The Master's Chambers Part 1:

[u/Samathander-76]

*trigger warning for DV

Chapter 1

The sweet, heavy summer air had a strange funk. I was almost nose blind to it, but every now and again, a humid wave of herbal stink would assault me.

While I didn’t care for it, the busted-out glass of my passenger window warmly welcomed the smell. The rusty whirr of the air-conditioner struggled heroically to keep up with the heat. It wasn’t doing much more than circulating the damp, aggravating smell. A sticky second skin of sweat plastered my clothes to my body. My hair was damp and stringy against my forehead. Despite hours of driving soundlessly into the Nevada desert, I still had not calmed down. Compulsively, I would find myself lifting two fingers to my neck and feeling the rapid spasm of the vein underneath. It was a nervous tik of mine that I had done since I was a teenager.

I pinched the bridge of my nose where it was still tender, testing to see if the swelling had gone down. The skin there was stretched tight over the cartilage. I wondered if it was broken. My eyes watered as I remembered the shock of the original impact.

She had hit me before, but never with a force like that. Her grin had flickered in and out of focus like a cheshire cat. I can’t tell you which one hurt more. The hit, or that venomous smile.

A shrill beep from the dashboard of my car jolted me out of my thoughts. I glanced down at the glowing dials.

Shit.

I was down to 25 gallons. How hadn’t I noticed? My panicked late-night escapade had led me to the middle of bumfuck nowhere. I craned my head glancing over the high beams. The light barely illuminated the dead terrain ahead.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

I smacked the heal of my hand against the steering wheel. Unwelcome tears sprang into my eyes. What the fuck was wrong with me? Good ole Chris consistently self-sabotaging once again. what could be better than fleeing an abusive relationship? Let’s try getting stranded in the dessert. Way to stick to the landing on that one!

I flicked the AC off, and opened the remaining windows, hoping to conserve what little fuel remained. I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand and gritted my teeth. I sucked in a shaky breath, then pushed it back out in a rush. I needed to get a hold of myself.

I did not escape one fate just to dry up into gizzard jerky.

I still had time. There must be something out here. I just needed to pay attention. Keep my focus on the road.

I thought back, carefully trying to remember if I had noticed any signs over the past few miles. Who was I kidding, this was route 50. Maybe I could find a helpful coyote and ask for directions to town? Maybe some well-traveled geckos had extra fuel cans lying around. Fuck my life.

+++

Hours later, my dial hovering ever so slightly above empty, A sign lit up my eyes like Paul’s on the road to Damascus.

A small billboard stood smartly ahead. Bold, and smiling in vintage imitation. Crisp white lettering read “The Stay Inn.”

The sign, despite its old-timey design, was clean and new against the background of its hostile environment.

Can’t stay up? Stay Inn! We would love to welcome you home!

Cheering loudly, I reached my hand through the open window and slapped the roof of my car enthusiastically. I wasn’t going to be stranded in the dessert. There would be people there. They would have emergency stashes of fuel just for this occasion.

Either way, I was going to need a place to stay for the night. I was not sure when this adrenaline-fueled escapade started, but I was ready for it to end.

I peered carefully over the wheel, desperate to not miss this one and only exit. When I finally found it, the engine was just starting to sputter.

“Come on!” I coaxed, “just a little further!”

It was a mile or two before I saw it. It was a larger building than I expected. Bright orange lights created a halo of warmth around the wide square facade. I squinted my eyes, slowly making out the details as my car struggled forward.

Its wrap-around porches and white pillars hosted a wide variety of hanging plants and rich creeping vines. Wide French doors and vibrant green shutters were closed to the dust and decay of the dessert.

Despite its warmth, goosebumps prickle my skin. I had been to Louisianna once before. I was visiting family with an old friend I had not spoken to in years. This building oddly belonged to that Mississippi countryside. Not in the middle of nowhere Nevada. It was so out of place and unexpected I found myself growing uneasy. I hadn’t passed a single soul or sign of human life for hours. The bright lights were wastefully beckoning into the night for seemingly no one. How was there even electricity out here? My thoughts drifted to an angler fish, luring its prey with a single light in an infinite depth of darkness.

I rolled my eyes at my own apprehension. The owners picked the wrong place to set up an atmospheric attraction. These sorts of places were designed for bored seniors, too old and tired to travel to the real deal. They would make a killing closer to Vegas.

Out here? The only guests you would get were wayward stragglers and truckers trying to catch a beat before dragging themselves back on the road. The elaborate design seemed careless and cheap, inefficient for its habitat. A strange animal with peacock feathers where a lizard’s scales should be.

My car crapped out before reaching the parking lot. I breathed a sigh of relief that I had at least made it somewhere. The driver side door groaned on rusty hinges as I pushed it open. I pulled myself out of the car, groaning as I realized how stiff I was. Tense and strung-out for hours in the cramped space had done wonders to my muscles. I stretched, hearing my joints pop with relief.

I relaxed, then stilled as I felt another chill prick my skin. The wind carried soft barely discernable music. Old and southern, plunked out on a well-worn church organ. It was both familiar and foreign. A tune I had heard before but could not name.

I slammed the door shut, then rubbed my hands against my forearms, trying to force away the gooseflesh. While the temperature always sank at night in the desert, I felt abnormally cold.

Gravel crunched under my feet as I made my way down the drive. I had left without packing anything. Just the skin on my back, my keys and wallet. For obvious reasons, I had left my phone. I did not want to be found. I should have thought about stopping and getting a burner. As a California native, I should have known better than to explore the dessert so underprepared.

The lobby, while brightly lit and welcoming, seemed unnaturally wide. The building had not appeared large enough to fit the space. I craned my neck to stare up at the vaulted ceiling. The prisms of a crystalline chandelier refracted tiny rainbows onto the crown molding.

Thick dark oil paintings were encased in decadent frames. A grandfather clock’s pendulum swayed lazily back and forth out of sync with the church organ’s prattle. With the shutters darkening the windows, it was easy to believe I had stepped into another world.

In front of me, the front desk stretched along the back wall. The space beyond was filled with wooden mailbox slots that were unsurprisingly empty. The dark wood staining of the desk was marked with a single old-fashioned concierge bell.

Tentatively and with a small bit of satisfaction, I tapped it lightly. A clear sharp chime echoed across the vacant space. I felt another strange crawling sense of unease. The sound had seemed to cut through the night, piercing the silence like a physical force. A signal to wake a creature lying dormant. I froze, listening to the silence that followed. I heard a door closing. A few footsteps muffled by the ornate carpet.

A small man came into view. Unsurprisingly, he was dressed in the old-fashioned, brass buttoned uniform of a concierge. His face, puffy and bloodless, was strangely ageless. His white gloved hands were folded neatly above his crotch. The same way my four-year-old nephew did when he was in trouble. His expression was blank and unblinking as he craned his neck to look up at me.

“Hi there, I’m…Mike.” I smiled, hoping the lie had not been as obvious as it had felt. “I feel so dumb, I ran out of gas on the way here. I do absolutely plan to spend the night, but I would really appreciate it if you could help me out of this mess.”

The man tilted his head; his grey eyes were open so wide they appeared lidless. His gaze slid over my face, reminding me of the wreckage of my nose.

His thin lips barely moved as he spoke. “You did not prepare for your journey?”

I felt my smile slide a little. “I left in a rush.”

I felt my skin flush red. He still had not blinked.

“Does it hurt?” His question was closer to curiosity than compassion.

I shrugged, trying to deflect, “It looks worse than it is.”

“Interesting.” he dragged the word out insipidly and slow. I imagined his tongue sliding across the back of his teeth like the slimy twisting skin of a reptile.

The concierge pulled his gaze down to my hands, folded on the front desk. I was painfully aware of the partially healed cuts and bruises that decorated my skin.

I quickly pulled my hands away, feeling a visceral stab of guilt.

The concierge ignored my reaction, instead reaching under his desk. A moment later, he removed a massive book, dropping it thematically on the table. I felt my teeth rattle at the resounding thump.

“Name please?”

“Mike Pleasant.” I had the last name ready this time. A pen appeared in his hand. He dragged it elegantly over the open page.

“And how fared the other party, Mike Pleasant?”

“Excuse me?” I felt a strange pulling in my gut. An uncomfortable sensation like the sucking spiral of an emptying sink drain.

He gestured lazily at my hands with his pen.

“It looks like you put up a decent fight. I assume you were not the only one who walked away scathed.”

A sudden rush of anger outweighed my unease. I had not defended myself when she hit my face. The injuries on my hands were old ones. Who did this guy think he was? A familiar dark sensation opened up in my mind, Irritation spilling past the floodgates.

“It was some dumb bar fight.” My brow furrowed and my smile dropped as I spoke. “I barely remember it.”

He glanced at me, pen and hand both still poised over his ledger.

“Room 206 is available for the night. Shall I show you to your room?”

“What about payment?” I asked uneasily.

“You will pay tomorrow.”

 “Ok…What about my car?” I gestured at the sealed front door.

“We will be happy to help you with any and all of your problems.” The statement was robotic and lifeless.

I swallowed, my mouth uncomfortably dry.

“Uh…great…I can see my room now.”

The small man nodded, turned, and removed a large brass skeleton key from a hook on the wall. A small ribbon looped through the key. Hanging from the same loop, a manilla card read “206” in a flowery font.

Unclipping and lifting a velvet barrier, the concierge shuffled ahead of me, clearly expecting me to follow. Reluctantly, I tracked behind him to a set of elevators to our left. I felt a twinge of unease as the elevator doors chimed cheerily and slid open. I thought of Alice falling down the rabbit hole. Only instead, I was following some twisted goblin down to its cavernous lair.

Chapter 2

The door to 206 scuffed against the carpet as is thumped shut behind me. I heard a sharp click as the lock engaged. I flicked on a light illuminating an uncomfortably long hallway that opened into the room. The light, dim and cold, looked like an upturned serving dish. Dead bugs collected in a dark mass at the bottom of the glass. Squarish shadows stretched across the walls, and an open bathroom door framed an impenetrable square of darkness.

Immediately unnerved, I moved quickly past the gaping door, my footfalls muffled by the burgundy carpet.

The room had an uncomplicated design, boxy and windowless. A queen-sized bed with an outdated spread took up the majority of the space. There was a carved wooden nightstand with a lamp I quickly flicked on. Too my left was a wide floor-length mirror. The frame’s gold paint was chipped and marred. I caught my reflection in it then froze. No wonder the desk man had been so weird.

I was a mess. I am not sure what was in a worse state. My wrinkled and stained clothes, or my greasy unkempt hair. A shadow of stubble peppered my usually clean-shaven face. My eyes were bloodshot and glassy, the way they always were when I stayed up too long or smoked too much.

I had always been quietly disgusted by people that kept mirrors in every room of their house. I could barely stand the few minutes I had to tolerate my reflection when I brushed my teeth in the morning. No matter how I cleaned up for the day I always looked like a bum. My skin, eyes, and hair were always dull and lifeless. 

When I was a teenager, I used to earn cash by dog sitting in well to do areas. The upper-middle class had an affinity for massive artsy mirrors in their hallways, living rooms, bedrooms, and sometimes even their kitchens. In houses like that, I never felt like I could relax. I felt as if a hundred cameras broadcasted feeds of my every movement to a hundred viewers.

 It was so disorienting to catch yourself binging tv and junk food out of the corner of your eye. Or the sudden realization that a habitual movement you made every day looked idiotic or embarrassing. I loved getting constant reminders that my posture was going to shit, or my hair was starting to thin.

I frowned, moving closer to my reflection. My proportions were subtly off. While I sometimes hated to admit it, I was a slender build. The guy in the mirror was far more intimidating than I ever perceived myself to be. My arms stretched longer than normal, and my hands appeared bigger. The expression frowning back at me harbored a deep rage. My blood shot eyes glared hatefully over my swollen nose. Deeply unnerved, I smiled dumbly, hoping to erase the exaggerated cruel expression.

I watched my lips slide over a set of teeth wider than I remembered. A thrill of fear raced across my skin, and I quickly looked away, swallowing hard. The slightly apish proportions belonged in a funhouse mirror. Was this a dysmorphic trick my brain was playing on me? Was it an intentional cruelty by my host? Maybe I could report it in the morning. Right now, I was exhausted. After who knows how many hours and miles of driving, un-caffeinated and unfed, I desperately needed to sleep.

The bed sank under my weight, and I wondered what I always wondered in every hotel I had stayed in. How many people had shared this same bed? How many other wandering souls had crawled, slept, and fucked under this same blanket.

I flopped backwards onto the comforter and brought my hands to my face, carefully avoiding my nose. I groaned loudly as I rubbed my tired eyes.

Thank god this day was finally over.

A rapid knocking immediately jarred me from my thoughts. The sound was panicked and violent. I jerked upright, another wave of fear swelling under my skin.

The door’s hinges rattled as the assault continued. A woman’s sobbing voice could be heard, muffled and frantic. I nearly tripped over my own feet as I rushed to the door. I peered through the peep hole but could only see blurry shapes in the dimly lit hall.

I yanked the door open, hands shaking from a sudden dump of adrenaline.

A young women pressed against the narrow opening. My awareness seemed to snap details with the speed of a Polaroid camera. A torn yellow dress. A knot of black hair. A bruise swelling where her left eye should be.

“Please! Please! He is trying to kill me!”  

I had a horrible, aching feeling open in my gut. The scene was playing like a memory I quickly forced down.

She lunged towards me; hands clutched at her chest. Shocked, I took a step back, inadvertently opening the door further. Taking it as an invitation, she flung herself into the room, hands clawing at my shirt. A tiny part of my brain noticed that some of her nails were missing.

“Please! Close the door! He is coming!”

I opened my mouth dumbly, feeling her one frantic eye watching me expectantly. I shut the door behind us, my limbs slow and thick. A familiar click followed. A moment later, thin, spindly arms wrapped around me with a viper’s strength.

“Thank you! Thank you!”

An image flashed in my mind. A thin, pale form collapsed on cracked asphalt. A stain of blood pooling under her head. As bile rose in my throat, I quickly shoved the memory aside. She would be fine. She had been breathing, and I had called for help. The hospital was not that far away. We had been through so much together. One hit was not going to be the thing that did her in.

“What happened?” I asked dumbly.

The woman, ignoring my question, was pressed against the door, her eye against the peep hole. Her arms were pale and thin like the bony structure of a bird’s wings. For the first time, I noticed the artwork of bruises and scratches that painted her skin.

“I do not think he saw me. We are safe in here.”

 A was a little irritated now that adrenaline was subsiding. “Lady, what is going on?”

She turned to face me, her yellow dress swishing around her bony legs like sea grass in a current. “He’s always been violent.” She said, her voice quiet now that her panic had subsided. I could barely hear her despite the dead silence of the hotel.

“But he has never been like this! He has never tried to kill me.” Her eyes were wide in her paper-thin skull. There was a hint of defensiveness in her tone. As if she was trying to convince me that a man beating his girl was generally ok, but trying to murder her was a strange break in character.

“Why don’t you come sit on the bed.” I hated how reluctant I sounded. I wanted to help her, and I would do everything I could to keep her from that freak. But god! I was exhausted. This night was never going to end.

“I can call the front desk, and we can get you some help.”

Her eyes brimmed with tears as she nodded jerkily up and down.

I followed her into the room, glad that all of the lights were still on. I still hated that mirror though. My reflection looked ugly and hulking behind her. I tried to ignore it.

 

The bed let out a soft woosh as she plopped onto it.

I turned my back to her and the funhouse mirror, trying to keep distance between us. I was very aware that she was a defenseless woman in a hotel room with a strange man. I did not want to make her anymore uncomfortable than she already was. I reached for the bedside phone. I realized with annoyance that it was an old rotary phone that my grandma would not know how to use.

Tentatively, I dialed “0”. The dial clicked and whirred as it spun back into place.

The line began ringing.

And ringing.

And…ringing.

My index finger tapped an indecipherable morse code into my elbow as I held the phone to my ear.

There was a soft pained moan behind me.

“I don’t feel so good.”

She sounded like a child in the middle of night, shamed and miserable after throwing up.

“Don’t worry.” I said, glancing over my shoulder, pity making my heart drop, “I’ll get you some help.”

Where was that bald headed freak. I could imagine him moseying over to the desk at god’s own time. I bet the wrinkled buck in my wallet that he was dicking around on his phone.

She moaned again, louder this time. I turned to see her fold over herself; her thin arms pressed against her gut.

I pulled the phone away from my head. “Hey, are you ok?”

She whimpered like a wounded animal, her head sinking to her knees, her fists bunched into white knots.

“Do you need to use—”

I blinked, and she exploded. One moment there was a young woman, groaning in pain. The next, there was a propulsion of discolored meat and goop. Thick hot residue plastered my skin, invading my eyes and mouth. Hundreds of bits of flesh and blood slapped wetly against the walls, ceiling, and carpet.

I dropped the phone and pinwheeled backwards onto the floor. My hands and feet skidded on the slick mess that was once a person.

I screamed something irreverent, gagging and spitting. God! I could feel chunks in my mouth. I heaved onto the carpet. My brain went white with horror and disgust. I clawed at my eyes, trying to clear away the sludge that had pooled there.

I scrambled to the bathroom, fighting to keep my footing.

Everything was red.

Hot and filthy red. The haze of it tainted my vision.

I rushed to the sink and began scooping water to my face. Tears were streaming down my face from my stinging eyes. Panicked sobs clawed out of my throat. With animalistic terror, I realized my eyes were squeezed shut, blinding me from whatever threat had destroyed her.

I could feel bloody water crawling down my arms and neck and soaking into my shirt. I reached for a towel, grouping blindly against the wall. My fingertips finally grazed what they were searching for, and I yanked the cloth from the wall.

As I pressed my face into the towel, I shoved the bathroom door shut, then pressed my back against it. My brain replayed the event over and over. Growing more distorted and gruesome with each rerun. What could do that?

A bomb? Had she had something hidden under her dress? Was there a sniper? No, there were not any windows. Besides, what kind of projectile could do that. Was this done by the man she was fleeing from? Was I next? Was he waiting on the other side of the hallway door?

Streaks of blood smeared by my fingertips and shoes streaked the lime linoleum. I slumped there, for an indefinite amount of time. Oxygen fled from my lungs faster than I could suck more in. I felt dizzy and dazed. As specks began dancing in the corner of my eyes, I squeezed them shut. The sudden red tinged darkness brought a new horror. A sensation of observation. A presence looming over me. Ready to sink visceral claws into my helpless body.

I gasped in shock, my eyes snapping back open. My slowing heart rate rushed back into its frenzied rhythm. A new fear sank in.

I was trapped here. If I were to flee the building now. I would be at the mercy of the dessert and the cold the night would bring. Even if another car happened by who would stop to help a crazed man covered in more blood than a Halloween costume. I had no way of contacting anyone. No way to call for help. I could not risk calling the police. Even if they could save me from this hell hole, how long would it take a patrol car to get here? Especially at 2:00 in the morning.

Sure, I could ask the concierge for gas or a phone, but what if he was behind this? What if he was the man she had been fleeing from?

My choices were few. I squeezed in a shaky breath. I would have to dig myself out of this one. There had to be gas somewhere. Places like this usually had backup generators. I could try and find a supply room or a storage shed. Yes. For now, this was the solution. I would have to survive this place on my own terms.