Archives de Tag: part 3

There’s Always That Damn Hotel Room – Part 3

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The need for a smoke came back stronger than ever. He literally needed to blow off some steam.

Once again, he had to face this inner demons of temptation. After all, just one, to cool off. But this is the cliché excuse to get back to smoking.

He took a glass of water instead, risking drinking it from the sink, with those terrible drought that had been hitting California recently, their was a significant health risk of drinking water from the tap. But, this was better to drink a potentially cancerous glass of liquid than to definitely inhaling cancer right into his body.

He laid back in the bed, looking at the spot on the celling. He couldn’t see anymore animals nor anything close to what he had saw earlier on it. This was proof that his brain was tired.

Dosing off once again, he felt into a dream, a nightmare in fact.

He was back in the fancy hallway of the Monclar Hotel. Alone. He could hear a scream, a women scream, along with terrifying scritching noise.

The hallway was well lit by a big crystal chandelier hanging from the roof to a few inches of the floor. Jack T. was almost blinded by the flashing crystal light marking his sight with those purple spots on the retina.

He tried to yell his wife name, Clara, but the only sound coming out off his mouth was an animal like groaning. The more he tried to yell, the more the groaning was loud. When he decided to put his hand in front of his eyes to stop the light from burning them, he realised that his hands had become those of a beast.

Long thin finger, with long and thick black nails, and his skin was covered in dense black fur.

By reflex, he took a glance at his lower body part but nothing had changed.

He tried to move around, going up the right set of stairs, the one that leaded to his room. He moved pretty fast. Too fast even. He could control his pace. When he finally managed to reach the top of the set of stairs he took the direction of the corridor leading to his and his wife room. He ran so fast that he blew past the long corridor, pulverising the window at the end of the hallway and ended up in the snow, outside of the hotel that suddenly exploded.

Jack woke up in sweat. Maybe because of the dream, but also because the TV was on fire. He got up from the bed, coughing from the poisonous fumes filling the room and ran to the door. Of course, it was locked. He remembered, for once, where he had put the hotel room key, on the TV stand. The television and the stand where devoured by thick black and red flames. The key was definitely lost. He prompted himself to the window, but he could not understand the mechanism for opening it. Why do hotel room all have those complicated windows opening mechanism along with those complicated showers fonction?

As he was thinking about this, he felt like writing it down on his notebook. He didn’t really cared about his wallet and laptops nor his trousers. He didn’t wanted to have his precious notebook burned, with all these wisdom thought and ideas, going up in flames and destroyed forever, never to be recovered. Jack never trusted his memory capacity, writers had a tendency to forget things pretty fast because they often think about the thousands of things they could write about. Their brains are often on maximum overdrive, keeping them up at night, pushing them to daydream, or nightdream.

Even more interesting stuff that he had to write about on the pages of his beloved notebook that was just standing on the bedside table.

He quickly leaped next to the bed to pick it up. But the notebook was stuck, impossible to grab off the table, like it was glued to the wood.

The writer tried his best to lift it up, planting his nails on the woods, bleeding. The effort made him suffocate even more. He wouldn’t give up, nails were coming off his fingers, shards penetrating deeply in his fingertips.

He felt a hand on his shoulder yanking him.

Jaskiers

Through there and here – Part 3

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I could feel the air on my face, I could feel that I was moving, but at the same time, it felt like I was going nowhere, not really advancing. So, I started running even faster. Never been a sport guy, but I ran like hell was on my tail.

And I face planted in the water, and ended up somewhere else.

Someone helped me to get back on my feet. It was a guy, speaking what seemed to me to be german. I don’t speak one word of it, but by his tone and his expression on his face, I could tell he asked me if I was alright. I’ve node yes, he smiled at me, spoked to me and he ran.

There was peoples, peoples everywhere! I could hear chants, cheering, peoples were hugging each other, some were crying, but those were tears of joy. They were all dressed in vintage clothing. It felt, to me and my poor knowledge of fashion history, that it was clothes from the early 90´s, late 80´s at least.

The crowd all marched in the same direction, and I decided to follow them. I was never comfortable in a crowd, all my life I tried my best to avoid them. But after being alone in the blue desert, the sheer panic provided by the emptiness made me… grateful to be surrounded by fellow humans beings. I didn’t knew where the fuck I was, didn’t know what was happening, couldn’t ask for it, but the joy emitted by the crowd made me feel happy to.

I started hearing sheers, and dull banging sounds followed by the noises of heavy rubbles landing on the ground. Every time a banging sound was louder than the other ones, the crowds cheered.

I was closing in on the source of all this mess. As I made my way to it, the flock of people tightened. I’m not the tallest guy nor the most bulked men, just… average, like my ex-girlfriend would have said, it would have been difficult for me to try and get trough this mass.

I needed a vantage point. I could see people on top off roads signs, cars, or whatever they could use to be able to see what’s was happening.

I made my way near a group of young men and women standing on the roof of what’s seemed to be a police car. Well, it was written « Polizei » on the side, I assume it was a cop car.

One of the girls jumped on the hood and gave me her hand and helped me climb up the car.

I muttered a ‘thank you’ and a bright smile. She asked me, with a perfect English if I was American. I delightfully said yes, and took a sight at what was happening.

A wall being destroyed.

I’d remembered some of my old history class talking about the Berlin Wall, to be honest, I didn’t remember very well that class, I wasn’t that much of a good grade well behaved kid. But there I was, witnessing history ! And that, from my point of view, beat every history book and class.

Peoples were standing or sitting on the wall, smashing it with whatever they had in their hands, from a simple wood stick to a hammer, empty bottles and such. Some were literally throwing themselves into the wall. That was very dangerous. I mean, didn’t wanted to be below it! And I remembered that they were probably soldiers from the east, I can’t recall what they were called, it sound like the name Stacy, Stazy… Stasi? But they were no threat coming from them at this moment. There was way to many peoples to handles, way to many powers, forces, joys. Even with weapons, I think it would have taken a huge number of soldiers and machinery to stop this event.

This was, once again, a strange feeling for me. Finally, I was somewhere I knew a little bit about. That’s why, you kids readings this, should listen in class. Never know what time and space have in store for you!

Jaskiers

Just Another Haunted Hotel Room Story – Part 3

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FYI: I am not fluent in English, I’m trying to be at least. Sorry for the potentials mistakes. Feel free to correct me in the comment section.

—

The need for a smoke came back stronger than ever before since he stopped smoking. He needed to blow off some steam.

Once again, he had to face this inner demon of temptation. After all, just one, to cool off. But this is the cliché excuse to get back to smoking.

He took a glass of water instead, risking drinking it from the sink, with those terrible drought that had been hitting California recently, there was a risk of infection drinking water from the tap. But, this was better to drink a potentially cancerous glass of liquid than to definitely inhale cancer right into his body.

He laid back in the bed, looking at the spot on the celling. He couldn’t see anymore animals in it. This was proof that his brain was tired.

Dosing off once again, he fell into a dream, a nightmare in fact.

He was back in the fancy hallway of the Monclar Hotel in Colorado. Alone, he could hear a scream, a women scream along with terrifying scritching noises.

The hallway was well lit by a big crystal chandelier hanging from the roof to a few inches above the floor. Jack T. was almost blinded by the flashing crystals lights marking his sight with purple spots on his retina.

He tried to yell his wife name, Clara, because the screams he could hear sounded like her voice. But the only sound coming out off his mouth was an animal like groaning. The more he tried to yell, the more the groaning was loud and disturbing. When he decided to put his hand in front of his eyes to stop the light from burning them, he realised that his hands had became those of a beast.

Long and thin fingers, with long and thick black nails, his skin was covered in dense black fur.

By reflex, he took a glance at his lower body part but nothing had changed.

He tried to move around, going up the set of stairs on his right, the one that leaded to his room. He moved pretty fast. Too fast even. He could not control his pace. When he finally managed to reach the top of the set of stairs, he took the direction of the corridor leading to his and his wife room. He ran so fast that he blew past the long corridor, pulverising the window of his bedroom, breaking the room’s window and ended up in the snow, outside of the hotel that suddenly exploded.

Jack woke up in sweat. Maybe because of the dream, but also because the TV was on fire. He got up of the bed, coughing from the poisonous fumes filling the room and ran to the door. Of course, it was locked. He remembered, for once, where he had put the hotel room key; on the TV stand. But the television and the stand where devoured by thick black and red flames. The key was definitely lost. He prompted himself to the window but he could not understand the mechanism for opening it. Why do hotel room as those complicated windows opening mechanism along with weird shower malfunctioning?

As he was thinking about this, he felt like writing it down on his notebook. His precious notebook! He didn’t really cared about his wallet and laptops nor his trousers. He didn’t want to have his precious notebook burn, with all these wisdom, thought and ideas going up in flames and destroyed forever, never to be recovered. Jack never trusted his memory, writers have a tendency to forget things pretty fast because they often think about the thousand of things they could write. Their brains are often on maximum overdrive, keeping them up at night, pushing them to daydream.

Even more interesting stuff that he had to write about on the pages of his beloved notebook that was just standing on the bedside table.

He quickly leaped next to the bed to pick it up. But the notebook was stuck, impossible to grab off the table, like it was glued to the wood.

The writer tried his best to lift it up, planting his nails on the woods, bleeding. The effort made him suffocate even more. He wouldn’t give up, nails were coming off the fingers, shards penetrating deeply in his fingertips.

He felt a hand on his shoulder yanking him.

He woke up, laying in his bed. The young hotel manager was seating next to him.

Jaskiers