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My Family Has Been Sunbathing for 10 Hours Straight
"Today we have a somewhat historic weather report for you all. It seems summer wanted one last goodbye before the start of the cold season. Tell us about it, Jason."
"That's right, folks, 85 degrees," he chuckled. "85 degrees Fahrenheit, no wind, and a cloudless, sunny sky is the weather here today in Ely. This is a historic high for November in Minnesota, so put on your bathing suits and get outside to soak in the sun while you can. This is a real treat from Mother Nature. My name is Jason Sweatman with Northwood News 8, reporting live that the sun feels AMAZING."
The weatherman stretched out his arms and looked up at the sun, smiling widely, before they cut back to the anchors and finished the rest of their segment. I picked up the remote and switched to Cartoon Network.
"That explains why I woke up so hot last night," my sister said, not looking up from her phone.
Dad chortled and pointed through our sliding glass door to the backyard. "Bowser sure seems to be enjoying the weather."
Sure enough, the dog was rolling around in the grass like he always did at the start of spring when the snow finally melted.
My mom finished washing the dishes, patted her hands dry, and said, "Well, I am going to get my book and some sunscreen and join Mr. Bowser out there."
She kissed my head as she walked past and went up the stairs.
"Me too," my sister said, getting up from the table and slapping me on the back of my neck as she followed Mom.
After a minute my Dad put down his newspaper and said, "Well, I think I ought to join the ladies, bud. You going to be okay in here by yourself?"
I rubbed my stinging neck and said, "Yeah, I will just play some video games or something."
There is this condition called Xeroderma Pigmentosum where you really can't be exposed to sunlight for long at all because your skin will begin to blister and burn. I have that condition, so a day like this basically meant I was confined indoors. I didn't really mind. I am more of a homebody anyways, plus I had just gotten an Xbox for my birthday two months ago. The prospect of playing Modern Warfare 2 all day while my family didn't bother me was, in my opinion, the perfect way to spend my Saturday.
I called my buddy Hudson to see if he was already on the game.
"Nah, man," he said. "We all went to Pineridge Park. There are, like, hundreds of people here. I wish you could see it. The sun feels amazing."
I told him to let me know when he got on the game later. We had been playing video games every Saturday night since I got my Xbox, so I knew he would be.
After a few hours of grinding team deathmatch, I got hungry and went downstairs to see what Mom made for lunch. To my surprise, no one was in the kitchen or living room. I looked out the window to the backyard, and sure enough, there they were. All three of them were sitting in the lawn chairs facing the sun. Bowser was lying on his back next to them, panting lightly under the heat.
I opened the sliding glass door and called out, "Hey, Mom, are you coming in to make lunch soon?"
"Uhh, no, honey, but there are leftovers in the fridge from last night, or you can make yourself a sandwich," she said without turning around.
"Are you guys not going to eat lunch?" I asked.
"No, we are enjoying the sun," my sister said as if it were the most annoying question ever.
"It really does feel amazing out here, bud. Come sit with us for a little," Dad said.
Mom reached out and slapped him on the arm. "Oh, you know he can't do that, Chuck."
"Five minutes wouldn't hurt!"
*Whatever,* I thought to myself, sliding the glass door shut as they bickered. I knew I had no frame of reference for how good the sun felt on your skin, but I struggled to imagine what would make anyone want to spend more than an hour out sunbathing at a time. I made myself two PB&Js and went back up to my room.
I played more team deathmatch, checking my phone between each round to see if Hudson had tried to call me to tell me he was getting on, but I still had zero notifications. Once my eyes started to hurt from the strain of staring at my TV, I finally turned my Xbox off, leaned back into my chair, and checked the time.
"What the fuck?" I said, staring at my clock.
The clock read 7:52 PM. Had I really just played Xbox for five hours straight? I peeked through my blackout curtains, and sure enough, it was as sunny as it was when I woke up. I assumed my clock was broken and went to check the time on my phone. 7:52 PM.
I stepped out of my room and called out to the house but got no answer. I went downstairs to the kitchen and looked at the time on the oven. It said 7:53 PM. It didn't make sense. It couldn't possibly be that late; it was still so bright outside.
Looking out the sliding glass window, my heart sank a little; they were all still out there. In fact, from what I could tell, they hadn't moved an inch since I last came down for lunch. I slid open the door, and to my surprise, all three of them were in a fit of giggles as if one of them had just told the funniest joke of all time.
I called out to them, "Have you all been out here the whole time?"
My sister burst out laughing, and my dad turned around to look at me.
"There he is!" He started laughing too, but what I was seeing was far from amusing. His face was deep red, clearly badly sunburnt.
My mom turned around, smiling ear to ear. "Hey, baby! Come sit with us, just five minutes. The sun feels amazing!"
She reached out a burnt-red arm in my direction, beckoning me to join them.
I stared at them in horror. My own mother, who was always so particular about ensuring I didn't get exposed to the sun, had just tried to get me to come outside.
"Jesus fucking Christ! Have you guys not been back inside yet? Have you been using sunscreen at all?" I said, fear swelling in my chest.
"Woahhh, language!" Dad exclaimed.
"Don't worry," my sister said through fits of giggles. "Bowser has been reapplying it on us."
All three of them howled in laughter. I was so confused and uncomfortable. Were they drunk? Stoned?
I looked over at Bowser. He was panting hard now but still splayed out on the grass exactly where he was ten hours ago. I called for him to come to me, but he didn't. He opened his eyes and looked at me, wagging his tail, but didn't make any effort to stand up.
I called him again and again, offered him treats, and said all his favorite words, but nothing moved him. He just looked at me upside down and wagged his tail. The more I pleaded with Bowser to come inside the house, the harder my family laughed.
Finally, I became so humiliated, scared, and angry that I boiled over and yelled at them, "STOP FUCKING LAUGHING AT ME, YOU GUYS ARE BEING FUCKING WEIRD!" and slammed the sliding glass door shut as hard as I could, causing the glass to crack.
My sister called out, "LANGUAGE!" in her best impression of my dad's voice, before howling in laughter even harder than before.
I ran upstairs, completely forgetting about the fact that it was supposedly 8 PM but completely sunny outside, that we were supposed to have already eaten dinner, and that I was supposed to play Xbox with Hudson any moment now.
I slammed my bedroom door shut, jumped into my bed face-first, and began to cry. I cried and cried and cried, expecting at any moment that my mom or dad would come into the room to console me. Eventually, I passed out from exhaustion, and with tears still in my eyes, I fell asleep.
When I woke up the next morning I immediately felt guilty about my outburst. I had cursed out my entire family and then slammed and broke the sliding glass door they had just gotten installed last summer.
I lay in bed staring at my ceiling, contemplating yesterday's events. I convinced myself that they were probably just drunk and enjoying the nice, sunny weather, two things they did every summer anyway and that I had never experienced. How could I know what that was like, how great it was? It was probably pretty great as an adult, like their version of playing Modern Warfare with Hudson.
I was disappointed with myself. They all worked so hard each week, and the one time they got to unwind with nice weather, I had thrown a fit. My own fears of the sun and the odd timing of the weather had caused me to exaggerate the details of yesterday's events. Of course they had come back into the house. Of course they had made sure to apply sunscreen (my mother was a freak about sunscreen given my condition).
The more I thought about it, the more ridiculous and guilty I felt. I crafted my apology and headed to the kitchen to make it.
No one was there.
The oven clock read 5:36 AM. But the sun was already out, so I had assumed it was later in the day.
*Everyone is still asleep,* I told myself.
I went over to the glass door to inspect the damage from yesterday's tantrum. Sure enough, there was a big, splintering crack along the pane.
"Damn, goodbye Xbox. Dad is going to kill m—"
I froze.
Outside, sitting motionless in their three chairs
facing the sun, were my mom, dad, and sister. Lying next to them, stiff as a board, was my dog. In that moment I knew that they never came back inside the house, I knew that they never would.
#entertainment
source
"Today we have a somewhat historic weather report for you all. It seems summer wanted one last goodbye before the start of the cold season. Tell us about it, Jason."
"That's right, folks, 85 degrees," he chuckled. "85 degrees Fahrenheit, no wind, and a cloudless, sunny sky is the weather here today in Ely. This is a historic high for November in Minnesota, so put on your bathing suits and get outside to soak in the sun while you can. This is a real treat from Mother Nature. My name is Jason Sweatman with Northwood News 8, reporting live that the sun feels AMAZING."
The weatherman stretched out his arms and looked up at the sun, smiling widely, before they cut back to the anchors and finished the rest of their segment. I picked up the remote and switched to Cartoon Network.
"That explains why I woke up so hot last night," my sister said, not looking up from her phone.
Dad chortled and pointed through our sliding glass door to the backyard. "Bowser sure seems to be enjoying the weather."
Sure enough, the dog was rolling around in the grass like he always did at the start of spring when the snow finally melted.
My mom finished washing the dishes, patted her hands dry, and said, "Well, I am going to get my book and some sunscreen and join Mr. Bowser out there."
She kissed my head as she walked past and went up the stairs.
"Me too," my sister said, getting up from the table and slapping me on the back of my neck as she followed Mom.
After a minute my Dad put down his newspaper and said, "Well, I think I ought to join the ladies, bud. You going to be okay in here by yourself?"
I rubbed my stinging neck and said, "Yeah, I will just play some video games or something."
There is this condition called Xeroderma Pigmentosum where you really can't be exposed to sunlight for long at all because your skin will begin to blister and burn. I have that condition, so a day like this basically meant I was confined indoors. I didn't really mind. I am more of a homebody anyways, plus I had just gotten an Xbox for my birthday two months ago. The prospect of playing Modern Warfare 2 all day while my family didn't bother me was, in my opinion, the perfect way to spend my Saturday.
I called my buddy Hudson to see if he was already on the game.
"Nah, man," he said. "We all went to Pineridge Park. There are, like, hundreds of people here. I wish you could see it. The sun feels amazing."
I told him to let me know when he got on the game later. We had been playing video games every Saturday night since I got my Xbox, so I knew he would be.
After a few hours of grinding team deathmatch, I got hungry and went downstairs to see what Mom made for lunch. To my surprise, no one was in the kitchen or living room. I looked out the window to the backyard, and sure enough, there they were. All three of them were sitting in the lawn chairs facing the sun. Bowser was lying on his back next to them, panting lightly under the heat.
I opened the sliding glass door and called out, "Hey, Mom, are you coming in to make lunch soon?"
"Uhh, no, honey, but there are leftovers in the fridge from last night, or you can make yourself a sandwich," she said without turning around.
"Are you guys not going to eat lunch?" I asked.
"No, we are enjoying the sun," my sister said as if it were the most annoying question ever.
"It really does feel amazing out here, bud. Come sit with us for a little," Dad said.
Mom reached out and slapped him on the arm. "Oh, you know he can't do that, Chuck."
"Five minutes wouldn't hurt!"
*Whatever,* I thought to myself, sliding the glass door shut as they bickered. I knew I had no frame of reference for how good the sun felt on your skin, but I struggled to imagine what would make anyone want to spend more than an hour out sunbathing at a time. I made myself two PB&Js and went back up to my room.
I played more team deathmatch, checking my phone between each round to see if Hudson had tried to call me to tell me he was getting on, but I still had zero notifications. Once my eyes started to hurt from the strain of staring at my TV, I finally turned my Xbox off, leaned back into my chair, and checked the time.
"What the fuck?" I said, staring at my clock.
The clock read 7:52 PM. Had I really just played Xbox for five hours straight? I peeked through my blackout curtains, and sure enough, it was as sunny as it was when I woke up. I assumed my clock was broken and went to check the time on my phone. 7:52 PM.
I stepped out of my room and called out to the house but got no answer. I went downstairs to the kitchen and looked at the time on the oven. It said 7:53 PM. It didn't make sense. It couldn't possibly be that late; it was still so bright outside.
Looking out the sliding glass window, my heart sank a little; they were all still out there. In fact, from what I could tell, they hadn't moved an inch since I last came down for lunch. I slid open the door, and to my surprise, all three of them were in a fit of giggles as if one of them had just told the funniest joke of all time.
I called out to them, "Have you all been out here the whole time?"
My sister burst out laughing, and my dad turned around to look at me.
"There he is!" He started laughing too, but what I was seeing was far from amusing. His face was deep red, clearly badly sunburnt.
My mom turned around, smiling ear to ear. "Hey, baby! Come sit with us, just five minutes. The sun feels amazing!"
She reached out a burnt-red arm in my direction, beckoning me to join them.
I stared at them in horror. My own mother, who was always so particular about ensuring I didn't get exposed to the sun, had just tried to get me to come outside.
"Jesus fucking Christ! Have you guys not been back inside yet? Have you been using sunscreen at all?" I said, fear swelling in my chest.
"Woahhh, language!" Dad exclaimed.
"Don't worry," my sister said through fits of giggles. "Bowser has been reapplying it on us."
All three of them howled in laughter. I was so confused and uncomfortable. Were they drunk? Stoned?
I looked over at Bowser. He was panting hard now but still splayed out on the grass exactly where he was ten hours ago. I called for him to come to me, but he didn't. He opened his eyes and looked at me, wagging his tail, but didn't make any effort to stand up.
I called him again and again, offered him treats, and said all his favorite words, but nothing moved him. He just looked at me upside down and wagged his tail. The more I pleaded with Bowser to come inside the house, the harder my family laughed.
Finally, I became so humiliated, scared, and angry that I boiled over and yelled at them, "STOP FUCKING LAUGHING AT ME, YOU GUYS ARE BEING FUCKING WEIRD!" and slammed the sliding glass door shut as hard as I could, causing the glass to crack.
My sister called out, "LANGUAGE!" in her best impression of my dad's voice, before howling in laughter even harder than before.
I ran upstairs, completely forgetting about the fact that it was supposedly 8 PM but completely sunny outside, that we were supposed to have already eaten dinner, and that I was supposed to play Xbox with Hudson any moment now.
I slammed my bedroom door shut, jumped into my bed face-first, and began to cry. I cried and cried and cried, expecting at any moment that my mom or dad would come into the room to console me. Eventually, I passed out from exhaustion, and with tears still in my eyes, I fell asleep.
When I woke up the next morning I immediately felt guilty about my outburst. I had cursed out my entire family and then slammed and broke the sliding glass door they had just gotten installed last summer.
I lay in bed staring at my ceiling, contemplating yesterday's events. I convinced myself that they were probably just drunk and enjoying the nice, sunny weather, two things they did every summer anyway and that I had never experienced. How could I know what that was like, how great it was? It was probably pretty great as an adult, like their version of playing Modern Warfare with Hudson.
I was disappointed with myself. They all worked so hard each week, and the one time they got to unwind with nice weather, I had thrown a fit. My own fears of the sun and the odd timing of the weather had caused me to exaggerate the details of yesterday's events. Of course they had come back into the house. Of course they had made sure to apply sunscreen (my mother was a freak about sunscreen given my condition).
The more I thought about it, the more ridiculous and guilty I felt. I crafted my apology and headed to the kitchen to make it.
No one was there.
The oven clock read 5:36 AM. But the sun was already out, so I had assumed it was later in the day.
*Everyone is still asleep,* I told myself.
I went over to the glass door to inspect the damage from yesterday's tantrum. Sure enough, there was a big, splintering crack along the pane.
"Damn, goodbye Xbox. Dad is going to kill m—"
I froze.
Outside, sitting motionless in their three chairs
facing the sun, were my mom, dad, and sister. Lying next to them, stiff as a board, was my dog. In that moment I knew that they never came back inside the house, I knew that they never would.
#entertainment
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I was an overnight receptionist at a remote hotel in Alaska. Our guests weren’t normal.
I worked overnight reception at one of the less popular hotels in REDACTED,Alaska. I’ve been at this job for a year now, and until yesterday I thought everything I experienced was just your typical run of the mill small town weirdo hotel stuff. Most of the population is older folks, people who had lived here for years. Same with the ones who visited. I’d always had an affinity for older people, I was raised by my grandparents.
At first the incidents didn’t freak me out that much. One night about a month after I started, it was about 2:00am; and I had 6 more hours left to go. It has been an uneventful shift so far, a couple phone calls asking for more ice, people needing to replace a room key. Typical. The lobby had been empty for hours at this point.
I remember the phone ringing, it showed room number 44. After I finished giving the typical intro speech, I was met with the sound of heavy breathing. When they finally did answer they spoke in a dry hushed voice.
“Don’t let him in.” And then the line disconnected.
Before I had a chance to press redial I heard a loud banging coming from the fire exit door. With every second it got more intense, until I heard a voice call out “let me in please, it’s cold out here.”
We were a cheap hotel, we didn’t employ a security guard, let alone have any security cameras, and I was not about to go out there and check who it was. As far as I knew every guest was accounted for.
The voice eventually petered out just like the banging had. It wasn’t until the next day I realized, we didn’t have a room 44.
You may be thinking why I would stay on after that. To tell you the truth I didn’t have much of an option. Jobs here are extremely limited, and unless I wanted to commute 2-3 hours to the next big city, I was out of luck.
There were a couple other unsettling things that happened after that, phone calls from guests that weren’t actually staying here, wet footprints in the lobby when I hadn’t seen anybody walk by, and every now and then I would experience something I could only describe as time loss.
At first I thought that I had dozed off. But then it kept happening when I was obviously awake. I’d go to the bathroom and come back and a whole hour had passed, and I had no memory of that hour.
When I would talk to my boss about these things he chalked it up to sleep deprivation, or kids playing pranks. Which I had accepted, until yesterday.
The shift started off somewhat normal, working at a hotel things are rarely ever truly “normal.”I got in at 10:00pm, caught up with the dayshift receptionist, Amy, and downed whichever cheap energy drink I had picked up at the gas station on my way here.
“Just so you know, there is a woman that keeps coming down asking for ice. I’ve given her like 4 buckets already. So don’t be surprised if she asks you for more.”
“What room is she in?”
“I have no idea, she won’t tell me. I tried telling her that there is an ice machine on every floor, but she insists on coming down each time”.
Like I said, the guests here can be a little weird. But nothing to immediately set off any alarm bells.
Amy had been long gone, and I had totally forgot about ice women, when I heard someone clear their throat. I had been sitting at reception that whole time, doing some admin stuff on the computer.
I didn’t hear her footsteps come down the hall, or even the elevator open. It’s as if she just appeared.
“Is-is Amy still here?”
I told her Amy had left and asked if I could help her with anything. She seemed off put for a minute, before a look that I could only describe as a mixture of fear and desperation came over her.
“I’d like a bucket of ice please.”
Looking back I should’ve just given her the bucket of ice, it was way above my pay grade to investigate. But I couldn’t help myself, I kept pushing.
“Ma’am, we have already given you four buckets of ice, and there is an ice machine on every floor. Is there a reason you need all this ice? What are you using it for?”
She looked like she was about to argue, when she visibly withered in front of me, and said in a voice that had long given up,
“He needs it. He prefers the cold”.
People can be weird. I couldn’t imagine what they were doing with that ice. So I asked her what room she was staying it. She opened her mouth to respond and then froze. She was staring straight ahead, looking at me, but it really felt like she was looking through me.
For a second I thought she had had a stroke, I walked over to put my hand on her shoulder. It was icy to the touch and leather hard. She jolted at my touch.
“Ma’am, what room are you staying in? I think you may need medical help.”
“Room 44.”
My mouth went dry and I couldn’t swallow as I was processing this information. When I finally spoke again it took a tremendous effort.
“There is no room 44.”
She merely looked at me, and said “He would like to see you now.”
She gestured to the bucket we used for ice sitting in the corner, and for me to follow. Complying felt easier than arguing at this point, I suddenly felt exhausted. Everything took effort.
The bucket of ice banged against my shins as I followed her into the elevator. She pressed the button for the 4th floor and we started moving slowly. I was looking at my feet, I could feel her eyes burning into me. I didn’t want to meet them.
The ding of the doors opening brought me back to reality, and we stepped into the hallway. I immediately sensed something wasn’t right. The fluorescent lights were flickering, some completely disconnected. As we started walking down the hallway the floor was damp, sticky, and smelled like mildew.
Everything seemed yellowed, whereas before it was a bright clean white. As we slowly passed by each room I started taking account. The hallway didn’t seem any longer than usual.
37,38,39,40.
And then we somehow turned a corner, when it should’ve stopped, and there in front of us was room 44. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. As long as I had worked here there had been 4 floors, with 10 rooms on each floor.
The door itself looked exactly like all the other doors on the floor. Dark green, brass handle, pretty standard.
As we approached the door I could feel the temperature drop. It felt like I was standing outside. The carpet here was drenched.
“Come in, take the ice to the bathroom, and whatever you do, don’t let him touch you.”
I don’t know why, but I walked into the room. It’s almost liked I was pulled in there. The mildew smell increased tenfold. All the blankets were stuffed into a corner and the bed has been pushed directly under the open window. The door to the bathroom was ajar, and water was seeping out. My footsteps crunched under me as I walked up to the bathroom. Frost.
“Oh hello, I’ve been expecting you. Thank you for bringing me ice.”
An ancient looking old man covered in a towel lay in the bathtub, covered almost to his chin in water that had visible chunks of ice in it.
“Before you add any more ice would you be so kind as to hand me another towel, I’d like to use it as a pillow for my neck.”
His request seemed so simple and innocent that my body reacted before my brain could. As soon as I leaned over the tub to hand him a towel his arm shot out and grabbed my ankle yanking me to the floor. An icy pain shot through my leg as I fell.
I tried to pull away but his grip was too strong and I kept slipping on the slick floor. The old man seemed to grow and started to loom over me, his skin spitting in half like a cocoon as he stood up. He kept pulling me closer, trying to drag me into the tub with him. I frantically reached around for anything I could use to defend myself.
My hands met with a hair dryer that had fallen in the scuffle. The hotel provides one in each bathroom. I remembered what the woman told me in the lobby, he likes it cold.
With a last ditch effort I plug it in and turned it on full blast directing it towards what was an old man, but now was a black mass stretched tightly over a skeletal figure. Where his eyes were, now stood hollow voids. No mouth visible, yet it was making a sound like it was laughing.
As soon as the heat touched its “skin.” It recoiled letting go just long enough for me to jump up and start running.
I slammed the bathroom door behind me and sprinted across the room. Screeches following me, the lady didn’t even try to stop me, her eyes just followed me with a pitying look.
The elevator doors closed just in time for me to hear footsteps coming after me. I didn’t breathe until I was on the road driving home, and even then I kept checking my rearview mirror to make sure nothing was following me. As soon as I got home I took the hottest bath I could, texted my boss “I quit”, and passed out in bed.
It’s the next day now, I’m writing this wrapped under a bazillion blankets, drinking tea at the hottest temperature I can stand. I just can’t seem to get warm. Maybe I’m getting sick? Any advice on how to get as warm as possible without hurting yourself? Thanks in advance.
#entertainment
source
I worked overnight reception at one of the less popular hotels in REDACTED,Alaska. I’ve been at this job for a year now, and until yesterday I thought everything I experienced was just your typical run of the mill small town weirdo hotel stuff. Most of the population is older folks, people who had lived here for years. Same with the ones who visited. I’d always had an affinity for older people, I was raised by my grandparents.
At first the incidents didn’t freak me out that much. One night about a month after I started, it was about 2:00am; and I had 6 more hours left to go. It has been an uneventful shift so far, a couple phone calls asking for more ice, people needing to replace a room key. Typical. The lobby had been empty for hours at this point.
I remember the phone ringing, it showed room number 44. After I finished giving the typical intro speech, I was met with the sound of heavy breathing. When they finally did answer they spoke in a dry hushed voice.
“Don’t let him in.” And then the line disconnected.
Before I had a chance to press redial I heard a loud banging coming from the fire exit door. With every second it got more intense, until I heard a voice call out “let me in please, it’s cold out here.”
We were a cheap hotel, we didn’t employ a security guard, let alone have any security cameras, and I was not about to go out there and check who it was. As far as I knew every guest was accounted for.
The voice eventually petered out just like the banging had. It wasn’t until the next day I realized, we didn’t have a room 44.
You may be thinking why I would stay on after that. To tell you the truth I didn’t have much of an option. Jobs here are extremely limited, and unless I wanted to commute 2-3 hours to the next big city, I was out of luck.
There were a couple other unsettling things that happened after that, phone calls from guests that weren’t actually staying here, wet footprints in the lobby when I hadn’t seen anybody walk by, and every now and then I would experience something I could only describe as time loss.
At first I thought that I had dozed off. But then it kept happening when I was obviously awake. I’d go to the bathroom and come back and a whole hour had passed, and I had no memory of that hour.
When I would talk to my boss about these things he chalked it up to sleep deprivation, or kids playing pranks. Which I had accepted, until yesterday.
The shift started off somewhat normal, working at a hotel things are rarely ever truly “normal.”I got in at 10:00pm, caught up with the dayshift receptionist, Amy, and downed whichever cheap energy drink I had picked up at the gas station on my way here.
“Just so you know, there is a woman that keeps coming down asking for ice. I’ve given her like 4 buckets already. So don’t be surprised if she asks you for more.”
“What room is she in?”
“I have no idea, she won’t tell me. I tried telling her that there is an ice machine on every floor, but she insists on coming down each time”.
Like I said, the guests here can be a little weird. But nothing to immediately set off any alarm bells.
Amy had been long gone, and I had totally forgot about ice women, when I heard someone clear their throat. I had been sitting at reception that whole time, doing some admin stuff on the computer.
I didn’t hear her footsteps come down the hall, or even the elevator open. It’s as if she just appeared.
“Is-is Amy still here?”
I told her Amy had left and asked if I could help her with anything. She seemed off put for a minute, before a look that I could only describe as a mixture of fear and desperation came over her.
“I’d like a bucket of ice please.”
Looking back I should’ve just given her the bucket of ice, it was way above my pay grade to investigate. But I couldn’t help myself, I kept pushing.
“Ma’am, we have already given you four buckets of ice, and there is an ice machine on every floor. Is there a reason you need all this ice? What are you using it for?”
She looked like she was about to argue, when she visibly withered in front of me, and said in a voice that had long given up,
“He needs it. He prefers the cold”.
People can be weird. I couldn’t imagine what they were doing with that ice. So I asked her what room she was staying it. She opened her mouth to respond and then froze. She was staring straight ahead, looking at me, but it really felt like she was looking through me.
For a second I thought she had had a stroke, I walked over to put my hand on her shoulder. It was icy to the touch and leather hard. She jolted at my touch.
“Ma’am, what room are you staying in? I think you may need medical help.”
“Room 44.”
My mouth went dry and I couldn’t swallow as I was processing this information. When I finally spoke again it took a tremendous effort.
“There is no room 44.”
She merely looked at me, and said “He would like to see you now.”
She gestured to the bucket we used for ice sitting in the corner, and for me to follow. Complying felt easier than arguing at this point, I suddenly felt exhausted. Everything took effort.
The bucket of ice banged against my shins as I followed her into the elevator. She pressed the button for the 4th floor and we started moving slowly. I was looking at my feet, I could feel her eyes burning into me. I didn’t want to meet them.
The ding of the doors opening brought me back to reality, and we stepped into the hallway. I immediately sensed something wasn’t right. The fluorescent lights were flickering, some completely disconnected. As we started walking down the hallway the floor was damp, sticky, and smelled like mildew.
Everything seemed yellowed, whereas before it was a bright clean white. As we slowly passed by each room I started taking account. The hallway didn’t seem any longer than usual.
37,38,39,40.
And then we somehow turned a corner, when it should’ve stopped, and there in front of us was room 44. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. As long as I had worked here there had been 4 floors, with 10 rooms on each floor.
The door itself looked exactly like all the other doors on the floor. Dark green, brass handle, pretty standard.
As we approached the door I could feel the temperature drop. It felt like I was standing outside. The carpet here was drenched.
“Come in, take the ice to the bathroom, and whatever you do, don’t let him touch you.”
I don’t know why, but I walked into the room. It’s almost liked I was pulled in there. The mildew smell increased tenfold. All the blankets were stuffed into a corner and the bed has been pushed directly under the open window. The door to the bathroom was ajar, and water was seeping out. My footsteps crunched under me as I walked up to the bathroom. Frost.
“Oh hello, I’ve been expecting you. Thank you for bringing me ice.”
An ancient looking old man covered in a towel lay in the bathtub, covered almost to his chin in water that had visible chunks of ice in it.
“Before you add any more ice would you be so kind as to hand me another towel, I’d like to use it as a pillow for my neck.”
His request seemed so simple and innocent that my body reacted before my brain could. As soon as I leaned over the tub to hand him a towel his arm shot out and grabbed my ankle yanking me to the floor. An icy pain shot through my leg as I fell.
I tried to pull away but his grip was too strong and I kept slipping on the slick floor. The old man seemed to grow and started to loom over me, his skin spitting in half like a cocoon as he stood up. He kept pulling me closer, trying to drag me into the tub with him. I frantically reached around for anything I could use to defend myself.
My hands met with a hair dryer that had fallen in the scuffle. The hotel provides one in each bathroom. I remembered what the woman told me in the lobby, he likes it cold.
With a last ditch effort I plug it in and turned it on full blast directing it towards what was an old man, but now was a black mass stretched tightly over a skeletal figure. Where his eyes were, now stood hollow voids. No mouth visible, yet it was making a sound like it was laughing.
As soon as the heat touched its “skin.” It recoiled letting go just long enough for me to jump up and start running.
I slammed the bathroom door behind me and sprinted across the room. Screeches following me, the lady didn’t even try to stop me, her eyes just followed me with a pitying look.
The elevator doors closed just in time for me to hear footsteps coming after me. I didn’t breathe until I was on the road driving home, and even then I kept checking my rearview mirror to make sure nothing was following me. As soon as I got home I took the hottest bath I could, texted my boss “I quit”, and passed out in bed.
It’s the next day now, I’m writing this wrapped under a bazillion blankets, drinking tea at the hottest temperature I can stand. I just can’t seem to get warm. Maybe I’m getting sick? Any advice on how to get as warm as possible without hurting yourself? Thanks in advance.
#entertainment
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Halloween Candy
Whenever children die the adults all lose their minds. No matter how, natural or otherwise it's just such a tragedy, but I don't think they ever believe they may have deserved it. They always think we're all so innocent, pure or something. Well maybe they don't think that about all of us. The way these cops are looking at me right now, it doesn't feel like they think I'm innocent.
I doubt they can prove that though. You'll never take me alive coppers. "Care to share?" asked Detective Bryant. "Share what?" I asked back, doing my best to look every bit as young as my fourteen years. "What's so funny?" He asked, his anger not hidden as well as he probably thinks it is. "What's funny?" I repeated, trying to sound confused not sarcastic. "You tell me kid?", good. He does see me as just a child.
"You had a little smirk on your face, like you thought of something funny. If you can think of something funny at a time like this, I'd love to hear it." For fucks sake this guy is so dull. So damn serious, "at a time like this" as if it's such a big deal. People die everyday, a lot of them kids. None of these ones were going anywhere in life anyway, not like me.
Not every life is a loss, some people just take up fucking space. I wasn't about to tell him that though. "No sir, I didn't mean to 'smirk'. I'm sorry." I can play the part, I've had to mask as long as I can remember. My mother thought I had some sort of delay, but every pediatrician she took me to always told her the same thing. That I possess above average intelligence for my age. I've always been at the top of my class since I started school.
I guess a mother does know best though. She knows her own child at least. The older I've gotten the more I've grown to understand I'm not like everyone else. The delay is actually just something that never developed at all. And it's in my heart, not my mind. I believe it's evolution, it's made me stronger than most people.
If I saw the right specialists and in light of the current events it's highly likely I will have to soon. I imagine they will diagnose me with something like antisocial personality disorder. Most people with those disorders deny them, they don't want the stigma. Me either, but that doesn't mean we aren't aware. We just don't want the consequences that come with a diagnosis. Everyone around you knowing, being wary of you. Not being able to do the things we want to do because everyone around us is on high alert in our presence.
So we mask and deny. Not out of conscious, obviously, but convenience. Average people think it's a bad thing, that lack of feeling. They don't take into account the other side of it. An ability to do the hard things in life that need done, no one else has the stomach for. Paired with my exceptional mind I'll accomplish things most people can't even conceptualize.
These cops are definitely average people. The detectives in front me and all the cops probably listening to us somewhere else in this dump. I'm willing to bet they don't have any real evidence and are depending on a confession. Otherwise I'd be under arrest in a jail cell, not being questioned in an interrogation room.
"Where did you get all that antifreeze?" Detective Bryant asked. Being carfeul not to ask leading follow up questions like "did you steal it, or stockpile it for a long time" although that was what they suspected. "What antifreeze? I answered. "Jesse. This is serious, it will be easier for you if you tell us the truth." Detective Chance told me. "Nine children are dead, your friends and classmates. Their families deserve to know what happened." Only nine was disappointing to hear. I wonder if some of them are still clinging to their pitiful, inconsequential lives in the hospital.
Of course I couldn't ask that, but it definitely should have been more like thirty kids dead. I miscalculated somehow. Human bodies can be unpredictable like that though. People wake from comas unexpectedly after decades as a vegetable with no explanation. Suffer traumatic brain injuries and start speaking foreign languages they have no way of knowing.
Nine isn't a bad start though, for my first time. Well unless you count that little girl three years ago, but that was only one. The Dawson's baby, not really a baby. She was two years old and I used my hands, gently so I didn't leave any marks. And it worked, just how I wanted it too. As far as everyone knows she died of sids or some mystery medical condition.
They never even questioned me when that happened, they didn't suspect anyone at all. Because people die all the time, even kids. "Were you upset because Natasha didn't invite you to her party?" Detective Chance asked. "No. I don't really like Halloween parties. All the scary costumes." That was mostly true at least, I do think Halloween is stupid. Most holiday traditions are. "Is Natasha hurt?" I asked, wearing my person mask.
\-----------------------------------
"Okay Jesse. Sit tight, we'll be back soon." Chance said, sounding tired. The two men filed out the door, to the hallway packed with officers who had been watching from behind the two way mirror. "What do you wanna do?" Bryant asked Chief Carter.
"For now we just have to wait until that psychologist gets here, let them question him. Hope they know some tactic we don't." None of the officers present was thrilled to hand this case to the feds, but agreed it's necessary. "Graham Pomeroy seemed to be the main target. He had the highest levels of antifreeze so far, but they're still waiting for all the labs, sorting all the tests out." The chief stated as they walked towards his office.
"Why would he target his best friend, his only friend to hear the kids tell it?" Asked Bryant. "Why would anyone do anything like this, let alone a teenage boy from a good family?" The chief questioned, to himself it seemed more than in response to Bryant. "Poisoned Halloween candy, like the urban legend. All these children poisoned by their peer not some evil pervert. It's incomprehensible."
Passing through the lobby the detectives could see Jesse parents. His mother's eyes puffy and red, shiny with more tears. His father, looking stoic but concerned. Not yet admitting to himself where that much antifreeze must have come from. The police would first check local mechanics and factories. Until the medical examination showed that the antifreeze was homemade. That's when it would become undeniable to everyone.
Jesse's father, Dan Young owned a private pharmacy. With a small chemistry lab Jesse spent most of his time in. Nine children dead at a Halloween party, two more fighting for their lives in critical condition. It didn't seem like things could possibly get any worse, but people always underestimate children.
No one could have known, that the worst was yet to come. Or how much worse it would be. Monday morning, when the school served breakfast in the cafeteria. It was not his peers this time, but the grade school. Pre K through fifth grade, every victim under the age of eleven.
Jesse, the Halloween Poisoner, as the papers would come to call him after it made international headlines; would soon surpass his own goal of thirty children dead, by more than double.
\*Dedication: This story is dedicated to my cousin.
Jesse Daniel "Pud" Black
7/18/1995-3/21/2024
Who is nothing like his namesake in this story, but would be very proud and encouraging of me finally pursuing creative writing.
\*Author's Note: This story was inspired by a combination of fears and true crime cases. First, the classic poisoned Halloween candy urban legend. Which was based on a heartbreaking true crime case, rest in peace Timothy O'Bryan and rot in hell his father Ronald O'Bryan. Second, all the children whose classmates brought things to school they should not have and harmed them. I'll never understand why that has become as common as it has and hope someday it isn't. Third, the real life story of Jesse Pomeroy, long may he rot. And finally the real story of Graham Young, who I hope is keeping Rondald O'Bryan and Jesse Pomeroy company.
#entertainment
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Whenever children die the adults all lose their minds. No matter how, natural or otherwise it's just such a tragedy, but I don't think they ever believe they may have deserved it. They always think we're all so innocent, pure or something. Well maybe they don't think that about all of us. The way these cops are looking at me right now, it doesn't feel like they think I'm innocent.
I doubt they can prove that though. You'll never take me alive coppers. "Care to share?" asked Detective Bryant. "Share what?" I asked back, doing my best to look every bit as young as my fourteen years. "What's so funny?" He asked, his anger not hidden as well as he probably thinks it is. "What's funny?" I repeated, trying to sound confused not sarcastic. "You tell me kid?", good. He does see me as just a child.
"You had a little smirk on your face, like you thought of something funny. If you can think of something funny at a time like this, I'd love to hear it." For fucks sake this guy is so dull. So damn serious, "at a time like this" as if it's such a big deal. People die everyday, a lot of them kids. None of these ones were going anywhere in life anyway, not like me.
Not every life is a loss, some people just take up fucking space. I wasn't about to tell him that though. "No sir, I didn't mean to 'smirk'. I'm sorry." I can play the part, I've had to mask as long as I can remember. My mother thought I had some sort of delay, but every pediatrician she took me to always told her the same thing. That I possess above average intelligence for my age. I've always been at the top of my class since I started school.
I guess a mother does know best though. She knows her own child at least. The older I've gotten the more I've grown to understand I'm not like everyone else. The delay is actually just something that never developed at all. And it's in my heart, not my mind. I believe it's evolution, it's made me stronger than most people.
If I saw the right specialists and in light of the current events it's highly likely I will have to soon. I imagine they will diagnose me with something like antisocial personality disorder. Most people with those disorders deny them, they don't want the stigma. Me either, but that doesn't mean we aren't aware. We just don't want the consequences that come with a diagnosis. Everyone around you knowing, being wary of you. Not being able to do the things we want to do because everyone around us is on high alert in our presence.
So we mask and deny. Not out of conscious, obviously, but convenience. Average people think it's a bad thing, that lack of feeling. They don't take into account the other side of it. An ability to do the hard things in life that need done, no one else has the stomach for. Paired with my exceptional mind I'll accomplish things most people can't even conceptualize.
These cops are definitely average people. The detectives in front me and all the cops probably listening to us somewhere else in this dump. I'm willing to bet they don't have any real evidence and are depending on a confession. Otherwise I'd be under arrest in a jail cell, not being questioned in an interrogation room.
"Where did you get all that antifreeze?" Detective Bryant asked. Being carfeul not to ask leading follow up questions like "did you steal it, or stockpile it for a long time" although that was what they suspected. "What antifreeze? I answered. "Jesse. This is serious, it will be easier for you if you tell us the truth." Detective Chance told me. "Nine children are dead, your friends and classmates. Their families deserve to know what happened." Only nine was disappointing to hear. I wonder if some of them are still clinging to their pitiful, inconsequential lives in the hospital.
Of course I couldn't ask that, but it definitely should have been more like thirty kids dead. I miscalculated somehow. Human bodies can be unpredictable like that though. People wake from comas unexpectedly after decades as a vegetable with no explanation. Suffer traumatic brain injuries and start speaking foreign languages they have no way of knowing.
Nine isn't a bad start though, for my first time. Well unless you count that little girl three years ago, but that was only one. The Dawson's baby, not really a baby. She was two years old and I used my hands, gently so I didn't leave any marks. And it worked, just how I wanted it too. As far as everyone knows she died of sids or some mystery medical condition.
They never even questioned me when that happened, they didn't suspect anyone at all. Because people die all the time, even kids. "Were you upset because Natasha didn't invite you to her party?" Detective Chance asked. "No. I don't really like Halloween parties. All the scary costumes." That was mostly true at least, I do think Halloween is stupid. Most holiday traditions are. "Is Natasha hurt?" I asked, wearing my person mask.
\-----------------------------------
"Okay Jesse. Sit tight, we'll be back soon." Chance said, sounding tired. The two men filed out the door, to the hallway packed with officers who had been watching from behind the two way mirror. "What do you wanna do?" Bryant asked Chief Carter.
"For now we just have to wait until that psychologist gets here, let them question him. Hope they know some tactic we don't." None of the officers present was thrilled to hand this case to the feds, but agreed it's necessary. "Graham Pomeroy seemed to be the main target. He had the highest levels of antifreeze so far, but they're still waiting for all the labs, sorting all the tests out." The chief stated as they walked towards his office.
"Why would he target his best friend, his only friend to hear the kids tell it?" Asked Bryant. "Why would anyone do anything like this, let alone a teenage boy from a good family?" The chief questioned, to himself it seemed more than in response to Bryant. "Poisoned Halloween candy, like the urban legend. All these children poisoned by their peer not some evil pervert. It's incomprehensible."
Passing through the lobby the detectives could see Jesse parents. His mother's eyes puffy and red, shiny with more tears. His father, looking stoic but concerned. Not yet admitting to himself where that much antifreeze must have come from. The police would first check local mechanics and factories. Until the medical examination showed that the antifreeze was homemade. That's when it would become undeniable to everyone.
Jesse's father, Dan Young owned a private pharmacy. With a small chemistry lab Jesse spent most of his time in. Nine children dead at a Halloween party, two more fighting for their lives in critical condition. It didn't seem like things could possibly get any worse, but people always underestimate children.
No one could have known, that the worst was yet to come. Or how much worse it would be. Monday morning, when the school served breakfast in the cafeteria. It was not his peers this time, but the grade school. Pre K through fifth grade, every victim under the age of eleven.
Jesse, the Halloween Poisoner, as the papers would come to call him after it made international headlines; would soon surpass his own goal of thirty children dead, by more than double.
\*Dedication: This story is dedicated to my cousin.
Jesse Daniel "Pud" Black
7/18/1995-3/21/2024
Who is nothing like his namesake in this story, but would be very proud and encouraging of me finally pursuing creative writing.
\*Author's Note: This story was inspired by a combination of fears and true crime cases. First, the classic poisoned Halloween candy urban legend. Which was based on a heartbreaking true crime case, rest in peace Timothy O'Bryan and rot in hell his father Ronald O'Bryan. Second, all the children whose classmates brought things to school they should not have and harmed them. I'll never understand why that has become as common as it has and hope someday it isn't. Third, the real life story of Jesse Pomeroy, long may he rot. And finally the real story of Graham Young, who I hope is keeping Rondald O'Bryan and Jesse Pomeroy company.
#entertainment
source