Hotel of Madness Read online

  “Naw, no no, no. I… found it in a suitcase.”

  “At Katsucon?”

  “Ma-maybe.”

  “Then it came from the dealer’s room.”

  “Trust me, MAN! You can’t find this downstairs.” The Holder leans in, “Besides,” he opens me, “this is in some foreign language like Latin, isn’t it?”

  The eyes, the souls. Two, three, six souls. Even more. The seeking will be soon, very soon.

  “Looks like this is in English, bro.”

  “Yeah, that's English to me.”

  “Looks like you got it from the dealer’s room.”

  The Holder closes me and leans back. “Maybe Derek did,” he says and continues drinking. The sweet alcohol slows him, slurs him. It is not better or worse for him to drink. I do not need a simple mind, only a curious one. Drawing this one’s curiosity, however, requires more. Oh, can’t wait. Oh, can’t wait!

  “You know I looked all over the dealer’s room, and I swore I never saw that one.”

  “Well, it was in a friend's suitcase—” Waves of lust emanate from the Holder. A woman's voice has such an effect on him. “Hey, you want to read this?”

  The warm glow of the second life gets closer, her curiosity burns intensely, and her smell is sweet from the intoxicating liquid and pheromones. Her breath vibrates the air, carrying the taste of her Other. Aw yes, even the Holder can sense it, like green peppers caramelized in butter slowly being poured over cooked mushrooms. Intoxicating as her desire to know, to seek.

  He moves me into her view. Her eyes wander over the words and their meaning. Her face twists in shock, “This may actually be a spellbook.”

  The Holder's curiosity rumbles forth, “Really?”

  “Yeah, see here?” her fingers caress my flesh-sewn pages, reinforced with muscle fibers, “I think those are occult symbols.”

  “How would you know that?”

  The woman is offended. “Any reason why a girl can’t?”

  The Holder blushes. “No, NO. It’s just… are you a Wiccan or something?”

  “Something. I took a theology class in college, and I knew some Wiccans.”

  “But?”

  “All those crystals, all that chanting, just to what? Ask the great spirits of the east and west to help you live, laugh, love?”

  A small bud of mirth spreads between the two of them. The Holder rests me against his lap comfortably to pay the female more attention.

  “The old magicians used magic to secure their positions in court, divine dreams, and predict the future.”

  “So, you believe in this stuff?”

  “Most cultures around the world did.” Her mind races with thoughts as she continues, “It really wasn’t until the Jesus freaks showed up that shit started going downhill.”

  “You mean the Inquisition? Witch trials?”

  “You get the idea.”

  “So you do believe.”

  “Just curious.” She eyes me with a growing sense of longing, my influence touching her more intuitively than anyone else in this crowd.

  “Well, I’m curious too.”

  The Holder turns the page. His mind is unfocused and lacking the discipline to will anything but what I want before him. Oh, he is close. Very close.

  “What should we be looking for?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, it's a spellbook, isn’t it? Shouldn’t we try to cast a spell?”

  “I mean, you want to wish for a million dollars?” Mischief spreads throughout her being, “Or world domination?”

  “Wouldn’t that be too generic? And besides, if there was anything that would be like a monkey’s paw, wouldn’t it be the Necronomicon?”

  They stare at each other, then at me.

  “Hey, I don’t want to end the fun so soon.” His mind focuses on an idea, oh what a shame. “I think I got something.”

  The Holder turns another page, the idea crystallizing in his mind. “Something simple,” he points to the page in question. The female matches his gaze. “And it should be harmless.”

  “Is that suppose to be—”

  “A cure for con plague.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Well, it says in bold letters, ‘Cure Diseases.’”

  “I mean, it could just cure cancer.”

  “Wouldn’t that be a win-win?” The Holder, under my influence, exudes confidence that smells delicious to the female.

  “Ok, so what do we need?”

  * * *

  The door is locked. That’s expected considering this is a hotel room. The problem is I need the door open, and without someone to answer my knocks, the only choice I have is to kick it down.

  So I wait. And wait. And then something hits the door.

  “Ok, we’re in business, now just—”

  THUD!

  “O-K!”

  THUD! THUD! THUD! THUD!

  Something tells me I should step back from the door. However, the last time I spied on the book, it was here. Doing another scry risks my consciousness and the book's consciousness existing in the same place in time which is bad considering the book has a will of its own and is liable to try to merge our consciousness. So I’d rather check this room out and do some interrogating. I can always scry for the book again once I confirm it's not here.

  But there is a small issue. Whoever is on the other side is either trying to get to fourth base and ran out of real estate or—

  “Hey, can you move out the way? This is my room!” A blonde woman of medium height with brown eyes and small red lips stares daggers at my blank facial expression. Fortunately, the geas has been removed, so the chances of her getting her brain eaten are rather low.

  Which is a bit of a pity. I nod and step generously out of her way. She stares more daggers at me, and I take the hint and start walking away. I must give off the creepy guy vibe, though you’d think designating your room as a party room would stop you from assuming people waiting outside said room are potential serial killers. But I’ve never been a 5’6” blonde in sailor moon cosplay, so what do I know?

  Luckily for me, the hallway isn’t overly long. Once I turn the corner, I slowly make an about-face and peep around the corner. The banging is louder and more aggressive as she fumbles for her room key. Once found, she swipes the lock and pushes into the door while turning the knob. The door doesn’t open. She pushes again, but the door still doesn’t budge.

  “HEY, ASSHOLES!! MOVE AWAY FROM THE DOOR!” She pushes her shoulder hard against the door. It opens an inch before slamming back closed. She bounces hard against the opposite wall before rolling to her feet, fuming.

  “ASSHOLES! IT’S MY ROOM TOO!”

  She kicks the door hard and quickly regrets her decision. The ruckus and her whimpering attract the attention of the room directly behind her. Two tall guys come pouring out.

  “What's wrong?” asks guy number one. His face is painted blue, and he is wearing the 1990’s idea of Native American garb around his waist. The second guy has pieces of a mech suit hanging off him, but I can’t put my finger on which series.

  Now on the verge of angry tears, she points to her room. “Those assholes won’t let me into my own room!”

  The two guys look at each other and then at the blonde. They shrug their shoulders, their brains already having decided butting into a cute girl's problem would be a good way to spend their Friday.

  “You tried security?”

  She shakes her head. “Room party.”

  They nod in understanding. They don’t want to be the nerd that narcs on a room party that hasn’t been shut down yet. Although with all the banging coming from that door, eventually, someone will be “that guy.”

  “Ok, I’ll try to get in,” the one with mech parts says. He steps toward the door, squares his shoulders, and knocks hard.

  The aggressive thuds coming from the door intensifies. The door looks as if it's ready to collapse from the inside, but maybe that’s my imagination. />
  “What about we try using my key and pushing our way in?” suggests the blonde, handing her key over to one covered in blue body paint. He marches to the door and swipes the key, leans into the door, and pushes. The mech suit joins and pushes as well.

  Now from my estimate, they’re about 420 pounds put together. Not small guys necessarily, but definitely on the lanky end; if they do work out, they do it to maintain a generally appealing physique without trying to be buff. Which is to say, compared to whatever is on the other end, their combined effort barely budges the door.

  Frustrated but not deterred, they roll their shoulders and slowly count to three. They brace their backs, shoulders, and hands against the door, leaving just enough surface area for both of them to fit. On three, they grunt like weight lifters and push hard. The door moves about 2-3 inches, and as they kick their feet, I notice the smell of something very familiar wafting through the opening.

  “Oh, that’s probably bad!" is what I want to say, but the speed of what happens next freezes the words before they left my mouth. If I had spoken up a second sooner, I might have been able to save them.

  You see, as the 2 to 3-inch opening became a 4 to 5-inch opening, the denizens on the other side grab the door.

  First, it is their blood-soaked hands, half purple and blue from bruising and pink from their peeled back skin, peeking out from the opening grasping the door firmly. The sight makes the blonde do a doubletake, but her muffled scream doesn’t come in time to warn her new friends.

  Second, is the sound, the moans of larynxes no longer capable of human speech, ing across the slowly opening void.

  Third, and this happens too quickly for everyone in that hallway, the door is pulled from the other side, causing the young men to disappear into the room.

  For a brief painful moment, nothing happens as the thrashing sounds of a multitude of bodies crashing in the distance fills the hallway. And for a second, I want to rush into the open and take advantage of the chaos that is the anime convention hotel room drama to continue my investigation.

  Then one of the dude-bros says, “Hey! Nice cosplay!” just before the screaming starts.

  Method of Operation

  Room 1232. I knock on the door for a good three minutes before it budges. I briefly consider turning around and trying out some spells designed to prolong pain on Arthur. But instead, the door opens, and I’m greeted by a 6’4, 250lbs man child with a sloping brow and wide-set ears. He scowls upon seeing me, which I try not to take personal offense to.

  “Hey, I’m looking for my friends. Is Mark or Greg in there?” Sam should also be in there, but he is more a shadow for the other two and less noticeable.

  The neanderthal shakes his head. “Don’t know ‘em.”

  “I’m pretty sure they’re in there.” I make a pathetic attempt to look past the 6’4 man to no avail. “I need to find them.”

  He looks me up and down. He reminds me of Michael Meyers, and that is intentional on his part, considering he is cosplaying as him. A little on the nose for my taste.

  “You’re not even in theme, and this is an invite-only party.” He makes a move to close the door, but my impatience gets the better of me.

  “NO.”

  My compulsion hits him hard. His jaw drops, and his hands fall uselessly to his side. I could leave him like this and watch him forget how to breathe….

  “STEP ASIDE”

  I’ve always wanted to say that, and as he moves generously out of my way, I release my grip on his psyche and take great pleasure hearing him collapse.

  The party I wasn’t invited to is a crowded affair. Horror enthusiasts cosplaying as aliens, predators, and slasher movie villains, all congregating around a mixing bowl, where the alcohol flows freely. While more anime-inspired monsters, mostly dudes wearing t-shirts with tentacles, dot the landscape with no regard to each other’s personal space.

  Navigating the room, which is bigger than the Gaylord’s standard twin bed but also smaller than my suite, is a chore. The crowd is drunk, and their inane conversations require them to sway into the few open spaces available. My wards are pretty useless, and despite the small size of the room, finding my friends seems rather tricky.

  Arthur lied. Well, that was expected, but I have all night to beat that habit out of him. Even if my friends have the Necronomicon, they can’t read it. The most they can do is try to leave with it or lose it themselves, and I already have a contingency in place that covers both of those possibilities.

  “DEREK!!” Mark bear hugs out of nowhere, involuntarily forcing an exhalation in the process.

  Mark is a round man but is also fairly in shape. So when he places both arms around you, your ribs can take a beating. Left to his mercy, I hang limply as he jostles me back and forth, then settles me down gently when Sam appears behind him.

  Looking at them both, I already know who stole the book.

  “Where is Greg?”

  They both look at each other before Sam clears his throat to speak.

  “Oh, with Mandy.”

  “Who the fuck is Mandy?”

  They both snicker near uncontrollably, but Sam calms himself down long enough to elaborate.“Oh, this chick Greg is trying to hook up with. He spent the entire time here showing off that Necronomicon book you got from the dealer’s room, and it finally paid off.”

  “Got himself a real big titty goth girlfriend,” Mark says, but he can’t keep a straight face while doing it, so snickering turns into laughter.

  “Ok... that still doesn’t tell me where Greg is.”

  Mark, sensing some urgency, calms himself. “Greg’s fine, bro. Let’s enjoy this party. Plenty of chicks into hentai here.”

  I won’t necro my friends, I won’t necro my friends--

  “SAM!” I get his attention, “Is Greg even still here?”

  “Oh no, he left with Mandy. Apparently, they did some stuff in the bedroom with some guys... trying to cast a spell apparently and left.”

  No… no… NOOOO! For a second, I lose my bearings and almost make a mad dash for the door. But something compels me to see what’s in the bedroom. So I push my way through, but the room feels more crowded than when I was simply wandering around. Everything annoys me, the slurring words, the drunken steps, the crowd is begging me to fumigate them with something nasty!

  The thought of compelling the entire crowd to shut the fuck up comes to mind, but I make it to the bedroom doors through some miracle. As I reach for the doorknob, someone puts a hand on my shoulder-

  “Hey, braa.” A big goofy smile crosses his face, but his eyes are serious. “I rather you let the people in there sleep, braa. Gotta let them ride out a bad trip.”

  The smile is infectious, and I return it with teeth.

  “Open the door.”

  This compulsion is more subtle than the last but about no less effective. Already drunk but not drunk enough to make decisions he normally wouldn’t, he fights a little but obeys. Good.

  Or not. The doors creeks open, but something not quite right wafts into the air.

  “Who was in there?”

  His mind was left intact, so the dude-bro responds, “My friend, some dudes, and this couple… they wanted to help him with something, he said he was sick, coming down with con plague.”

  “Do you smell that?”

  That was a rhetorical question. I’ve...I’ve been a dabbler for quite some time, and the only thing that should smell like that is roadkill.

  I back away slowly and close the door. I look for my friends. The door to the bedroom buckles. At first, the banging is drowned out by the ambient party sounds in the room. The excited conversations and the metal music being played at a reasonable decibel hide the sounds of something trying to leave the bedroom. That pitch-black place that smells of ozone and...

  “SAM, MARK!” my voice summons them but only because I was rather loud.

  “Yo!”

  “Time to go. Now.” I grab Sam. He is only 5’8 and hasn’t g
rown anything but body hair since we met in high school. Mark follows but complains, “Wait, why are we leaving?”

  “No time to explain.”

  The banging grows louder. How many people were in that room again?

  I look for the idiot I had to move out the way earlier. I spot him being tended to by a female friend of his. I gather myself, I’d rather not do this in front of Sam and Mark, but it’s better than the alternative.

  “STAND!”

  The power infused in my voice volts them from their chairs. They knock over drinks and lock their knees, awaiting my next order. I can’t abuse this too much. Compelling the same person twice risks giving them a level of resistance, especially if they’re strong-willed to begin with. These two aren’t much of a challenge. Though any more self-casting will require me to replenish my reserves. I still have the cops for that.

  “What the—”

  I don’t let Sam complete his train of thought. “FOLLOW ME!”

  We march as five to the front door, knocking over everyone and anything remotely in our way as we go.

  At first, I was worried about alerting everyone that something was terribly wrong with the way we moved for the exit. But Mark was right; the party was too good to consider leaving. This is good for me anyway because I don’t have the tools or the reserves to deal with this right now.

  Find the book, come back, and clean this mess up. Do it right, and no one has to know.

  It isn’t until we are in the hallway that my heart stops hammering. I would like to say I regret doing what I do next, but it has to be done.

  “GO BACK IN THERE AND CLOSE THE DOOR. DO NOT OPEN THE DOOR OR TRY TO ESCAPE NO MATTER WHAT. HOLD THE DOOR CLOSED AT ALL COSTS.”

  The compulsion rattles their brains, frying them thoroughly like one would an omelet. Once the order settles, they obey and close the door behind them.

  * * *

  The blonde runs. Can’t fault her for that. Unfortunately, what’s chasing her has longer legs. It bounds after her with the long stride afforded to a practically 6’4” man and tackles her. She fights back, knees to the stomach, scratches to the eyes. She screams for help, and her shout is long and mournful, like a scared child screaming for their mother. When the thing digs its head into her neck, her cries for help are replaced by shrieks of pain. The kind of unyielding agony felt more than heard. Blood, flesh, and meat fly in all directions and paint the walls and carpet red with ichor. And then it stops. The thing stands up slowly, covered in blood and a large part of its neck missing exposing the bone beneath. A human-shaped man-thing dressed up as the guy from Halloween.