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Send to Friend"Just what the sign outside says," Cliff replied, matter-of-factly, successfully masking his growing frustration. "No vacancy."
"You don't understand--I need a room and I need it now!"
This time he felt droplets of her spittle seep between his lips. "Not so close, please."
"Shut up and get me a fucking room now!"
Cliff recoiled backward a few steps, his arms quivering as he wiped the woman's saliva from his face, shuttering in revulsion as his eyes focused on what looked to be cold sores clustering around her lips, marring an otherwise beautiful face. Maybe they're just zits, he tried to tell himself, feeling queasy.
"I'm sorry, but there's nothin' I can do. All our rooms're full and you don't have a reservation," he explained, trying not to let his frustration of having to deal with this insanely spoiled bitch get the best of him.
"So throw out one of the other guests."
"I can't do that."
"What do you mean you can't do that? Just throw out one of the other guests and let me have their room. Problem solved."
It took all of Cliff's willpower not to burst out laughing at that suggestion. And what was funniest of all was that she had been completely serious.
The woman sulked and sighed, rolling her eyes as she shook her head in contempt. "Can't get good service anywhere these days," she muttered sullenly, wearing a scowl over her face. Cliff thought she was going to start screaming again. He rested his hand over the phone, ready to call for security if the psycho-bitch continued to cause a scene. "Well, what can I expect from an incompetent nigger like you anyway? Bunch of stupid apes."
Frustration and mild amusement gave way to boiling anger. Cliff balled his hands into tightly clenched fists as sweat ran down his throbbing temples. Now more than ever he wanted to slap this ignorant, bigoted cunt, but couldn't. Surely a gentleman must never hit a lady, and besides, it would cost him his job. Struggling to retain his fleeting composure, he said, biting his lip: "Look, ma'am, the racism I don't need."
"I don't give a shit what you need!" she barked back. "I'm the customer, so it's about what I need, and right now I need a room!"
"Look, just calm down, okay?"
"Why don't you check your fancy-shmancy computer for a room?"
"Sure, why not?" Cliff shrugged, and thought: Maybe if she sees there aren't any available rooms, she'll go way.
But the database had found a room that was still available after all.
Room 265.
Cliff shuddered as he flinched from the computer screen, trembling. Room 265. The term echoed through his mind. Many motels had a room with a history, a room said to be haunted. For this one, Room 265 was that room, the one room that sent chills up the spines of everyone who had ever worked here, past and present, and the one room that no one wanted to rent out. It was in this room that on August 17, 1975 a schizophrenic man completely broke down and threw himself through the window and fell three stories to his death. Since that night, horrible things had been happening to guests who stayed in Room 265. Individuals with no known history of mental illness or emotional instability had been somehow driven to suicide, and their reasons remained incomprehensible. Not all who stayed in that room wound up dead; some escaped unscathed, while others complained of horrible nightmares. Still, the correlation between that room and the horrors that took place was strong enough to warrant the hotel's general refusal to have that room occupied by anyone. And tonight was the thirty-year anniversary of the schizophrenic man's suicide. Cliff knew--just idly passing the room this morning--that the evil lurking within Room 265 had something big planned to commemorate the occasion.
"So what did you find?" the woman asked impatiently.
"There is a room available after all," Cliff said hesitantly, "but there's something not right about it."
"You think it's haunted?"
Cliff nodded.
"I don't believe in that bullshit."
I just gotta warn you...that room...it--"
"Spare me the ghost stories. Just give me the room."
"Very well," Cliff surrendered reluctantly.
At least it would get the vapid cunt off his back.
Thirty-four-year-old Samantha Napier wasn't used people refusing her desires and she would do whatever she needed, become as much of a nasty bitch as required, to attain her goals. Although she was getting older, she still retained her beauty, despite the occasional outbreak of cold sores that poxed her face. Yet while nature had been kind to her, she was not kind at all to anyone and found ruthless aggression far more gratifying than seduction. Her distaste for men probably helped in that regard, though she was no easier on women. Perhaps she couldn't always get what she wanted, but she'd at least put up a fight. To hell with choosing her battles. She won at least most of the time, and she had gotten this room, after all.
Haunted my ass, she thought scoffing and snickering. Hard to believe anyone in 2005 actually still believes in that shit. I should report him to management as well, and let them know what kind of a nut job they got working for them. She shook her head and chuckled as she rolled her eyes in contempt.
Perhaps this small room hadn't been anything to write home about, but it would do for the night. She had to fight to get it, so might as well enjoy it the best she could and at least try to get comfy, as difficult as it might be on this hard mattress. It was certainly better than sleeping in her sweltering car.
She lit a cigarette, as much in spite of the NO SMOKING sign resting by the TV as well as her need for a smoke. What did she care if it was now illegal in this state to smoke in a public building, or if someone else got sick from her second-hand smoke anyway? Not her problem. She dragged deeply from the cigarette, sighing happily, then exhaled billows of bluish gray smoke from her nose and lips as she lay back, resting her head on the pillow.
She closed her eyes as she snubbed her cigarette out and tossed it aside nonchalantly to the floor, as she slowly dozed off...
She opened her eyes quickly in response to the throbbing in her bladder and shot up into a sitting position, squeezing her legs together as she applied direct pressure to her crotch. How long she had been in dreamless slumber, she couldn't say. All she knew at this moment was that she suddenly had to pee really badly. She leapt off the bed, feeling her bare feet press down upon the plush beige carpet as she yawned and hurried to the bathroom.
As Samantha entered the bathroom and flipped the light switch on, the sudden onrush of oppressively sudden light seared her eyes, causing her to squint as she flinched away momentarily, throwing her forearm across her eyes. She gasped, wincing in pain as she stood there, her bladder continuing to throb as her eyes burned like blazing balls of light in their sockets. She took a step forward as the agonizing burning within her eyes began to subside, and the light seemed less punishing.
Samantha recoiled back once more as she glimpsed in the mirror in front of her, staggering a few steps and almost falling back out of the bathroom altogether. She bit her lip to stifle a scream, for what looked back at her was not her reflection, but that of a demon. The thing was the same size as Samantha, with the same mass, yet the demon-reflection's flesh was a pasty white hue, cracking and peeling away at the folds. Her lips were not ruby red or sumptuous, but black, charred, almost brittle like coal. Horns jutted from her temples like crooked copper spears, and her eyes were blazing red spheres of light, illuminating the flies that swarmed around her.
But there were hints given that she was looking at her own reflection, and not some picture of a demon. Her movements, the twitching of her eyes and mouth, as well as her trembling, were all in sync with that of the beast staring back at her. Their eyes met, both equally aghast at what they lay witness to. The hair was the same caramel shade, long, flowing almost fluidly along the back of beast and human alike.
And of course there were the cold sores planted within the same place on the demonic reflection as on Samantha herself, taunting her, reminding her of her shame, of what her intensifying libido had brought her. On the face of the demonic reflection, however, the cold sores were much more prominent, increasing in size, pulsating, as though they would rupture any second. A thin layer of pus leaked from these cold sores, like the pre-ejaculatory fluid secreting from a fully erect penis.
Fear and self-consciousness turned to disgust as Samantha immediately looked away, thrusting her head sharply to the side. The sudden movements made her almost lose her footing, and she stumbled backward, her back arching slightly. She threw out her hand, which clasped upon the surface of the bureau, where the TV and DVD player rested, and held herself on the wooden surface temporarily, her body trembling as her bladder lurched with an aching throb.
Samantha lifted her head and slowly crept into the bathroom once more, her eyes gazing cautiously toward the mirror. The demonic reflection was gone now, and what looked back at her had been her own face, her eyes hazel once more instead of blazing red, her face had regained its color and beauty, and the flies were gone.
Still trembling, Samantha turned to her right, lowered her pants, and slowly seated herself on the toilet, feeling a rush of comfort seize her as her bladder voided itself and the urine sprayed loudly against the porcelain and toilet water. She slowly turned her head upward, squeezing her eyes shut, gripped with an almost sensuous pleasure as her bladder finally blissfully emptied.
As the last few drips of urine fell, she felt a sudden wetness in her sex and a new, sexual pleasure gripped her, eliciting a soft moan as her entire body tingled. Her breathing thickened as she grew excited, her clit throbbing blissfully as her nipples hardened. She moaned again, louder this time, as she gripped the marble surface of the sink next to her and squirmed.
As always when she was suddenly aroused like this, the burden of shame overcame her, struggling for control with the sensation of sexual arousal, as the feeling of filthiness had crept over her skin, like millions of tiny insect legs. And as always, by the time the shame crept upon her, it was too late to fight off against the lust, try as she always had to feel nothing, to experience a sense of utter revulsion and horror rather than that of shameful sexual excitement.
And as she grew older, her sexuality had become more and more prominent. As a teenager, through her early twenties, sex had always been a non-issue for her, not something she ever really thought much about or was greatly interested in, and the times she did feel arousal, it was always mild, tame, and controllable. She could ease the blissful tension through masturbation, orgasm again and again until the thirst was quenched. It wasn't until around twenty-five that it became unbearable. She found men sexually alluring, yet emotionally, had always held a strong distaste for them. It was this cognitive dissonance, she supposed, that had caused her shame for her own sexuality.
What was sex, but something that seemed beautiful, magical, like drugs, giving you a high, the exquisite sensation of hands cupped to her breasts as a man rode on top of her, thrusting his turgid penis into her, forcing a myriad of blissful sensations during an onrush of heated passion. Yet it was toxic at the same time, bringing about pregnancy and disease, temptation, leading to disaster, sometimes irresistible, especially when she was drunk and in public, feeling attraction to men, whom she would under normal circumstances look upon with contempt, as weak-minded, testosterone-driven, beastly fools. When the deed was done she was sickened by what had transpired, yet during the process she'd been caught in a heavenly trance, demanding even more of these wretchedly blissful sensations. Being the nasty bitch had always worked to her advantage at getting what she wanted just as much as sex. And what were the outcomes of her sexuality, aside from three abortions in her lifetime, as well as having oral herpes? She supposed she should feel lucky, for at least she hadn't been HIV-positive. However, her bout with gonorrhea a few years back had certainly been no fun at all.
And now, she felt caught up by the blissful yet toxic appeal of sexuality yet again. A sudden onrush of sensations overwhelmed her, stimulating every nerve within her vagina, her clit now throbbing as her entire body vibrated. Mentally and emotionally, she wanted to get up and leave; a feeling of revulsion would have pleased her more, and she tried to imagine her mother stimulating her with a strap-on, for at least the incest might somehow curve her sexual yearnings. But it did nothing, for her enjoyment only grew with each thrust. For it was not just arousal she felt, but something solid pushing its way into her. Samantha felt raped and violated by her own body. She wanted it to stop, yet at the same time an abrupt end would seem like the worst thing that could happen right now.
Something, like a cock inside me, she thought wildly.
Samantha gazed down, and indeed it was a six-inch fully erect penis pumping in and out of her vagina. It had been no dildo. It was real. A severed penis, complete with scrotum and testicles. Although it had been detached from the rest of the body, it worked just as any man's penis would, stabbing fiercely into her vagina, pumping harder and faster with each thrust.
Samantha shrieked shrilly as she sprang to her feet, not bothering to pull up her pants, but instead intending to bolt straight out of the bathroom, and perhaps out of this motel altogether. That son of a bitch was right, she thought, frightened and appalled by what she had just witnessed. This place really is haunted!
Samantha began to ran, but her head thrust forward as the pants had tightened around her ankles, causing her to topple forward with another cry. Her left knee slammed hard against the tile bathroom floor, sending bolts of pain coursing all the way up her leg as the knee ached smartly from the impact. During her fall, she had thrown her right hand out and latched tightly against the wash basin of the sink as her head rocked forward. She whimpered; both from revulsion as from fear, as her entire body trembled. The pants loosened their grip from her right ankle. Her body jolted, breaking out in gooseflesh, as she inadvertently shook her left ankle free as well before kicking away her jeans frantically, as though they might still hold her back and somehow keep her restrained. Tears streamed down her face as she let out another high-pitched shriek, breathing heavily. Her clitoris still throbbed, wanting more, still heavily aroused, as her heart thrashed against her chest, yet terror was the dominating force that controlled her now. Whereas before she couldn't bring herself leave the situation, now, she couldn't be gone fast enough. Unmindful of the fact that she was now naked from the waist down, she crawled a few steps, hurriedly toward the door, thankful that this was such a small bathroom.
Samantha clutched desperately to the doorknob, turning it frantically, but it wouldn't budge. It only jiggled slightly. It's locked! How the fuck can it be locked from the inside? She hammered her fists against the door, screaming and crying. The door shook from its hinges, but wouldn't budge.
"Oh God, please, someone help me!"
Samantha rammed her shoulder against the door, and then threw herself against the door again. The noise she made was like thunder booming close by.
"Oh God, shit, please, somebody--"
As she hammered her fist against the door once more, squeezing her teary eyes shut, her legs trembled, her knees finally buckling before becoming unhinged. Her face and forearms slid along the vertical surface of the wooden door as she slowly fell and lay, her legs splayed outward, her shoulder now propped firmly against the door as she cried hysterically and her entire body shook violently.
The toilet water rippled, and then bubbled violently, like boiling water, spilling over to the ground below.
The severed penis shot out of the toilet bowl, coming at Samantha like a bullet before plunging deep into her vagina. Once more, waves of unrelenting pleasure burst through her entire body, mingled with utter terror and bewilderment over the entire situation. "P-pul-hease...s-st-stop," Samantha pleaded, stammering fearfully as she moaned. A very small part of her hoped that the assailant would ignore her pleas.
The penis rose from her vagina one last time and hovered over her body for a few seconds. Samantha could hear a series of harsh grunts and moans echoing from all over the room. The penis throbbed and pulsated, before finally ejaculating. Hot semen splashed against Samantha's stomach, filling her navel as it dripped downward and finally seeped into her violated cunt.
The penis hovered in the air for another second, as it went flaccid, before finally falling to the ground, completely motionless, now nothing more than a slab of soft flesh. Even in its docile and apparently harmless state, Samantha still couldn't bring herself to touch the wretched thing, not after all that had happened.
Fresh tears blurred her field of vision as she lay on the floor, trembling, her heart still hammering away against her chest. She wanted to scream, but her breath had been robbed, leaving her broken, violated, and sobbing upon the cold bathroom floor.
Samantha's eyes fluttered open and she found herself lying once more on the bed, beneath the blankets. She trembled and felt a cooling dampness spreading over the lower half of her body, yet felt an increasing sense of relief all the same. Was it all a dream? Of course it was. Normally Samantha's dreams had been mundane, for neither her imagination nor her subconscious seemed capable of fabricating something so incredible, so extreme. The very thought of such images being fabricated within her own mind disturbed her. Yet it must have been a dream, for surely such things as a penis darting out of a toilet and raping her couldn't actually happen.
So much for this place being haunted, Samantha thought, breathing a sigh of relief.
She threw the blanket aside and found that her pants and underwear had been missing; she was naked from the waist down. Worse was that she now noticed the bed sheets, as well as her legs were drenched in piss. It seemed impossible, for she hadn't wet the bed since she was three years old, yet she had done so now. She had actually taken off her pants and pissed on the bed; all in her sleep, and was noticing it just now. How could that even be possible, she wondered?
For that matter, where the hell were her pants?
Samantha rose into a sitting position at the side of the bed, feeling a sense of revulsion for what she had just done. Not that she would have pitied the poor schmuck who had to clean this up the next morning, but the night still appeared young, judging from the darkness within the room, so she still had several more hours in which she was supposed to sleep in that bed.
Guess I'd better get cleaned up, she thought, sighing, and wondered if the bathroom would look anything like she had dreamed it would.
As she slowly rose to her feet, Samantha noticed that her stomach had distended somehow; she had gained weight since coming here. A foreign weight inside her, as if she were--
No, no fucking way, that's impossible!
She banished the ugly thought from her mind, chuckling softly at the absurdity of such an idea.
Samantha closed her hand around the doorknob of the bathroom door, turned it, and quickly stepped inside the bathroom.
Except it wasn't the bathroom she had stepped into, but the same identical room she had been in before stepping through the doorway. She gazed ahead in disbelief, looking at each of the four white walls, the beige carpeting, the bureau with the twenty-inch TV and DVD player to her right, as well as the bed and nightstand to her left. Across the room was the radiator, and above that were the two windows that gave her a reasonable view of the crescent moon in the starry night sky above.
What the fuck is going on here? Samantha wondered incredulously.
She went through the door into the bathroom again.
And once more, instead of going into the bathroom, Samantha found herself in exactly the same room she had been in before.
Samantha held the bathroom door open a crack, just enough to allow her eyes to peer beyond the doorway, to see what was inside. Indeed it had been a bathroom, identical to the one in her dream. The walls were a sterile white, like that of a hospital room, and to the left of the door had been the shower stall, as the toilet remained to her right. And across from the door, just a few inches away, was the sink, along with the bathroom mirror, which reflected Samantha's puzzled eyes, clouded by murky night shadows.
She stepped through the door a third time.
And a third time, instead of the bathroom, she found herself back in the main quarters of the hotel room.
I'm dreaming, Samantha concluded.
If indeed this had been a dream, as Samantha was now sure, then it was a lucid dream, for she was aware that she was dreaming, and therefore could take control of what happened in the dream, something she had always wanted to do. For now in the dream, she could perhaps take control of her own cult, a legion of followers willing to lay down their life for her cause, at her slightest whim. Manipulation and intimidation were her specialties in life, and had gotten her far, yet they paled in comparison to the rush of power that could come only from attaining complete control over another human being. She would be elevated to the status of a goddess, being not only able to order someone around and rely on them to comply with her demands, but to have complete control over their thoughts, their emotions, and their very soul. In this dream, she could control legions of mindless drones whose sole purpose was to do her bidding. Queen Napier. Or perhaps Empress Napier. Both had a beautiful ring to it.
Across the room, the windows began to emanate a bright white glow, whereas the windows themselves were pitch black. It was almost like a solar eclipse, only with four corners instead of the standard ellipse. Samantha hurried toward the windows. The solar white glare from the windows dimmed as she grew closer, until the light had extinguished altogether as she rested her hands upon the sill and peered through the windowpane.
There was no four-lane road below, nor any grass or parking lot, as there had been previously. The darkness of night still prevailed, yet judging from the view she was no longer on Earth, but instead was now looking out into the cosmic black void of space. The very building itself was now a spacecraft, coasting across the universe. Stars flashed and twinkled all around, some farther than others, and from a distance, she had even caught glimpse of a small solar system, just beyond an asteroid belt.
Samantha placed a trembling hand over the windowpane, and felt sudden heat filling her body as a blinding white light engulfed the entire room. Her body jolted as her heart raced, yet her piercing cries of terror were silenced by the deafening roar and hiss of expanding light. Through the all-encompassing whiteness, her billowing hair looked like the scribbled lines of a child's doodle, and her flailing arms were elongated black silhouettes. Sharp tremors rocked the ground (which was no longer visible) and her body convulsed; her back arching painfully as she flung her head back sharply.
First she was plummeting down a bottomless pit.
Then she was floating in a thickening fog, feeling lightheaded, her body disconnected.
Samantha's eyes shot open.
And immediately upon awakening, she found that this time she was not nice and safe in her motel bed, but instead seemed to be on another world altogether. Her aching head rested not on a soft pillow, but instead upon a hard, jagged black stone while her body lay on peach-colored soil that contained a few patches of yellow grass. No longer was she in darkness, for daylight was upon this strange planet, and the sun shone brightly within the blood-red sky.
Samantha rose slowly to her feet, her temples throbbing as her joints ached painfully. She was still naked from the waist down, but at least the urine over her vagina and legs had finally dried up. A cool breeze swept by, making her shiver, as she slowly walked, investigating her current terrain. She wondered briefly: if indeed she had been in an alien environment, wouldn't the air be toxic to her?
I'm probably still dreaming, she figured, sighing. God, I wish I could wake up right about now. I'm so sick of this bullshit!
Up ahead, by the cliff, were two ebony palm trees, one on each end, each one standing at roughly the same height, with sallow, crumpled leaves that bent lopsided along the top of the trunk. Samantha gazed along the red horizon beyond the cliff, peering down at the valley below, which contained a few orange bushes, as well as a thicker, more prosperous looking lawn (though it was still yellow), perplexed by her surroundings as the grass she stepped on tickled the soles of her feet and between her toes.
Where the fucking hell am I?
She turned around again, and what had been standing behind her before, now standing before her about twenty feet away, was what appeared to be Samantha's twin or clone. The clone had been completely identical to Samantha's appearance, except she had been completely naked. Her nipples hardened as her hair danced in the cooling breeze.
"What's going on?" Samantha asked her clone, but received no reply. The clone merely blinked and her eyes remained in a hazy fog. "Please, tell me? Am I dreaming? What's happening to me?" She looked once more at the stomach of the clone, which was still thin, as Samantha's had been before entering the motel room, yet Samantha had gained weight, now appearing almost to be eight or nine months pregnant. "No way!" she shouted vehemently. "There's no way I can be pregnant!"
The clone opened her mouth, yawning, and her teeth were not human teeth at all, but elongated fangs, like knives sharp enough to cleave flesh while crushing the bones of her prey. Her hazel eyes emitted a red glow, and were now no longer eyes at all, but two glaring crimson orbs rotating in her sockets. Her flesh whitened, became so pale that you could see the veins and arteries radiating through the flesh, like lines on a road map, as her lips blackened, like charred flesh. Sharp copper lances protruded from her temples, jutting upward, complimented by the serpent's tongue that now poked through her mouth, slobbering noxious yellow froth over her chin. The cold sores swelled until they ruptured, and Samantha could feel tiny droplets of lukewarm pus sprinkle her toes. Flies swarmed around this abomination; following her every move, clinging to the olive mist that diffused around her body as she farted softly. This abominable doppelganger approached Samantha, who recoiled both in fear and revulsion for what now lay before her.
"Keep away from me!" she cried shrilly, rapidly backing away, her arms flailing madly in a warding off gesture as her feet, seemingly moving of their own accord, carried her off the side of the cliff. Samantha had time to let out a final cry of terror as she squeezed her eyes shut and plunged rapidly to the bottom.
Samantha opened her eyes this time to the cosmic darkness of space, as her now fully nude body hurled, curled in a fetal ball, across the universe, past the collective white mass of stars known as the milky way. Chilling winds swept past her, making her shiver as gooseflesh broke over her skin, but she remained otherwise unaffected by the harsh vacuum of space.
"Samantha Napier!" a voice called, echoing from every direction. As it spoke, green light blinked on and off amid the cosmos.
Samantha lowered her right leg and felt the sole of her foot scrape against a gravel surface. Sharp pebbles cut into her flesh. Then both feet grazed the surface, and her ass as well, burning as the jagged pebbles shredded her flesh, drawing hot blood that oozed out of each wound. Samantha now found herself laying on her back over the coarse gray surface, staring with a puzzled gaze up at the twinkling stars above the dark void, as a supernova blossomed up ahead.
"I must be dreaming, Samantha whispered, as if repeating a mantra. "I must be dreaming. I must be! But my dreams are never this interesting."
Once more, green light bloomed and extinguished in every direction, flipping on and off like a light switch, in conjunction with the speaker's words: "No, you're not dreaming, but you're not awake either."
"Then where am I?" she gasped and whimpered.
"You are caught in a reality slip, sucked into the vortex of my delusions, traveling to various planes of reality as you experience the delusions that drove me to suicide thirty years ago."
Samantha blinked, and while she wasn't whisked away back into her room (she began to doubt dismally that she ever could return), what she saw now was an outline of that room and everything in it. It was like looking at a three-dimensional blueprint depicting the geometry of each of the four walls, windows, doors, and all the furniture inside. A life-sized prototype complete with every nook and cranny etched as white lines into a smooth black surface.
By the lines that conveyed the window stood not a man but a six-foot tall stick figure with a faceless translucent circle for a head. The stick figure stood motionless, gazing blankly toward whatever lay beyond the window before taking a step back. For another second, the stick figure stood still, hesitating, perhaps reluctant, before it charged full force toward the window. Spiraling cracks radiated along the pane as the stick figure's shoulder crashed against the windowpane. Glass shattered like a thunderclap as the stick figure's head broke through. Its body flipped over the windowsill, legs thrashing and flailing in the air, before the figure fell through entirely, its feet finally sinking below the windowsill, disappearing outside. As the stick figure plunged three stories to its death, yellow and green spores filled the room and the black blueprint walls gradually faded, first turning charcoal gray, and then whitened altogether until it completely camouflaged the lines representing the geometry of the room.
"My sickness didn't die with me," the voice said. It was no longer a distant echo, but seemed to come now from close by. An invisible companion standing two-feet away. "It stayed, infected many unfortunate enough to sleep here.
"Why...why are you doing this?" Samantha whimpered and sobbed.
"I'd ask the same of you, Samantha: Why?
"Why did you treat your man so poorly when you were married? He only wanted to make you happy, and you drove him into poverty, while threatening to cut his penis off if he didn't give you exactly what you wanted when you wanted it. You screamed and harassed and verbally assaulted him, until in the end he became merely a shell of the man he had once been before meeting you. The only reason you couldn't milk him for what little he was worth like you wanted to during the divorce was because of the grounds for the divorce: your habitual adultery. For someone who finds sex so abhorrent, you still can't keep your legs closed tight enough, can you?
"Why are you so quick to stab your friends in the back? How many have you betrayed in all your years, been willing to cause the greatest suffering on their part for even the smallest benefit to you? Can you even remember them all?
"Why did you take advantage of your mother's love, making her life so miserable with your antics that when you turned eighteen, she felt nothing but utter relief when you finally left the nest? How much of a heartless, insane bitch do you have to be for even your own mother to not want anything to do with you?"
Samantha stood speechless, her mouth dropped, jaw quivering.
"When you hurt someone, it's always justified; you did the right thing. But if someone harms you, it's an atrocity, a travesty. You can only stand horrified and ask: 'Why...why are you doing this?'
"I only wish your accusations had merit. At least then I'd be in control. Alas, I am a pawn in this twisted game, a prisoner here just as you. My only hope of escape is if this whole motel burns to the ground.
"This room presents symbolic reality. I guess some people didn't like what they saw. I know I didn't when the sickness was contained inside me."
Samantha held both arms before her.
A line had been drawn over the inner forearm of her left arm, from the elbow all the way up to the wrist. From where the line was drawn, the skin peeled back, revealing not blood, muscle, or bone, but an empty, abysmal blackness. A dark void beneath her skin.
Maggots burrowed deep into her right arm as flies droned, swarming around the gangrenous limb. The fetid stench of decomposition was sickening and nausea gripped tightly to Samantha's gut and scaled the back of her throat. Rings of mold circled her wrists as her putrid flesh was now turning gray, eroding, decaying, blackening as pus bubbled forth from the folds. She cried out in terror as she recoiled, cringing in disgust at what she saw. She sobbed, retching, as tears spilled forth abundantly.
"What's the matter, dear, don't like what you see?"
Samantha uttered a hoarse, croaking sound, gagging and groaning, unable to speak. With a nauseated, frightened sob, she squeezed her teary eyes tightly shut, feeling the warm moister of her tears running down her cheeks, tasting their saltiness as they seeped through her lips. She opened her eyes slightly, her eyelids two thin slits as prisms of light reflected across her field of vision, and blinked while uttering another hoarse croak, sniveling.
When she opened her eyes again, Samantha found herself lying inside a murky cave lit up by a spherical phosphorescent gelatinous mass clinging like a pouch from the ceiling, which cast a peach glow over her surroundings. The soil she lay upon was hard as rock and contained tiny, jagged crevices all along the surface that dug into her naked back that, while not exactly painful, still caused an awkward discomfort. Slowly, Samantha rose into a sitting position, groaning and wincing from the strain it put on her aching spine. As she sat, her palms pressed firmly to the ground as was her buttocks, sharp tremors wracked her forearms and the small of her back, causing her entire body to quiver. Breathing heavily, deeply inhaling the scent of soil that clung to the air, she gasped and coughed softly as he looked ahead. A few hundred yards away was a river of shimmering green fluids, emptying the strange liquid into whatever lay further down beyond the vanishing point of this endless cavern.
"Fortunately, there is one way out for you," the voice droned, now once more a distant echo.
Samantha's watering eyes stung, and the light produced by the peach-colored sacs on the ceiling now thickened, like a gathering orange fog, still illuminating her surroundings, yet at the same time clouding the environment as well.
She looked down and saw that her stomach had distended further. It was as though she--
No, Dear God, no, it can't be!
"Your only way out is an act of selflessness."
Samantha opened her mouth, but before she could protest or even inquire of the implications, she was seized by sharp labor pains. She doubled over as ripping agony wracked her abdomen and her legs buckled, unhinging. As her feet fumbled and kicked outward, she felt a sudden gust of air rushing up her back until her back slid along the hardened soil, bringing golden plums of dust until she lay still, writhing in agony as the torture continued.
"When you left the nest, you left your mother as an empty shell of a woman. Parenting is a thankless job, but the spoiled brat you became negated any joy, any rewards that might have come from the process. I suppose the fact that your father left when you were an infant didn't make things easier. Nevertheless, she sacrificed everything for you, and now you will sacrifice for your own child. That, Samantha Napier, is your only way out."
Even through the ripping pain--the worst Samantha had ever experienced--and overpowering fear, her thoughts remained lucid. Terrors and morbid curiosity of how all of this could even be happening seemed irrelevant to the truly horrific prognosis. Her worst nightmare had become reality: She was giving birth. Samantha would have preferred getting AIDS, for what was taking a few pills to keep your immune system functional compared to the prospect of sacrificing everything you had for the happiness and wellbeing of someone else?
Her body was sodden with perspiration as she grunted and screamed, tears filling her eyes. Her fingers tightly gripped, clawed, and dug into the soil as she strained. She wanted only to be rid of the parasite, never having to so much as think about the wretched fetus again, if only it were that simple. Samantha compared the process to that of a constipated person straining to take a shit. Unfortunately, the turd to be deposited was much too large to flow freely through the rectum and instead tore the inner lining as it was forced through.
Samantha gave another agonizing push, lifting her head as finally the head of the fetus protruded from her vagina, covered in blood and greasy black grime. The flesh of the fetus was yellow, and its eyes were two black slits sunken deep into its skull. A few hairs clung to its brow, and along its crown was a crater sunken deep into the top of its head. The ears were like lumps of dough caked against the side of its head and its nose was a sunken triangular hole. It opened its tiny mouth, and instead of an infant's cry, what came out was a serpent's hiss as its lips parted, revealing two needle-thin fangs as its black forked tongue poked out. It let out a squeal that was like the shrill whine of a tortured feline. The slits that were its eyes widened, revealing two gleaming blood-red globes as the demon child grinned.
Samantha let out yet another shriek, not of pain, this time, but of utter horror, as the fetus moaned and softly uttered the word: "Mamma."
Samantha's eyes fluttered open and her body continued to shiver beneath the blankets. It was all just a bad dream after all. Of course it had been, for what else could such an absurd scenario be? How could she have been pregnant and giving birth (especially to such an abomination) when she hadn't been pregnant coming into the motel? And now, here she was, lying in the comfortable darkness of the motel room, alone, lying naked in the bed even if she never usually slept naked on normal nights, nor could she remember taking off her clothes, aside from in her dream, and that's all it was, goddamn it, a fucking dream!
Oh no, Samantha thought as her chest tightened. Panic seized her breath.
A sticky, drying resin clung to her entire body as it also seemed to glue the blankets to the linen. Samantha's legs were splayed in a wide but crooked V. Between her thighs was a large mass, a moving lump beneath the covers, its texture oily and sticky, yet soft, like the flesh of an infant. Tiny fingers caressed and tickled Samantha's inner thigh. The shrill cry of a newborn baby ensued.
No, it can't be, Samantha thought, as though denial would wake her from this unending nightmare, for real this time, instead of being thrust into yet another dream within a dream. Samantha rose into a sitting position, drawing her blood-soaked legs inward so her knees were pressed tightly against her bosom, sobbing as tears poured from her eyes.
Slowly, she lowered her arm, gripping the blanket loosely, hesitating, and trembling fiercely as she cringed reproachfully. Her body stiffened as the baby's cries grew louder, piercing her eardrums, making her shudder in revulsion.
"Ugh...shut up, shut the fuck up, you little shit!" Samantha cried as both her hands tightened around the edge of the blankets. She tore the blankets away. A dim crack of sodden, hardening fabric snapped as the blankets lashed in the air like a whip and fell to the ground by the side of the bed.
The sheets before her were completely saturated in congealing blood, now stained maroon. And lying, screaming in gore was the abominable fetus Samantha had given birth to. It was no monstrosity this time, but was instead a human child. A perfectly healthy baby boy, covered in blood, with the umbilical cord still attached. She was a mother now; this was her offspring. He had his mother's eyes.
No maternal love ignited Samantha's cold heart, for she saw nothing cute or beautiful about the baby that lay before her. Even if he was human and not some demonic monstrocity, he was still disgusting, still an unnecessary burden that would do nothing but infringe upon her life, all the while sitting there, demanding food, while shitting and pissing in his pants and getting snot and drool all over the place. She would become a slave to this thing.
Weeping uncontrollably, Samantha remembered what the ghost of the schizophrenic man had said to her: Your only way out is an act of selflessness.
Taken from the archived reports of paranormal investigator
Michael Hudson. Case #377
Report filed on Thursday September 01, 2005
Like many of the other victims of Room 265, Samantha Napier had no prior record of any mental or emotional disorders, so one can only wonder what possessed her to take her life, particularly in such a fashion.
What is even more incredible, however, was that she had given birth in that room, when she hadn't even appeared to be pregnant coming into the motel room. DNA tests confirm the child to be hers, but who is the father? Moreover, how is it possible that the infant could seemingly manifest itself from beneath the blankets? I would also be curious as to why the bed was soaked in blood and urine, as well as what became of Samantha Napier's clothes. Out of all the cases surrounding Room 256, this one raises the most questions and is the most unbelievable, for the events do not even seem physically possible. I have viewed the surveillance footage countless times and still cannot make sense of what happened.
On the tape, I see Samantha Napier entering the room, fully clothed, and definitely not pregnant. She sits on the bed and lights a cigarette, unmindful of the motel's antismoking policy. After smoking, she snubs the cigarette out and tosses it to the ground, and lies on the bed, slowly dozing.
While sleeping, she is restless. Her arms and legs kick and thrash, seemingly of their own accord, as spasms ripple through her body, arching her back. Yet despite these convulsive movements, she remains asleep. Her ex-husband did say that she was a restless sleeper, frequently tossing and turning throughout the night, so this footage only corroborates his testimony. Napier's body rolls to its side, nearly tumbling, before changing direction, rolling to the left, and then curling into a fetal ball. By now, the once smooth blankets and comforter set are wrinkled, the pillows exposed. She hooks both feet beneath the blankets, with great precision--as though calculated by a wakeful mind, despite her still being in deep slumber--and then sinks beneath the blankets, wiggling slowly, like a worm burrowing backwards into the ground, until only her head is exposed. She still tosses and turns a bit now, but not as violently as before.
Then, after an hour, Samantha Napier finally wakes up, appearing relieved and perturbed at the same time. Confusion clouds her face. Then, after removing the blankets, revealing that her body is now completely naked and covered in blood, she looks down in horror at the sheets, now completely saturated in gore, at the baby lying in the middle of the mattress. There is utter revulsion and anguish on Samantha's countenance as she leaps off the bed. Once on her feet, she doubles over, coughing as she buries her face into her hands. She hurries toward the TV, turns it on, and gazes at whatever is on the screen momentarily as she bows her head, her hands pressing both sides of the TV tightly. Samantha Napier hesitates for a second before glancing one last time at the newborn baby lying on the bed. It is then that the woman thrusts her head forward, ramming it through the TV screen. As the glass shatters, her entire body convulses as she is electrocuted.
Once more, I reiterate that I cannot fully explain why Samantha Napier would kill herself, especially in such a grisly fashion. Her ex-husband and many of her acquaintances have testified that unlike many women, Napier never developed the maternal instinct. In fact, she despised children and infants and found the very concept of procreation to be deeply disturbing. Even still, she could have just as easily given the child up for adoption.
Even more incredible and unexplainable is the mysterious origins of the baby himself. I supposed this could be the result of entity rape, in which a spirit or other supernatural entity rapes someone. However, most of these cases are later debunked. Even if it was entity rape, it does not explain how Napier could have been impregnated from such a violation, or how the pregnancy could have been so rapidly accelerated.
The Robertson family has agreed to adopt the baby, now named Jacob. For the time being, Jacob remains a perfectly normal, perfectly healthy baby boy. I can only hope that that is how he will remain.
Sadly, I am afraid that we will never know what Samantha Napier truly experienced that night in Room 265.
The End
March 09, 2005
April 19, 2005