commissioned, a sizeable emerald, perfect and clear, surrounded by diamonds just as perfect. The initials--his grandmother's--were the same as mine. It was meant for me. She had said so when my mother was pregnant for me, but Grandma died the day I was born, obviously on a due date for both her and me.

My sister lay in her casket, scheduled to be inserted into the freshly dug space in the family plot. She lay there serene, as antithesis to how she lived. I held my disgust just below skin-deep, lest others would see my avarice and my rage.

It was my ring! Mine! How dare she wear it. I considered slipping it off of her cold finger, but I knew I would be seen. Also, the missing ring would be noticed. The ring was a big deal. Everyone knew that. Everyone had taken sides between us sisters in this family melodrama. No one had said anything about the ring being buried with her, but everyone knew. They all regarded me queerly at the funeral.

No, the ring had to stay.

Besides, her finger had swollen around it.

I continue digging. I have an appointment, after all.

It had been quite the scene when my father had told me I wasn't ready for the ring on my 16th birthday; then again when I got engaged; then again with the birth of my first child who I named after him.

No, he gave it to her. I was too irresponsible. I'd lose it. Or hock it. Not her, though. She was the responsible sister. The smart one. The beautiful one. The hateful one. But she was the younger one. There are traditions in the birth order, and that tradition was violated. I was violated.

She wore the ring proudly whenever she saw me. She would even kiss it in front of me, whispering, "I love you, Daddy." I'm sure he felt each kiss in his own coffin.

I continue to dig.

I'll get that ring off of your cold, dead finger. You'll see. No need for it to adorn dust for the eons, is there? And why? Not because your rotting body wants to make a favorable first impression.

Ha! First impression for who? For the demons and devils who would be meeting you, you shriveled, bitter, toxic hag?

You wore it for me, didn't you? In life and in death. It was your will--and it was even in your will. You would be buried with it on. It was your last wish in your final will and testament. It was legal. Unchallengeable. You knew that I would stew for the rest of my life knowing that--now--I would never have that ring.

Before it was supposed to be mine, it was my father's and his grandmother's before that. But then it was hers. Daddy didn't wear it. He kept it under lock and key. Until her 16th birthday. I couldn't believe my eyes.

You two walked out together toward the limousine, you in your tuxedo and you at your debutante Sweet 16 best. Oh, and with you wearing it. It!

He just smiled at you, but you just smiled at me.

I wondered for so many years why she was special to him. It makes me dig faster and another layer of dirt has been removed. I hear some gravelly scratching with the tip of the shovel. I am close.

Once my horrid sister loaned it to her own daughter. For her Sweet 16 party. I could have died. Sixteen years old and already with tattoos. And the ring that was mine on that pubescent, hypersexed little trashy nymph. Where had that finger been? I wonder, and I dig even faster.

How did you get it away from her? You didn't even know you were going to die, you feckless bitch. Now neither she nor I will be able to wear it.

Ha! That's what you think.

My shovel strikes the casket. It's a good sound. It is the sound that will forever right the things that have wronged me. Oh, it goes way beyond just the ring, though. You could only imagine. My father and her!

They say each child, in reality, has different parents. So true, because my father was different--with her--and different with me. The former in a spoiling way--and the latter in a very bad way. And although there were a hundred million things, slights, insults, and unfathomable unfairness at every sisterly turn, it was that ring that symbolized it all. And that special relationship between him and her. How special one could ask? Very special. I guess some daughters are not pretty enough. She was. And he did.

Always in his lap. Always the one he'd take camping. And always the one with the ring. Maybe she earned it. I certainly didn't.

What will I do when I get finally get to it? When I pry it off of her swollen finger? Maybe I'll just melt it down. Or give it to a homeless person. No. I'll wear it.

Every minute of every day it shall be my answer to both of them. Told you it was mine. See? I didn't have to earn it. It was supposed to be mine.

The entire casket is uncovered now. I fall onto my stomach and dangle my arms to reach its latch. I had practiced this many times in my mind since the visitation at the funeral home.

My fingers' grasp finally gains purchase of the mechanism and the lid snaps into an unsecured state. I have a knife ready for her finger if need be. Or maybe I'll cut it off anyway, even it doesn't have to be. Or maybe all of them.

This little piggy is for the ring. This little piggy is for the new car. This little piggy is for the condo. This little piggy is for...I stopped.

Stay on task.

I hook my fingertips under the lid edge and slowly pry it open, my eyes closed: I want a big surprise. I would open them and there she'd be. And that ring. My ring! At last!

I open my eyes and there it is! There's the finger. But...it is only her finger. My ring on a solitary finger, cut off cleanly at the knuckle. I gasp. My sister, otherwise, is gone. Well, all of her but one finger. There is a string around the disembodied fingertip with a note.

For you, sweet sister.

In spinal reflex I slam the coffin lid down with a loud crash. I lose my mind. My thoughts race, but nothing makes sense. I consider re-opening the coffin and taking the ring anyway. Stay on task.

No! It's where it belongs. Right where it belongs. On my sister in pieces; but where the other pieces are I don't know. I laugh, because I also don't care.

I shove all the dirt back atop the coffin, but it's not a tidy job. Surely people will know someone was here. But they won't suspect me.

Because whoever did this to her left the ring.

My lack of joy for capitalism made me despise my deceased Grandma more than I did when she was alive. She knew I wanted nothing to do with her "haunted hotel" and left it in her will to me anyway, proving I must be her least favorite granddaughter.

I tried to get anyone else in my family to take it. They refused. I talked to lawyers, who told me selling the hunk of junk was basically impossible. So I moved into a stupid old hotel.

Luckily Grandma made sure that her staff all worked there still (although that may have also been spiteful because she knew I preferred to be alone), so all I would have to do is manage.

Of course, if the five separate murder cases in the past century, people hesitated to stay there. Grandma claimed it to be an attention attractor, but I think when it passes three murders, staff and customers alike, that's more of a sign to stay away.

The staff mostly just left me alone to wallow in my misery, only bothering me when something really needed to be taken care of.

Then I met Sara. I bumped into her as she was carrying sheets, helped her pick them up and carry them, and we started talking. Nothing she said could be considered out of the usual, but something about her just interested me.

I invited her to go over planning with me because despite just being a cleaner, Tara adored the hotel. I normally would have hated that, but her love for so horrible just made my heart flutter.

We must have been talking for months. Her being around was the only thing to make me happy, and she admitted to enjoying my presence too. I wondered if she share a similar interest in me as I did with her.

I genuinely could have fallen for her.

That changed when we got patrons. A family of four, a mom, dad, and two boys, one a young teenager while the other could have been no older than seven. I gave them their key, and just to make Grandma roll in her grave a bit, warned them of the hotel's past and offered to find somewhere else to stay.

The parents seemed tired and thanked me for informing them, but decided to still stay the night.

They called first at 10:43 pm. They said there was a smell in their room, like something was rotting.

I had them switch rooms and told the staff to clean the room and check the vents.

Another called at 12:06 am. Same problem, but slightly worse. I came to look this time myself, and it was worse than I thought. It was like someone put rotten meat under a magnifying glass in July. It was then I noticed the parents no longer had their children with them.

I feared the worst and went to my landline to call the cops after giving them another room. Of course, it didn't work. I tried to tell my staff, but they all just ignored me and kept cleaning.

By 3:28 am I had enough. I went to the staffroom, and grab a crowbar. I went to the first room they were first staying in and forced open the vent.

I almost puked when it opened and the rotted corpse of the mother dangled out. She was bloated and had a bloodstain that was almost black on her blouse. When I screamed my Sara was the only one who came running.

Even in my hysterics she could understand me and was trying to calm me down. She tried to get a few words in but failed as I ran out to the 2nd room.

I was faster than her, so by the time she ran in I was already screaming about the rotted flesh of the father, his head barely hanging on by a thread.

Sara must have been able to tell I was ready to run to the room they were currently staying in, and that's when her composure broke. She screamed, cried, and begged as she chased me to the 3rd room, yelling at me to not do it.

When I opened the door with the master key, there was no one inside. Thinking back on it, the only person I had seen since the 1st room was Sara, but did not notice it then.

She yanked my arm away as I jammed the crowbar into the vent, and went quiet as she fell onto the floor in front of us.

With the same uniform and same face, it was Sara. But her expression wasn't bright or alive, instead was pale and had red staining her forehead. I dropped my crowbar in shock, finally noticing the tint of red on the end.

I was alone in the room with a bloody crowbar. I walked out of the room, and I had to change my statement. I was alone in a hotel, surrounded by ghosts.

The piano music has started again. It might be less sinister, if only it weren’t so hauntingly, terribly beautiful.

I’m not sure how much longer I can hang on; I gave up all hope of being rescued at least two days ago, when I still had hands and feet.

He must be a surgeon; he hasn’t used any anesthesia, but he he has kept me alive and aware through each of the amputations. The sick bastard even made me watch as he turned my hands into a pair of white-nailed, pink gloves.

I think he wears them while he plays.

----------------------

© 2017 dustygrein

DING! "GaM3rKiLZTr!LZ said 'That’s good kid you suck! Jump off a bridge!'" Another donation notification goes off on the screen. "Whatever. He doesn't know what the fuck he is talking about. Asshole." Alex says to himself pretending not to be bothered by the comment. He turns to look at the second screen he set up to check his chats online. Not many viewers were watching him today. "Come on! I can do better!" he said angrily. He turned back to the gaming screen on the left. "Ok ok, get in the game you can do it." He began to lean closer to his screen. Quickly changing his emotions with every kill. "Fuck you!" “Cheater!” “Fucken NOOB!” he screamed at the top of his lungs. "YOU LITTLE PIECE OF SHIT!" he spits at his computer screen, slamming his fist on the desk shaking his webcam stand. DING! "COnSt@NkSN!pR said 'I love the toxicness! Teenage Drama Queen!'" Alex turns to the webcam. "Oh, yeah you shit?" and raises his middle finger to the cam lens "FUCK YOU TOO!" pissed off and angry he goes back to playing online. 

DING! "M0mZBllZ23 said 'AHAHAHA NOOB! Only like the rages. Shit Streamer.'" the robotic stream notification goes off again. Alex begins to play more aggressively, constantly yelling into his microphone calling other players names. "SHITHEAD!" “NOOB!” his neck veins begin showing with each word that came out of his mouth. Yet, no matter how angry he gets he can’t look away from his second screen, fixated over the comments. His eyes began to swell and turn red from the flashing lights of the screen, trying his hardest not to blink and miss his chat. Proving to his few fans watching online he is a pro streamer and gamer. He is willing to die for what he loves. He never wanted anything more then to just play games all day.  

Again, and again, he kept dying. Match after match he kept losing. "FUUUUUUUUCK!" He began to scream at his screen, throwing his chair with the momentum of him standing up. "ILL FUCKEN FIND YOU! YOU PIECE OF SHIT! STUPID MOTHER FUCKER! IM FUCKEN BETTER THAN YOU! YOU CHEATER!" DING! And before he can even hear what the notification said, he throws his keyboard to the ground, looking towards his second screen to shut down his stream. In a fit, he grabs his chair and throws it across the room, jumping into his bed and throwing the pillows over his face.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

Small little taps come from outside his door. "HONEY?" A fragile voice comes from the other side. "Honey? Everything ok?” The small voice asks again.

No response.

“How’s my favorite streamer doing?”

Silence.

"Well, if you're taking a break, I left a snack outside your door, in case you're hungry." Alex jumps straight out of bed "SHUT THE FUCK UP AND LEAVE ME ALONE!" he yells, throwing one of the pillows at the door.

THUMP! The door hits the frame, and the shadow disappears from under the door. 

Alex struggles to get out of his bed, he really only moves from his chair to bed and vice versa. He rolled to his side and pushes himself up with his arms. Scooting himself to the edge of the bed he gets up with some struggle. The floor creaks with every step he takes towards the door, he opens it slowly.

"Hello! Thought you might be hungry!" An old, white-haired lady said on the other side. "Fuck Jesus mom! I told you not when I'm working. This is my life and I have to be streaming at all times." he snatches the food from her hands. "But I mean... they pay you a dollar or two to yell or get angry. I don't think..." she hesitates to get the words "We need more than a couple dollars a week to pay the electricity and well..." she tilts her head up towards him almost as if she is looking up the side of a mountain. "And well Alex... you are Thir..."  

"MOM JUST SHUT UP! I TOLD YOU THE MORE I STREAM THE MORE THEY WILL PAY ME! JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP! YOU DON'T WORK ANYWAYS! YOU CAN'T WORK! AT LEAST ONE OF US IS DOING SOMETHING OR TRYING TOO! WE CAN'T ALL JUST LIVE OFF OUR SAVINGS LIKE YOU!" He got closer to her, shadowing her from the lights hanging above. "But..." she takes a step back trying to find her words. "MOM LET ME STREAM LET ME WORK!" he takes a step back, the house shook at the sudden slam of the door and wind flew past her. "But..." she stammers to get out as she turns to walk back down the stairs.

He turns around putting the plate of microwaved food on his desk. Looking at the greasy cheese ooze out of the side of the bread. His lips begin to water as he turns his computer back on. "Hot Pockets. Nothing will ever be better. Greatest food ever." He takes a bite, the grease falling down the side of his mouth. "MMMM" he licks his lips and laughs. "Ok time to get back to work" he struggles to bend down and pick up the keys that flew off the keyboard. His stomach getting in the way of him bending his knees, so he needs to find the right objects to leans against. He sets his keyboard back on his desk, sits down, and little out of breath but normal for him. He takes another bite of the food and more grease begins to cover his mouth. "Now time to login and set the camera again." he taps away at the keys, focusing the camera on himself.

DING! He turns to the second screen. Shocked he had to take a double take at what he was seeing. "What the hell."

DING! "Cr@zyKillah said 'Saw the video on YouTube. LOVED IT!" Alex's notifications are going crazy. "YouTube?" he thinks to himself. His heart begins to pound against the bones in his chest, his stomach begins to feel weightless and his blood feels ice cold. He starts sweating, his fingers moving faster than he can type, he struggles to type in his name. "Trending?" he clicks on the first video titled "Toxic Streamer Fails" There it was. About Forty-seven seconds into the video he sees it. Two quick clips of him spitting at the screen and flipping the camera off. "No NO NO!' he begins to freak out and scrolls to the comment section hoping no one noticed. "Nope, nothing yet of me" he says shaking, still scrolling hoping no one noticed. And there it was, the comment he feared to read.

"Wait... he wrote... '47 seconds in is me when I die'... uh...wait he likes it?" Alex says confused as he clicks on the more comments section. "This is what I need in life!" and "FUCK YEAH! TOXIC I LOVE IT!" Confused he continues to read nothing else except comments wanting to see more of him getting angry online. He turns to his second screen to see his progress tracker, a hundred new follows since the video went up. He smiles and thinks to himself it is finally happening. "Toxic... they want toxic." he closes YouTube and begins to get his stream ready. "Just a few new edits." he says as he moves the mouse around the screen. "Edit Profile.... update headline...hmmm" he leans his elbow against the desk. "How about... The epitome of toxicity." He says proudly as he types in his new headline. "Now let's begin." he says.

Within Hours his stream is blowing up with more viewers than normal. More eyes begin to watch him with every scream he started to yell. "Fuck! SHIT!" these words take on a new meaning to him. Knock KNOCK. "Honey.... How's work going? Need anything?" "SHUT THE FUCK UP AND GET OUT MOM LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!" DING! Another notification goes off "CukNok13 said 'Get that old lady out the stream! BITCH ruining the stream! Keep Raging!'" the computer goes off again. "MOM GO FUCKEN DIE! EVEN THE STREAM DOESN'T LIKE YOU!" he laughs as yells to the door, hoping his mother heard. The shadow under the door disappears again. "Stupid bitch." Alex says to the webcam.

Another notification goes off and Alex begins to get more excited. "UrMomzNutS69 said 'Hate old people get her out there! Throw your keyboard again!'" Alex turns to the webcam. "OH don't worry guys! I hate old people too!" he says to the camera. "...especially her, she doesn't do anything but stay inside."  Ding "ChickGamerRks23 says "Ironic lol"

"FUCKEN BITCH." Alex raises his middle finger and another notification pops up. "Yeah that's what you fucken stupid assholes like huh? Getting angry. Fine I'll show you assholes angry." Knock. "Honey Alex?" his mother calls again from the door. "Alex? Honey?" "WHAT DID I TELL YOU? DON'T BOTHER ME WHILE IM WORKING! YOURE SO FUCKEN STUPID!" he yells at his mother and the notification sounds begin to chime one after another. He thinks to himself. "Thats it let it all out now., show them toxic. Alex rushes to his door and swings it open. "YOU CAN ABSOLUTLEY BURN..." the words begin to escape his mouth, and his mother's eyes begin to flood in tears. She falls to the ground as he towers over her yelling words no some should ever say to his mother "You can be bleeding and..." she is unable to process the words her son is saying to her. She looks at him from the ground, but the eyes she looked at weren't her son's. They were red with black in the middle. Silence fell over her and the only sounds in the room were the chimes from the computer. Her foot slid out his door way, and he slamed the door shaking the house once more.

His mother, unable to see clearly, makes her way down the stairs. Tears flowing out from the side of her eyes, she grasps on to the rail to prevent her from falling down the stairs. She makes it to the last step and kneels to the ground, and with all her strength she crawls to the living room and struggles to lay on the couch. Her hands clutching at the pain within her chest from her heart. She curls up onto the edge of the couch. Starring at the coffee table just in front of her. A picture of Alex on his tenth birthday holding up a black and green controller, smiling and hugging his mother sat on top. She slowly shuts her eyes, trying to find peace in the madness of his screaming. Her hands clutching her heart the same way Alex was holding the controller in the picture, she feels the weights of her eye lids shut and hold the left-over tears inside.

Suddenly she wakes up to something brushing her hair. It's Alex. "Alex honey? Are you ok? Are you hungry my sweetheart?" She sees him kneeling beside her next to the couch. "It's ok mom, don't worry. I just wanted to tell you I love you." He is holding the picture from the table in his left hand and the controller in the other. "You kept these the whole time?" he looks at her, redness around his eyes and the veins almost covering them entirely. "I just... I just always knew this was the moment you fell in love with games... so every year after that whenever I bought you a new system you wanted, I kept that controller as a memory." Tears began to rush from her eyes like a river flowing down her cheeks. She raises her hand to hold her son's face. Her hand gets stopped by the wire from the controller.

"Honey... why is the..." the words slip away as her neck began to burn. He pulls controller closer to his body. The heat intensifies, scorching her neck, her skin shifting to dark shades of red. Her eyes start swelling as the vessels grow and begin to fill with blood. "This is my favorite controller." he mutters to himself starring at the controller, moving the joysticks with his thumbs. She reaches to her son, while the other hand begins to tear into her skin to get between the wire. He starts tapping the red B button on the controller. "Yeah! That's it! COME ON! ILL HELP YOU! IM TAPPING THE BUTTON!" he begins laughing as he taps the B button pulling the controller closer to his face. She begins to scratch her neck with both hands, scraping the flesh from the wire around her neck. Tearing her throat, the air from her lungs begins to wheeze out her neck. Alex stands up, and slowly pulls the controller till

Snap

the wire breaks his mother's neck. Her skin is torn apart from being squeeze and ripped from the wire.  

"Well, I mean I guess I didn't tap the button fast enough right mom?" Alex gets up, and puts the photo back on the table along with the controller. He leans over and kisses his mother on her forehead. "I have to go back to work now." He grabs the controller from the table and picks up his mother head from the couch. "Come on mom, we both can work now." He walks back to his room and sits at his chair. "Hmmmh... I know what I'll do." he grabs his mother's head and begins to set it on top of his screen. "Hm, this would work better." He grabs the lamp from the side of the table. "Yup this should do it." He places the head as if it were on a stake. "Actually, I like this idea a lot better." He fiddles around with the head a little more. "Yeah that will do." he turns to his second screen. "Oh, good people are already waiting for me to stream." he turns towards the camera that is now in his mother's mouth. "Alright we are gonna try something new." he raises the controller to the camera. "So, I found this... let's see if it works." DING! "SeriousGMZ11 said 'Same system I fell in love with gaming too! Memories!" notification goes off once more. Alex looks back to his mother's eyes. "Yeah... I remember that day, almost as if it was today. Let’s start the Stream.” Alex smiles and starts his game.

"Ugh Please! Pretty Please! Can we just stay here forever and not go back to work tomorrow!" Laurena asked Devon as she walks towards the front door. "I wish! Hmmm, what do you think Indie?" Devon turns to Indie, Indie who is already smiling, holding her pacifier. "See even Indie agrees" says Laurena. "Yeah, well she doesn't pay the bills, I'm telling you right now when she turns two, I'm bringing back child labor." replies Devon as he picks up Indie and cradles her in his arms. "MOM!" a faint yell comes from outside the house near the Jeep. "MOM!" once more, "AYE COMO CHINGAS! What now?" Laurena yells at their oldest child Derrick.

"The cars not open!"

"Ok well, wait for me to get there to unlock it."

"But Mom, it's HOT outside!"

"Ok well be patient so I can get th-"

Snap

Derrick pulls on the handle. "Derrick wait for me to get the keys I s-"

Again, Derrick pulls the handle, Smack

"DERRICK, I SAID WAIT!" Laurenas raises her voice at Derrick. "SMACK!" A third time the handle slams back into the door. "DERRICK!" Laurena rushes towards Derrick, pulling his arm away from the door and spanking him on his hand. Derrick tried pulling away from his mother. "Derrick stop! Don't misbehave! I told you to stop, you have to stop! If you don't listen, you get spanked." Derrick looked at his mom turned away and tried pulling once more. Laurena turns Derrick and spanks him once more with a little more force to get his attention. "Derrick! I said stop misbehaving I don't want to hit you!" Derrick turns to his mom; angry he stares at her. "You have to listen Derrick. you can't be doing things when I tell you no."

"HMPH." Derrick sighs with resistance. "You have to start listening to me, ok? I love you and I don't want to hit you. You have to wait mijo before trying to open the door when its locked, that's how you break it ok?"

"Fine, it's just hot outside don't know why you take forever."

"We have things to do too Derrick. We have to make sure everything is clean before we leave, you know that already."

"Fine."

Laurena opens the door to let Derrick inside the back seat. Devon walks out with indie in his left arm and the bag of snacks for the road. "Ok ok, are we all ready to go?" he looks towards Laurena. "Yeah, we should be good! Phones are plugged in, you have the snacks, all bags should be in the back, seems fine to me."

"Ok good don't feel like making a U-Turn midway thru the drive." Laurena walks to the passenger side and sits in the car, Devon fasten indie in the back seat next to Derrick. "I'm going to need you to watch Indie ok Derrick?"

"Ok, but I don't want to touch her poop."

"Don't worry that's your moms' job" Devon laughs as he looks towards Laurena.

"Yeah, says your dad now till he gets in the mood and ass is the only thing he eats" Laurena whispers under her breathe. "What did you say Babe?" says Devon.

"OH, nothing don't worry about it"

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

"Excuse me what did YOU say?" Laurena replies back with lightning quick speed, "OH nothing babe I love you is all" Devon replies back with a laugh. Devon closes the back-side door and walks towards the driver's side, reaches into the car, and begins to turn the ignition, the engine begins to start then before the car can turn, Devon stops twisting the key.

"I have to go to the restroom really quick don't start it I'll be back" Devon rushes back inside leaving the car's battery on. "OH yes Air." says Laurena.

"You don't have to pee do you Derrick?"

"No, I'm fine"

"OOOOKKKAAAYYYYY" says Laurena knowing that Derrick is still angry and that's the reason he is saying no.

"Well stay in here with your sister, ok? Ima go inside really quick to use the restroom too."

"1 or 2?"

"Just stay in here with your sister little trouble maker." Laurena laughs as she walks back towards the cabin. "Put on something good, ok?"

"OK!" Derrick replies getting out of his seat and climbing to the front to get his mom's phone to play music.

Laurena walks back through the front door "Babe are you going one or two?"

"I'm going..." he pauses "Just give me like 2 minutes I promise."

"Ok well hurry the kids are in the car and I have to pee, I want to sleep the rest of the way." she yells thru the door for Devon to hear. "Ok Ok just let me take care of this real quick."

"Ok hurry." Laurena says to Devon as she shakes the handle. "STOP!" says Devon. "You better leave me alone! You don't like when I do it to you don't do it to me!" Devon laughs. Laurena shakes the knob one more time. "SEE! That is exactly where he learns it from! Monkey see, Monkey Do!"

"OH, whatever hurry up Devon pinch it or twist it let's go! I have to pee!" Laurena tells Devon with a sterner tone. "Fine I'm almost done! Let me just wipe!"

"Ok hurry." replies Laurena while moving side to side to distract her from the thought of peeing.

"MOM!" Once again Derrick yells from the car. "What Derrick?"

"There's a rabbit in the car!" Derrick yells to his mom little more scared. "MOM THERES A RABBIT IN THE CAR!"

"What do you mean there's a rabbit in the car?" Laurena curious to see if Derrick is acting up again makes her way to the car. The toilet flushes and sink starts flowing.

"What did you say Derrick?" Devon opens the restroom door "I Thought you had to-"

"OH MY GOD DERRICK STAY IN THE CAR!" Yells Laurena. "What's going on?" asks Devon

"LOCK THE DOORS! DONT OPEN THEM DO YOU HEAR ME?" Laurena slams the front door and locks the bolt, rushing up the stairs towards second story room. Devon completely stuck in confusion, "Babe what's wrong? What are you doing?" Laurena rushes past him and turns the corner of the stairs, Devon chases after her out of breath, "Why are you on the balcony?"

Devon walks up to the balcony and notices Laurena kneeling on the floor staring over the ledge, tears pouring down her face, hands gripping the wooden edge. "The rabbit." she says, almost inaudible. "Wolves." Devon slowly walks over to the ledge of the balcony. Wolves began to surround the Jeep; the rabbit had attracted them for a hunt. "He must have... he must have jumped in when I got out." says Laurena. Devon in complete shock stays silent as he is helpless to run out to his children.

"Our ... kids." he stammers. Laurena jumps up and walks towards Devon placing her hands gently on his face "They are safe, ok? Devon look at me they are safe as long as they stay inside the car, ok?" Devon stammers thinking of what words to use to put into words the fear he was overcome by. Devon reaches for his front pocket and fumbles around, "Where... where is my phone..."

The sudden realization fell upon them both. They had left everything in the car with the children. "OMG, Derrick! Everything is with Indie and Derrick inside the car!" Devon rushes inside the room grabbing anything he can along the way to scare off the wolves. Blood rushing through their veins, the parents began to think of anything they can to distract the wolves from the children.

"WHAAA!" Indie begins to cry among the ensuing chaos. The howls and scratching getting louder, the parents frantically running across the balcony screaming. "INDIE!" Laurena screams. Panic starts taking over Laurena.

"Stop Indie!" comes from the car "Stop crying Indie or else."

Devon looks towards the car barely able to make out what's going on inside with the glare from the falling sun. "Derrick?!" calls Laurena "I said stop crying Indie you have to listen to me." Devon still trying to avoid the glare can barely make anything out beside shadows. "Derrick what's going on?"

"It's ok I'm just trying to get Indie to listen and stop crying."

Derrick turns to Indie inside the car, sweating and flustered both red in the face, and raises his hand "SMACK" Derrick slaps Indie on her arm. "I said stop Indie, stop crying or else! You have to listen to me." Indie Cries louder from the slap from Derrick. "Derrick STOP!" Yells Devon. "Stop Derrick don't do that!" "But she has to listen to me dad!" Laurena's motherly instincts start to become overwhelming "JUST LEAVE MY CHILDREN ALONE!" Laurena is yelling voice hoarse veins pulsating out of her temples. "Derrick!" yells Devon "Derrick! Put my jacket over your sister!"

"A jacket dad?'

"Yes, a blanket! Anything! Anything you can find!" Devon rushing back towards Laurena "It's ok sweetheart think! We have to think! Calm Down" Devon pulls Laurena towards him breaking out her trance. "Water Anything!" Devon says to Laurena "Anything heavy quick!"

Laurena and Devon rush inside looking around for anything they can use to scare the wolves. "STOP CRYING INDIE!" Yells Derrick from the car, as he looks around for another jacket or blanket to put over his sister. "Derrick! Let her be! We are coming!"

Derrick still searching for more and more things to toss over Indie to get her to stop crying. Pulling every piece of clothing he can find in the bags. Smothering her with anything he can find. Indie frantically trying desperately to take everything off her so she can gasp for air. "It's ok guys!" derrick yells from the car. "She isnt crying as much anymore."

Both parents too busy rushing from room to balcony and back, bringing chairs, pots, drawers, anything they can throw. One after another furniture flies over the edge. "It's OK GUYS!" Derrick says again. "She isnt crying anymore."

"We are coming derrick!" A chair lands on top the animals, another hit by bottles. The Wolves trying desperately one last time to get inside, trying to find any way to get their prey. At last, with one last look at the parents on the balcony the wolves ran off into the bushes. "Quickly! Hurry before they come back!"

Devon and Laurena rush back down the stairs making their way to the front door. Jumping over the broken mess and glass, they ran to the car doors and pry them open. "Please tell me you guys are ok!" Laurena looks at Derrick. "I told you it's fine you guys! The blankets and jackets worked!"

Devon turns towards a pile of clothes on the seat. "Derrick what do you mean it worked?" Devon shaking with every muscle in his body starts taking every piece of clothing one by one. "Yeah! Dad said put a jacket or blanket over Indie when she is crying to get her to stop so that's what I did."

Laurena's body went cold, her arms weightless, every breathe of air she takes feel as cold as ice. "Oh....m...m...my....g... god..." Indies little two fingers began to stick out of the pile of clothing, still and not moving.

The rabbit jumps from the back and out the door with his chance to escape. A twig breaks in the bushes behind the jeep. A shiver runs down Laurena's spine. "It's ok mommy the bunny is gone."