Motel Wizard - Part 3
Short story
Part 3
The next morning saw Darrell working up the nerve to wander outside his room. Colin had begun his sweeping, and paused to watch the hunched, wide-eyed, hop-jog activities of the man with the band-aid on his nose—gone past the office, a turn at the end of the motel, out of sight. Colin forgot about it as he cleaned paper cups off the ground, until the old man in his chair appeared again, surrounded by smoke, as if summoned by an alchemical flame.
“He’s trying for that hole again, stupid bastard.”
“Hole?” Colin asked.
“Out back. I can see it from my bathroom window.”
My suite has no bathroom window…
“I hollered at him, but he called me an imp or some shit so I says he might as well break his neck, I ain’t his dad.”
The waggling of the sack on the old man’s neck was that sort of hideously fascinating movement that had drawn people like Bill and Colin to their field of schooling.
***
Beside the front desk was a short span of hallway, decorated in framed photographs of Sunset Motel’s glory days. Mostly black and white, which to Colin felt like little dreamscapes of certain realms he had no desire to visit again, despite the prettiness of the shadows. Portraits in colours tilting orange. Smiling faces, children with grandparents, cars with baggage strapped to roofs, one proudly scribbled label read “Neil Young” and another “John Candy.”
Colin knocked on the closed door at the end of the hallway, loud enough to be heard over the music, a drum solo switching time signatures. Bill opened the door, only wearing a deep blue robe, frayed cuffs and a pocket held on by two sides. It looked a lot like his robe he had left at home, but more absorbent. “Done your chores?” Bill asked. Colin nodded and was invited inside with a gesture toward a squat couch, and told to help himself to coffee. The music was turned off. He asked about his old notebooks, and Colin confirmed their destruction. Bill only nodded.
“I think my fascination with this realm began with the music I could hear through the crystal,” Bill said wistfully. “There was—is—a rawness to it, some untranslatable emotion yet I could understand—vibrations in my chest like some… alien communication, but that only made it even more human—but not any human I’ve ever met, and I fell in love with that idea, it fed my wanderlust. And I can put on the records I bought when I first came here, and it’s like thirty years hasn’t passed, except there’s extra dust in the grooves—just like me. When I’m here, in my little house, door to the office locked and curtains closed, I let myself turn back, like now, and I can relax. But music—their music—is so near to travelling that I almost forgot I needed to go back home. Not that I could.” Bill poured his own cup of coffee. “I miss my crystal. Worth a hundred of those books. But is there anything you’ve seen here that you recognize?”
“Behind the motel, six pine trees—”
“White spruce!”
“Big trees—I’m guessing you saw it through the crystal, some sort of clue?”
Weighing the couch down, Bill slouched, clasping his coffee between both hands. His red hair, wet, hung shaggy over his face. “First thing our friend Darrell did when I took him in was try to jump down the hole—You’ll see it. Let me get dressed. No, let me sit for a minute.”
“He’s tried again, a little while ago.”
Bill shrugged.
They listened to the buzzing of the air conditioner for a while.
An empty forest circle, edge dotted by the six white spruce and other trees, the ground spongy with fallen needles, cones, and leaves, all rust-coloured. Darrell was motionless, squatting at the edge, and didn’t seem to hear Bill or Colin at all as they stood on an old rail tie. Someone had dragged some over to make a circle of seats at the edge of what was once a fire pit—now it was just a regular pit. First glances are frequently incorrect, and you’re about to go down there.
“Just appeared last summer,” Bill said, quiet enough he had to lean toward Colin. “Ground caved in, or cracked open, depends who you ask. Now, the kids are still sitting back here, only they throw their beer cans down the hole instead of on a fire. Sometimes a gust of wind blows the can back up and they all laugh.”
Colin huffed, thumbed his ring but felt no charge from it. “So, you think the crystal saw this spot for a reason.”
“I haven’t left the motel this whole time, what do you think?”
“I think you’ve been waiting for me to show up and go down a hole.”
Bill grinned. “You’re getting better at this!”
If I had sleeves to cuff, I suppose now would be a good time. He stepped off the wood to kneel next to Darrell at the edge of the hole, careful not to lean too far—but there was a bottom, probably twice as tall as himself. The opening was too rectangular. Maybe it needed a door. But it was all rock, weeds, roots, and moss. Beetles and worms. He layed flat on his stomach to really peer in. Some trash—broken glass, cans, papery things. Some bird bones. No sign any person had gone down.
“I’ll get you a ladder,” Bill called, already walking back to the motel.
***
A sudden gust of cold belched out of the hole, and Colin hesitated with the ladder, an unworded threat within the belch like a spell to scramble thoughts before they could be spoken. Bill waved his hand in front of Darrell’s face as if to test successful hypnotism. However long Colin stood there blank-brainedly holding that ladder, all he knew was that his arms ached, and once Colin and Darrell were both able to move, everyone decided to sit on the rail tie again, the ladder abandoned on the ground behind them.
“Kids dare each other to go down,” Bill said. “But none of them can. One kid, real beefy type, named Brandon or Bradley or something, tried throwing some skinny kid down but he was paralysed—couldn’t move his arms to go through with it. Skinny kid was crying, Brad was crying. Was the only time I ever saw him cry. Must be terrible to think you’re some big tough guy when you get so scared you wet yourself.”
“Is that so?”
Two brown bottles were tucked under Bill’s robe, whether they were pocketed or if Bill summoned them, it didn’t matter. They were opened by a convenient sort of key and Bill flicked the caps down the hole.
“It hates it when we do that,” Bill said.
It, an entity, Colin was very sure and was a bit annoyed his master just confirmed it so casually. “And you haven’t gone yourself?”
“She wants us to bring a picnic,” Darrell said, rubbing the side of his nose to clear the remnants of glue—the wind had blown the band-aid off. “She says it would make her happy to host a nice lunch.”
Or something like that. Colin thought a minute before speaking. “Will she partake in the picnic? And if so, whatever ‘she’ is, in what capacity shall it be partook—What does she eat?”
“Chicken wings.”
With such a quick answer, Bill and Colin exchanged shrugs. Bill went inside to order the chicken wings from the greasy spoon next to the gas station.
Crossing the highway that cut the small town in half made a lot more sense the second time. The four lanes had less traffic, which was good, but Colin was also much clearer in the head and steadier on his feet compared to the first time. The crossroads, intersection, had no lights, only a stop sign where the single lane met with the four. To his left were houses and larger buildings that seemed empty, a backdrop of a cliff face and many, many trees. To his right, nearly identical, but without the cliff. Other motel signs could be seen, some of which were newer, some seemed to have remained after the motels had vanished into the earth. Yet, none had the same shimmer, for lack of a better word, as the surfaces of Sunset Motel—to a trained eye.
The gas station was empty of customers, and Miranda reclined flat on a bench with a book held above her in one hand, ginger ale in the other. Music came from a small box under the bench.
“Hello, Miranda.”
Droplets of ginger ale flew from the can at her surprise. As her face relaxed, she smiled. “You snuck up on me.”
“May I ask a question?”
She put the can down, closed the book over her index finger to mark the page. The cover had a shirtless man, long hair, plaid skirt, clutching a woman in such a way Colin was concerned for her spine. “Me first.”
“Yes?”
“D’you got a speech impediment?”
Thinking of a lie—he could see his stillness was unnerving her by the way she broke gaze. “It’s my accent. I’m from… a very small country overseas.”
“Fair enough, I don’t know much about geography anyway. Okay. Your turn.”
“Do you have any explanation for the hole behind the motel?”
Miranda drank the rest of her ginger ale in a sip. “All I know is kids are daring each other to go down in it. Someone tried finding out if it was connected to an old mine or something but couldn’t find anything. That’s not too weird though. Back then, they were digging all over the place and not always writing it down. But it’s dangerous. What if there’s other spots that could cave in?”
She reached under the seat for the grey box, pressed a button and the music stopped. Colin sat beside her, and she noticed his dirty knees. “Has anyone gone down there, or is it all just dares?” he asked.
“Not that I know of. Just tossing garbage—I hate when people do that. But actually gone in? Everyone says ‘I can’t’—even Bret, he’s a bit of a… well, he tried pushing a kid down, but he couldn’t even do that. Everyone was laughing at him…”
“Darrell tried. I’m going down, if I can.”
“Can I watch you try?”
“You can hold the chicken wings.”
***
“But why does Colin have to go down?” Miranda asked, biting a fingernail.
Bill gave her a gentle pat on the shoulder, and she took her nail from her teeth. “Because,” he started calmly, “he’s used to it. You found him in a toilet, didn’t you?”
That only had her face twist in confusion, and Colin was smiling. “No thanks to him.”
“Hold on, you guys know each other?”
“We go way back,” Bill said. “Real far back.”
“And real far down,” Darrell said.
My novels:
Pallas - Science fiction with a touch of horror
The Highwayman Kennedy Thornwick - Literary fantasy, flintlock and heists
Pull Me Under - Heavy metal portal fantasy, right here on Substack