The Nice Stay Motel

(A Friend Story)

By Nicholas Escobar'

Note: Begin playing the music before you start reading. The short cue is meant to sonically set the scene.

The circles of light cast by the car’s headlights swirled in the early morning fog. The driver grasped the wheel tightly. His hands shook. He had dark circles under his eyes. His mouth was a hard line. His eyes kept trying to close. He’d been driving for 8 hours straight. He glanced the car’s fuel gauge.

The line was on E.

The time was 2:30am.

The large pine trees whisked by his vision. A carousel of needles. A highway signpost appeared in the distance. It read Rest Stop: 1 mile. Underneath, the symbol for gas and motel. Both seemed to be scrawled with thick black ink.

The man nodded to himself.

He had to stop.

It was an open area in the pine tree forest. Had probably been razed in the 60’s to build the rest stop complex. A small, sad, park sat on top of the hill. A worn down gas station to the left with an old Gas-Mart. A motel sat in the shadows to the left. Nearly hidden in the pines. A few cars in the parking lot. An owl hooted in the distance.

The gas station only had one pump. A silhouetted figure sat in the Gas-Mart by the register. Staring straight ahead. The figure turned towards him and waved. He waved back.

He filled up the car. The gas cost $1.25 a gallon.

He yawned. Needing caffeine.

The interior of the Gas-Mart was well-worn. Frozen in time. The fresh fruit didn’t look fresh. All the snacks were covered with a layer of dust. The lights in the soft-drink fridges kept flickering. The hard-boiled eggs looked alarming.

The person behind the register was a middle-aged woman. She wore small glasses that made her face scrunch up in a disturbing manner.

What can I get you?

Anything with caffeine. I need to drive all night.

That doesn’t sound safe. You know, the Nice Stay Motel is next door. You could sleep there and get started in the morning.

I don’t like motels.

The Nice Stay is nice.

Really?

Of course. A quality place to rest your head!

She sang this as a catchy jingle.

The man looked out at the chilly, foggy night. Resigned.

She smiled in a scrunched up way and handed him a bag of Cheetos.

On the house. Have a nice night.

The motel was one level. The flickering sign reading “Nice Stay Motel” stood, blindingly, above the car, the sign reflecting on his windshield. He parked the car in the parking lot. Seven other cars were there. Soiled and silent.

The office had a layer of dust on almost every surface. The man sneezed. Ate a few Cheetos half heartedly.

A woman sat behind the desk. She resembled the woman in the Gas-Mart to a startling degree. Scrunched up face. Small glasses. She was chewing gum. She looked up lazily.

Want a room?

Uh. Yah.

5A. That’s all I have.

Ok.

One night? It’s booked tomorrow.

Just tonight is fine.

50 bucks. Cash.

He handed over the money.

You get free breakfast in the morning.

Nice.

Delivered to your room.

That’s good.

Do you like cherry or blueberry jam?

Blueberry.

I will let the chef know.

She handed him his key. It was rusted and stained with black tar.

Have a nice stay.

She winked.

The man smiled and walked out into the chilly night.

Room 5A was down the outdoor hallway a ways. The numbers were off-kilter. Missing screws.

As he put the key into the lock, he heard some children laughing and a woman calling out to them.

Ebba! Come over here, I have to put your pajamas on!

I don’t WANT to!

The sounds of little feet running on carpet echoed.

He looked over at 4A. That seemed to be where the voices were coming from. The man frowned. It was so early in the morning. Why were the kids up? He shook his head and entered the room.

Old, tired, furniture. Brown. A chipped mirror. A bubble TV. About what he expected.

He checked the bathroom. Dingy. The towels had cigarette burns on them. No toilet paper. Again, what he expected.

All I need is a bed.

He said to himself.

A children were still running around in the other room. He heard larger footsteps too. The mother was running too?

I tagged you!!

No you didn’t!!

Ebba! Mikael! Calm down. It’s late. People are sleeping,

I’m not tired!

Neither am I!

Their voices were muffled by the thin wall.

The man rolled his eyes. Changed. Brushed his teeth in the dark bathroom. The hand-soap was oily and had specks of red in it. He shuttered. Yawned. Got into bed.

Turned on the television. The picture was pixellated. A lot of static.

The local news broadcast. A re-run from earlier in the night. A West Highland Terrier won dog of the month. They interviewed the dog. It barked twice. The man chuckled.

Suddenly, music started emanating from 4A. Classical. Tchaikovsky’s 4th Symphony. Very loud. The basses pulsated. The brass pounded. The woodwinds screeched. It was as if a whole orchestra was playing in his hotel room. He could hear the children singing along with the intense descending string lines. Screaming at the top of their lungs.

He groaned, turning up the television, the news broadcasts iffy audio being pushed to the limit.

Then the music stopped. Laughing. And then the sounds of a pillow fight.

That is enough! You both have had your music. Now time for bed.

We’re not sleepy!

The incorporeal voices continued bickering. Their voices seemingly pressed against the man’s ears. He turned off the television and the lights in a huff and put two of the largely flat pillows on top of his face to little effect. And he just lay there. For way too long. The darkness outside impeding on his brain. Staring up at the ceiling, he saw shadow plays of figures embracing one another.

He kept thinking that they would stop soon. But they didn’t. Their voices blended together into something monstrous. Distorted dragon’s breath. He finally banged on the wall three times.

What was that Ebba?

Must be the neighbor in 5A.

Ebba. Mikael. Lie down, be quiet and go to sleep.

WE DON’T WANT TO!!!

The man checked the analog watch on the nightstand: 4:04am. In a huff, he got out of bed. Put on long pants and a jacket. Walked out into the chilly night. The cold wind blew through the parking lot. Dust and frost was kicked up into the air, creating for a brief second a swirling tornado. The man shivered.

He approached 4A. Knocked on the door.

Someone’s at the door mother! Can I go check?

No Mikael. Stay there.

The man waited. No one came to the door.

He knocked again.

Who are you?

It was the mother’s voice, high and shivering.

The man cleared his throat, his voice hoarse.

I’m your neighbor next door. In 5A? Listen. I’m exhausted. Can you all please be quiet?

No response.

Hello?

No response.

He shook his head with irritation.

Tried the doorknob. It was unlocked.

He opened the door. The room was identical to his, but surprisingly spotless. Nothing on the floor. Unused. Dark. He looked up towards the main part of the room and saw the television was on but it was muted. The blue glow of the bubble tv illuminated the room in a flickering fashion.

He didn’t see Mikael and Ebba. He didn’t see the mother. Instead. He saw a tall, thin figure sitting on one of the beds, watching the tv with intense interest. It had a large, wide smile on its face, with pearly white teeth. It turned towards him. Grinning. Opened its mouth.

The cacophony that he heard from the other room emanated from the figure’s gullet.

Mother! I don’t want to sleep!

Yes, we want to play!

QUIET! There are neighbors trying to SLEEP.

He heard small feet running on a carpeted floor. Pillowcases being fluffed. Tchaikovsky’s 4th symphony being played through a radio. Children giggling. His breath was caught in his throat. He was immobile.

And then another voice emanated from the mouth. A dark, inhuman growl filled with puss and sludge.

But mother, I want to play with our NEW FRIEND!

A shivered catapulted through the man’s body. A painful electric current. Suddenly able to move, he began to back up slowly towards the door.

I…I…I’m sorry. I did not mean to disturb you.

The figure smiled wider and turned back to the tv. The local news. The west highland terrier’s interview. Airing again.

The man quickly closed the door and ran into his room. Grabbed his stuff. Ran to his car. Threw his things in the trunk and pulled out of the parking lot at a scorching clip.

The highway only had a few other cars on it. He was exhausted but he didn’t care. Adrenaline would push him forward. Cheetos with fuel him.

He just had to keep driving…

Needed to get out of the dark…

Needed to see the morning light…

THE END

(Click the smile to hear the Song of the Friend)