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You are sitting behind a counter flipping through pages of some boring magazine that some of the guests left behind the other night. Right now your motel is empty and when you do have guests you have no idea why would they come to stay here. Maybe because of all that paranormal-ghost shit propaganda. You are not sure and you don’t really want to know. You know you could go to bed now, but your parents were good responsible people and now you, just like them, can’t leave the register before an hour of closing comes.
You flip another page seeing some famous actresses being lashed for wearing one thing or another and unintentionally you look down at your black clothes thinking that those so called critics probably would talk about you the most. You don’t really like to show off and any clothing is good for you as long as it’s black.
Sudden ring of the bell that’s hanging above the main door makes you snap from your thoughts and you glance over the counter to see who it is at this hour. A man enters. He’s wearing a black jacket and black pants, you don’t see his shoes and his baseball cap is covering his eyes.
“Good evening!” He greets you as he approaches the register and you stand up from your chair after putting the magazine down.
“How can I help you tonight, sir?” You ask in a bored voice and he takes his cap off, giving a smile.
“I have a reservation for tonight.”
“Do you now?” You ask sarcastically. You don’t remember anyone ever having a reservation for a room in this motel since you were born.
“Uh, yeah. I called two weeks ago about the…” He looks around like someone could be listening to him and you raise an eyebrow skeptically.
“We’re completely alone.” You point out making him laugh.
“Right, I see that.”
“So, two weeks ago?” You try to make sure that he’s not going to stay here, in front of a register for all night.
“I’m Mike Enslin.” He introduces himself to you.
“Doesn’t ring a bell.” You respond making Mike laugh again, but now he feels slightly uncomfortable.
“I wanted your most “ghostly” room, miss…” He looks at your shirt searching for name tag or anything.
“Y/N, you can call me Y/N. So you want my scariest room, do you?” You sigh and turn taking the key from a hook, then turn back and put it on the counter that separates you and Mike. “Here, this one is probably it.” You mutter but Mike glances at the key and leans towards you over the counter. Not too far to make you uncomfortable, but enough to make sure he means business.
“Can you please give the one that is a ‘real deal’?” Mike asks and you frown then raise your eyebrow again.
“Why? Are you some sick bastard that gets kicks from staying in the room that someone died in?” You ask and Mike starts laughing once more.
“Um no. I am a writer. I write about haunted motels, ghost and other paranormal stuff.”
“There are no ghosts here, Mike.” You look at him and his smile drops.
“I thought this was a “Riverfall’s Haunted Motel”?” Mike grabs a brochure from the stack on the counter and you glance at that direction.
“Oh yeah, this is this.” You gesture over the brochures. “But there are not ghosts here. No any paranormal activity whatsoever. Some guests complained about “rattling chains” and other shit, but this house is very old, all the pipes sounds like rattling chains. People believe what they want to believe.” You shrug and Mike looks at you with his mouth slightly open. His first intention was to get a key to a room, stay overnight and then leave, but this woman standing in front of him just caught his curiosity.
“If I remember correctly this was your parents’ motel?” He asks politely and you nod.
“It sure was. Now it’s mine. I grew up here but never saw or felt anything unnatural if you’re asking me about this. It’s just an old motel, Mike.” You shrug again.
“Aha. But this room.” He points to the kay on the counter. “This room is said to have something unnatural in it?”
“Sort of. Last guests that stayed there complained about cold spots and voices, but I think they were just crazy and heard what wasn’t even there. Imagination, man.” You sigh. Why the hell is he interviewing you? Can’t he just read some rumors on the internet or read the goddamn brochure that has all the history in it?
“Ha, imagination.” Mike smiles and looks at the brochure. “Could you show me to the room and maybe tell about this motel’s history?” He looks into your eyes and you frown.
“What, you can’t read?” You ask making him smile again.
“I like hearing what happened from someone who lived here and since you’re the only one here…” He shrugs and you sigh, almost groan. It’s almost closing time but now you have this so called writer on your hands. Well, at least you will have one room occupied.
“Fine.” You mutter grabbing the key from the counter. “Just let me lock the door.” You move towards the front door and lock it. “Follow me.” You start climbing the stairs. Suddenly you stop. “Here died the first maid of that massacre. You know, the one that happened here. I forgot how they call it.”
“Riverfall’s horror.” Mike prompts and you glance back at him.
“Yeah, this one. My parents always called it “the accident” so I never cared to know how media named that event. So, the first maid died here. The man, Dan Saunders, killed her with his pencil.” You move upstairs while Mike examines the spot for a moment. You point at the wall when Mike finally joins you again. “Here the second maid was killed. He broke her neck.” You explain and move towards the room you have a key from. You stop in the hallway. “There police found bodies of Saunders’ children. A boy and two girls. They were axed into pieces.” You don’t even look at Mike when he stops to examine the spot again, but actually he looks at you, feeling pleasantly surprised at how cold-blooded you feel about all this. You push the key into a door and open it entering. You flip the light switch revealing simple, almost old fashioned room. “There.” You point to a big bed. “He raped his wife, gouged her eyes off and desecrated her dead body after he made an “Exorcist” movie head spin on her. So that’s it. Anything else?” You turn to him after you toss the key on the bed and Mike enters, looks around then dumps his duffle bag next to a bed.
“No, I think not. Except do you have a mini bar?” He gives you a quick smile.
“Yeah, right there.” You gesture to the little door that looks like a counter but when he leans and opens it cold light of a mini refrigerator shines on his face.
“Oh.”
“Don’t bother about paying for any of that. On the house. Because you’re going to be disappointed because there are no restless spirits here.”
Mike closes the refrigerator with a smile.
“You live alone, you don’t believe in supernatural and you’re the most cynical woman I ever met.” He admits approaching you. Suddenly you feel like you don’t want to leave this room and this man. You want to know more.
“And you don’t seem to be a believer too. Yet you write about all that crap.”
“Because I want to see if there’s anything after death. To get a glimpse of what this is all about, you know?” He gestures meaning the life itself and you smile at him.
“Quite naïve I would say. From dust to dust. Isn’t that enough?”
“Not for everyone.” He gives you one charming smile and you swallow hardly only now noticing how he actually managed to capture your interest.
“So how many books you wrote?” You ask feeling how door behind you closes. The foundation is already crooked so it’s not surprise. But of course it invokes Mike’s curiosity.
“Some. And you say that there are no spirits here.” He glances at the door when they close shut and you shrug.
“Foundation is all messed up. All door closes if you leave them open long enough. Nothing supernatural here. About what your books are?” You ask when Mike passes you, opens the door, looks into the hallway and closes it turning to you. Only two feet away he examines your expression and smiles.
“About places like this.” He steps closer and you feel like you don’t want to move or leave this room. You want to stay. “Since when you’re the sole owner of this place?” He asks, his voice becomes lower at the same time it becomes more like a whisper.
“Two years ago after my mother died. Do you enjoy what you’re doing?” You ask when Mike steps so close that you can smell his cologne and see the brown of his eyes.
“Most of the times – yes. Sometimes I get tired. But I think that’s normal.” He whispers after he scans your face. His hands raises and cups your face. “But right now I am glad that I came here even if I didn’t expect much.” Mike admits and you part your lips wanting to say something, but warmth of his palms wipes every thought from your head. It becomes blank like an unused sheet of paper.
Mike brings your face closer and kisses you. You close your eyes, meeting his lips with yours, feeling how your knees become week. No, you were never a woman who sleeps with handsome guests if she has a chance but Mike is somehow different. Somehow he’s just like you and right now you want each other.
You grab onto Mike’s jacket pulling him even closer and his hands leaves your face, sliding down your waist, making you shiver under his palms. You unzip his jacket while Mike pulls back from a kiss to unbutton your shirt.
“This is wrong.” You mutter between gasps for air.
“And I came here to work.” Mike adds.
“Shit.” You glance into his eyes and you meet in a kiss again.
You slide his jacket down his shoulder while he helps you to get rid of your shirt. Other clothes finds their way on the floor while you undress each other while stepping towards the bed. When you’re only in your underwear and Mike only has his own on and a T-shirt you both fall onto bed. Quickly Mike shifts, placing himself on top of you, his eyes wandering all over your body, lustfully devouring the image of you under him.
When you think that he looked enough you wrap your hands around his neck and pull Mike into a messy kiss, not wanting to stop, not wanting to think if this is right or wrong. While not pulling back from your lips he slides your panties down and frees himself from his own underwear. With one hand he pushes your knees apart and you lock your ankles on his lower back after you bite his bottom lip down. You feel him smile against your lips and then he thrusts into you making you yelp from pleasure and surprise at the same time. You haven’t been with a man in a long time and now you don’t know why because this feels just too good right now.
Mike kisses you again after you let go of his lip and he starts moving, kind of slow and clumsy at first, like he didn’t do this in a long time and it makes your heat melt when you understand that that’s true, but soon he regains his confidence and his thrusts becomes stronger and quicker. You arch your back, sinking your nails into his shoulders, breathing out loudly into his lips and wishing for this to never end. Mike’s lips slips down on your neck and you close your eyes feeling how your bliss is approaching you, how that tight ball in your lower belly starts to loosen up, how your muscles starts shivering from the upcoming wave of pleasure. Mike’s one hand grabs your jaw and makes you look at him, his dark eyes even darker now from all his desire, that’s driving him mad. He kisses you just when you reach your edge and you pull him down together with you while you moan into each other's mouths.
When pleasure starts to fade Mike rolls from you, dropping next to you. He’s trying to catch his breath while you too try to calm down. Suddenly he turns to you, smile on his lips.
“You know that people died in this bed. They were killed brutally.” He says between gasps for air.
“She. She was brutally murdered. And I don’t care about that. It’s not like she going to come back to life and scold us for having sex in her bed.” You mutter with a half smile making Mike laugh.
“I love the way you look at things.” He rolls on his side and cups your cheek with his palm. “I never met a woman like you.” He whispers.
“Then enjoy my company while you can.” You smirk just before his kisses you. You feel his smile against your lips and you smile back.
For the first time in many years you feel truly alive. And for the first time in your life you feel glad that you own this goddamn motel.