Once in a Lifetime

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.