My Latest for the NYC Midnight Flash Fiction Challenge. Enjoy
Parameters: 1,000 words
Genre: Ghost Story
Location: Hotel Room
Object: Tricycle
The
ad was simple enough: “Want to win $1,000,000?!?! Well sign up to be a part in
a new and exciting reality experience. Survive the night and become a
millionaire! Join us for the ‘Night of a Million Scares!’” For a twenty five
year old with a career in the illustrious fast food industry, the idea of
becoming an instant millionaire seemed like a pretty enticing proposition. A
few interviews with producers, production assistants, and casting directors
later, here I am sitting alone in an abandoned “haunted” hotel in Seattle. At
least I’m getting a free vacation out of it. Besides, ghosts are about as real
as mermaids, and the only mermaids I have ever seen are on the sign at
Starbucks.
Three hours in, very little creepy to report so far. There have
been some strange noises like creaking doors, loud bangs, and the occasional
footsteps coming down the hall. It’s a good thing I know that all of this
reality show stuff is just staged so they can get better ratings. They probably
set up speakers all over this place and right now there is some four hundred
pound, sweaty, Cheeto fingered butt scratcher sitting behind a bank of monitors
pushing play on a sound effects CD just trying to get reactions. I will play
their game. I will give ‘em jumps and a scream or two maybe. Hell, if they
throw in some thunder and lightning, I may even pee my pants. That’d be some
ratings gold. Got to be worth a million bucks, right? Shit, what would you do
for a Klondike bar?
Well, it’s been about four hours and I have to admit they have
pulled all the stops. I think maybe they got Steven Spielberg’s haunted house
guys to work this place. If I actually believed in ghosts and shit this would
really be getting to me. A few minutes ago there was a blood curdling scream
from down the hall, almost like someone was actually getting murdered. Like
really, really murdered. It’s like they somehow figured out a way of making
whispers in my head, too. It’s weird, like the whispering is actually in my
head- my own thoughts. Like someone is right next to me. A young girl’s voice keeps
asking for help and saying that It’s coming to get me. “It’s gotten the others
and you’re next.” Good trick, but I’m not giving up. I’m a millionaire! I just
have to get through the next few hours. I can do this- although, I am starting
to feel nervous.
Okay, not funny anymore. I want out. Who the hell do I talk to
give up? I don’t know how they are doing this shit but it’s not worth the money.
I tried to open the door, but it’s sealed tight, windows boarded up, too. The
only way that I know the rest of the world still exists is the peep hole. I
tried to see if anything is out there. Nothing. Then I saw her. The little
girl, riding down the hall on a rusted old tricycle. It whined with an ear
piercing squeal-loud even through the thick, locked door. Her mouth was moving
and I shouldn’t have, but I heard her clearly, in my head. She said its close
and that I am already dead. She looked right at me. Oh God, how she looked at
me! Her right eye a milky white, glazed over with a single tear of blood
streaming down her snow white cheek. The other eye was missing, blown out
through the back of her head like she had met the business end of a shotgun at
point blank range. As she passed, I noticed that her right leg was mostly missing-
attached only by a ligament dragging what was left of the gnarled, misshapen mass
that was once a girl’s leg. Now, it was more like a half-eaten dog bone with a
small, white sandal still strapped to the tiny foot. She looked at me. She looked
through me. She smiled. It shook me to my core. I couldn’t take any more of it,
but I couldn’t look away. She held a single finger to her lips and as clear and
I could hear my own screams I heard her “sshhhhhhhh”. And then she disappeared,
I don’t know how. I don’t think this is a game anymore. She is real. Holy shit, what I have gotten
myself into? She is real and she tried to warn me and now whatever is after me,
whatever got to her first, whatever it is, it’s coming for me and I can’t stop
it! Oh God, I don’t want the money. I don’t want anything. I just want out! I
JUST WANT OUT!
I can hear it now. It’s just outside the door. I can hear its screams
and snarls. I can see its shadow through the peephole. She is in the room with
me. Sitting right in front of me, her hollow socket glistening in the small
burst of lightning that is sporadically illuminating the room. I don’t fear her
now; she is a victim, just like all the rest. There never was a television show,
there was no money. It was a trick. It takes people with little to no value in
society and brings them here to… to eat them. Or something. I think I will find
out soon enough, I guess. I have come to terms with this. I am not afraid. It’s
all real, everything they ever told us wasn’t real is. My only hope now is that
Heaven is real, too. Ghosts, ghouls, vampires, werewolves, mermaids- they’re
all real.
It’s right outside the door now. The girl is gone. The whispers
have stopped. Maybe there is more to life than just money. Maybe there is more
to life than being famous for five minutes. Maybe there is more to life and
death than any of us can ever imagine. Maybe… shit… too late.
