Categories > TV > X-Files > Dark Desert Highways
Chapter One
0 reviewsWelcome to the Hotel California-where a good night's rest could cost you your life.
0Unrated
Title: Dark Desert Highways
Author: Cerasi J.
Rating: PG-13
Archive: FanFiction.Net, FanFiction Online, XFMU, The Vision, Addicted to Doggett, Gossamer, X-Files Virtual Season 10
Website: http://www.ffo.puckin-a.net
Category: D/R UST/Case File
Spoilers: Space, John Doe, 4-D, Audrey Pauley, Existence
Feedback: I live for it: CerasiJ@yahoo.com
Summary: Welcome to the Hotel California-where a good night's rest could cost you your life.
Disclaimer: The song "Hotel California" belongs to the Eagles, John and Monica belong to Chris Carter, and the general idea of this story belongs to me.
---
Sparks, Nevada
June, 1977
---
"He's coming home!" Jill Evans cried triumphantly as she slammed down the phone in the hallway. "He's coming home /today/!" Jill's mother, Ann, walked in from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel, summoned by all her daughter's excited screaming, "What? James is coming for a visit?" Jill nodded excitedly, her loose blonde hair flying into her eyes. "Uh huh, he just called and said he was just now leaving, he should be here tonight if he drives fast enough!"
Anna frowned at her daughter, "Do you want him to get in an accident?"
"Yes, I mean, no..." Jill was so excited she shook off her mother's question, "Oh, who cares?! He's coming home isn't he?! That's all that matters!" James and Jill had been high school sweethearts, but they were forced to go their separate ways when Jill was accepted into the University of Nevada at Reno, a fifteen-mile drive from her house, and James was accepted into the University of Las Vegas. Jill was planning to transfer to Las Vegas when she had enough credits from her current school.
"I bet I know what this means," Jill's mother wryly as she turned and walked back into the kitchen. "What?" Jill replied with growing anticipation, her blue eyes wide and sparkling. "You'll need a new outfit, won't you?" Her mother called over her shoulder.
Jill agreed and ran quickly to her small, basement bedroom to get her shoes and change her shirt. She hopped around her bedroom on one foot, with one tennis shoe on her foot and her shirt halfway above her head.
Jill paused for a moment, long enough to finish stripping off her shirt and to finish tying both her shoes. She rummaged around in her dresser for something that wasn't too dirty and full of holes. She finally pulled out a red t-shirt that was two sizes too small for her. But that was okay; it seemed to be the new fad nowadays.
She peered into the mirror for a moment to straighten her long blonde hair. Jill applied mascara, and a touch of black eyeliner, the black bringing out the crystal-clear blue of her eyes. Using a large brush she dusted some face powder over her lightly freckled cheeks, grabbed her purse and wallet and ran upstairs.
---
Highway 375
Nevada Desert
10:38 P.M.
---
The desert stretched out before him like an endless wasteland. Blue-white bolts of heat lightning descended from the heavens and pummeled the harsh, white sands, silently, without mercy. Heat wafted through the air like tendrils of smoke from a fine cigar.
Twenty-two year old James Campbell was oblivious to the exotic beauty of the lightning dancing across the desert, or the stars gleaming like spilled mercury in the inky sky. The only thing he cared about was getting home to his girlfriend, who was probably pacing a hole in her bedroom floor by now. And by the look of things, she was going to pace a hole that lead all the way to China.
James angrily climbed out of his sunshine yellow, 1975 Plymouth Duster-and kicked a tire of the accursed machine. He slammed the door as hard as he could, attempting to vent his fury on the door, instead of on something important. Like the air-conditioning controls inside the car.
He stood for a moment, his fists planted on his slim hips, glaring at the evil automobile. Then he swore loud and long and damned the man who built the first car. Mumbling curses that would have made an ex-convict blush, James crossed the ditch, broke off a fairly long branch from a sage brush rooted in the parched ground and stormed back to his car.
He opened the little door that housed the gas tank and stuck the stick inside. Impatiently, he waited and a moment later pulled the stick out again. Clean and dry. Damn. Out of gas.
James violently threw the stick into the middle of the highway, and let out another long stream of curses. Out of gas! How could he be out of gas?! He just filled up not two hours ago outside of Las Vegas! How could the tank be empty already?
Angered beyond all belief, James popped the trunk and searched for a gas can. His search, however, was in vain, since the only thing in his trunk was his army-surplus duffle bag.
He slammed the trunk; another burst of anger welled from his feet and was expelled via his mouth in the form of the foulest of words. Now what? James thought with a pang of helplessness, Jill's waiting on me! I should have been there tonight! She'll be so disappointed...
Sighing and stifling another outburst, James raked his fingers through his military cropped wheat colored hair and stepped into the middle of the highway. No traffic, no houses, no cities, nothing for miles and miles. No one to bother him and no one to help him.
A light breeze kicked up from the south and plastered James's sweaty white tank top to his spine, sending a shiver through him. He looked toward the sky, as if a gas station would fall from it to offer him fuel and perhaps an oil change.
No such luck would befall James, however, so he decided to sit and wait until a passerby came along.
He opened the driver's side door and plopped down in the seat to wait. He waited ten minutes, then twenty; he beat out a rhythm on the steering wheel and waited another ten minutes.
James leaned his head back and closed his eyes, willing himself not to fall asleep. When he opened his eyes he noticed a faint twinkling in the distance.
A car! He thought excitedly, someone, finally! He opened the door, got out and stood by the road. He waited and something twinkled again, but it wasn't a car, he realized with mild surprise. A town!
There was a town up there; that meant they must have a gas station! James walked to the trunk, opened it and pulled out his duffle bag, just in case. He looked to the north and saw the light still twinkling merrily, beckoning to him.
He rolled up the windows, locked the doors and started off in the direction of the light, his bag slung over his shoulder.
---
Roscoe, Nevada
Forty-five minutes later
---
By the time James made it into town it was nearing one o'clock in the morning and everything was closed. He hadn't seen one, single car since he left his own back on the road about five miles away from the town.
James stood in the street and looked at the quiet town. Off the main highway, several streets broke off and winded into other parts of town, houses lined the quiet streets and their porch lights glowed like torches in the wee hours of the morning.
James hefted his bag onto his shoulder again and started into town. He walked for about two blocks before he realized everything must be closed at this time of night. Shaking his head in frustration, he threw down his bag and sat hard on it, causing the air to be forced out of the bag and his clothes to flatten, so he was basically sitting on the street.
He shifted his weight on the hard ground. Great. The gas station was closed, it was one o'clock in the morning, his car was five miles down the road, he was dead tired and he wouldn't get to fall asleep with his arms around Jill tonight. Now what would he do?
James lifted his head from his hands, where it had fallen in despair. He noticed a street sign to his right, California Street. He scanned the street with his eyes and noticed an old house at the very end of the street. It was nothing like the modern 1970's homes with nice, green trimmed lawns, and cheery porch lights. It was an old, ugly moth colored Victorian style house that, probably at one time, was a grand house in its day. But now it seemed abandoned and lonely, sitting in a trashy vacant lot.
A light came on upstairs of the old house, and then another one and one downstairs until all the lights in the house shone brightly, casting long shadows into the street.
/Maybe they have a spare gas can I could borrow/, James thought as he pulled himself to his feet, hefted his bag again and trudged with renewed determination down California Street. When he reached the crooked and broken gate of the old Victorian house, his steps faltered as he stared up at the woodpile somebody called home. It seemed much taller than it did on the street corner a few blocks away. Now it seemed like something from an old time Frankenstein movie. The only thing the old house didn't have was a graveyard behind the house.
This house was way too creepy for him, even if it was all lit up like a tree at Christmas time. He turned on his heel, deciding that he'd go back to his car, catch a few hours of sleep, get some gas in the morning and be in Sparks by tomorrow night. Jill would understand.
James had only made it a few feet before he heard a voice call out, "Hello? Sonny? Can I help you?" He whirled around and looked up at an elderly lady standing on the front porch of the old house.
"Uh..." he started to say. Had she seen him? He hadn't seen any faces in the windows... "Can I help you?" she asked again. The old lady squinted at him through her blue framed bi-focals and shivered delicately in the cold Nevada night.
"Well ma'am..." James began, taking a step closer to the front gate, "My car ran out of gas, and I'm expected in Sparks tonight and I was wondering if you knew of any place where I could find a service station that's still open this late."
Her hair shone like polished silver in the yellowed light that now bathed both of them in its warm glow. Somehow the old house didn't look so creepy with this sweet old lady standing on the porch. "Oh!" She said, blinking behind her glasses and acting surprised. "You had your bag, I thought you were looking for a room!" She pointed to a sign on the front lawn, a sign James had missed. It was the same moth colored brown as the rest of the house, only with red lettering that read "Hotel California, 13 California Street, Roscoe Nevada".
"Oh..." James mumbled, his brown eyes glued to the sign, "I didn't realize this was a hotel..." He shook off his weariness and looked at the woman standing on the porch in an old white nightgown, "I wasn't looking for a room... is there... I mean; do you have some gas in cans that you could possibly spare? Just so I can get my car started? I'd be more than happy to pay you back..." he trailed off uncertainly.
She shook her head sadly, "No... I'm sorry; I don't own any motor vehicles, they're horribly noisy and I have very sensitive hearing! Oh but, you're so tired looking, why don't you come in and rest awhile?" Behind her, the lights in the house seemed to brighten.
James began to back away again, "Um... no, no thank you, I gotta get going..." The old lady clasped her hands together and gave a chuckle, "But if you have no fuel, how do you expect to get anywhere? Come, come inside and I'll fix you something hot to drink and you can have a good night's rest before you start your journey in the morning."
The lights in the house throbbed brighter.
She was right, James realized with sinking defeat and weariness, he wouldn't get very far if he didn't get some sleep soon. "Well," he said, still uncertain, "How much are your rooms?"
"Oh!" she exclaimed, "Don't worry about the price, sonny, you can worry about that in the morning, come on now, we have some nice rooms upstairs."
Giving in to the sound of a cup of hot chocolate and a soft pillow, James opened the old gate and joined the old lady on the porch. "Thank you for your kindness, ma'am, I appreciate it." She held out her hand, "You may call me Annabelle Lee, and you are?" He shook her hand politely, "James Campbell, ma'am."
"Nice to meet you, James, please, come in." Annabelle stood aside and pointed out the front door to James. He went inside and was bombarded with the scents of freshly baked bread, orange peels, mothballs, and that classic old lady smell. He blinked and shook his head, trying to clear out all of the uncertainties.
"Do you have a phone?" he asked, thinking he could at least call Jill and let her know where he was. "No," Annabelle replied cheerfully as she set about making a cup of hot chocolate for James, "No phone; can't stand the noisy things!"
His hope dropped another notch as he accepted the steaming cup. "Let me show you to your room." Annabelle lifted the hem of her nightgown as she climbed the stairs. She pointed to a room on the right, "Here we are!" She opened the door, "Have a good night James, I'll be right down stairs if you need anything."
James thanked her again, entered the room and shut the door. He looked around the room, yellowed wall paper with some sort of flowers on it, a bed with no box spring, and a bathroom where the water ran a rusty brown instead of clear. Yeah. What a great place to stay.
James set his hot chocolate on a stack of books used for a night stand, stripped off his shirt, pants, shoes and socks and crawled under the covers, ignoring the hot drink. Before he threw his pants on the floor for the night, he reached into the left pocket and extracted a slender gold band with a small ruby in it. He smiled and twirled the ring between his fingers, thinking the gold in the ring would match Jill's hair color.
Placing the ring back in the pocket of his pants, he tossed the dirty jeans to the floor and closed his eyes. He was too tired to get up and turn the light off, oh well, who cares? His eyes started to drift shut and he heard a loud creak. He dismissed it and figured the house was probably caving in, as old as it was.
Another loud creak caused him to roll over on his right side. Finally the snapping of wood, crunching of drywall and the eerie twisting of metal caused him to open his eyes. And what he saw when he did made him sit up in bed and grope for his blue jeans. The ceiling was caving in! As he looked up in horror he realized the ceiling seemed to have grown two arms and was reaching down for him. Out of sheer terror, he screamed.
Blood sprayed across the yellowed flower wall paper and in her room downstairs Annabelle sat up in bed as she heard the sickening dull thump of a lifeless body falling to the floor. Tears gathering in her eyes she placed a hand to her cheek, "Oh... my... and he was such a nice boy..."
---
When the sun rose above the town of Roscoe, Andy Martin was the first one to see it, since he lived the closest to the old house. He shook his wife Maureen awake at the crack of dawn. "Andy," she mumbled as she grabbed a handful of comforter and threw it over her head, "It's too damned early, leave me alone."
Andy however, could only stare at the old house outside. The old house was no longer a dusty moth colored brown. The lawn was no longer dead and crabgrass no longer ruled and grew through the wooden planks of the front porch.
The house was now a deep, sky blue with crisp, white gingerbread trim. The lawn was green and lush and not a patch of crabgrass was in sight. The sign out front was also the same deep sky blue as the house and in crisp, white letters the sign advertised "Hotel California, 13 California Street, Roscoe Nevada".
"Maureen," Andy whispered, staring in horror at the beautiful, blue house, "It got another one."
Author: Cerasi J.
Rating: PG-13
Archive: FanFiction.Net, FanFiction Online, XFMU, The Vision, Addicted to Doggett, Gossamer, X-Files Virtual Season 10
Website: http://www.ffo.puckin-a.net
Category: D/R UST/Case File
Spoilers: Space, John Doe, 4-D, Audrey Pauley, Existence
Feedback: I live for it: CerasiJ@yahoo.com
Summary: Welcome to the Hotel California-where a good night's rest could cost you your life.
Disclaimer: The song "Hotel California" belongs to the Eagles, John and Monica belong to Chris Carter, and the general idea of this story belongs to me.
---
Sparks, Nevada
June, 1977
---
"He's coming home!" Jill Evans cried triumphantly as she slammed down the phone in the hallway. "He's coming home /today/!" Jill's mother, Ann, walked in from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel, summoned by all her daughter's excited screaming, "What? James is coming for a visit?" Jill nodded excitedly, her loose blonde hair flying into her eyes. "Uh huh, he just called and said he was just now leaving, he should be here tonight if he drives fast enough!"
Anna frowned at her daughter, "Do you want him to get in an accident?"
"Yes, I mean, no..." Jill was so excited she shook off her mother's question, "Oh, who cares?! He's coming home isn't he?! That's all that matters!" James and Jill had been high school sweethearts, but they were forced to go their separate ways when Jill was accepted into the University of Nevada at Reno, a fifteen-mile drive from her house, and James was accepted into the University of Las Vegas. Jill was planning to transfer to Las Vegas when she had enough credits from her current school.
"I bet I know what this means," Jill's mother wryly as she turned and walked back into the kitchen. "What?" Jill replied with growing anticipation, her blue eyes wide and sparkling. "You'll need a new outfit, won't you?" Her mother called over her shoulder.
Jill agreed and ran quickly to her small, basement bedroom to get her shoes and change her shirt. She hopped around her bedroom on one foot, with one tennis shoe on her foot and her shirt halfway above her head.
Jill paused for a moment, long enough to finish stripping off her shirt and to finish tying both her shoes. She rummaged around in her dresser for something that wasn't too dirty and full of holes. She finally pulled out a red t-shirt that was two sizes too small for her. But that was okay; it seemed to be the new fad nowadays.
She peered into the mirror for a moment to straighten her long blonde hair. Jill applied mascara, and a touch of black eyeliner, the black bringing out the crystal-clear blue of her eyes. Using a large brush she dusted some face powder over her lightly freckled cheeks, grabbed her purse and wallet and ran upstairs.
---
Highway 375
Nevada Desert
10:38 P.M.
---
The desert stretched out before him like an endless wasteland. Blue-white bolts of heat lightning descended from the heavens and pummeled the harsh, white sands, silently, without mercy. Heat wafted through the air like tendrils of smoke from a fine cigar.
Twenty-two year old James Campbell was oblivious to the exotic beauty of the lightning dancing across the desert, or the stars gleaming like spilled mercury in the inky sky. The only thing he cared about was getting home to his girlfriend, who was probably pacing a hole in her bedroom floor by now. And by the look of things, she was going to pace a hole that lead all the way to China.
James angrily climbed out of his sunshine yellow, 1975 Plymouth Duster-and kicked a tire of the accursed machine. He slammed the door as hard as he could, attempting to vent his fury on the door, instead of on something important. Like the air-conditioning controls inside the car.
He stood for a moment, his fists planted on his slim hips, glaring at the evil automobile. Then he swore loud and long and damned the man who built the first car. Mumbling curses that would have made an ex-convict blush, James crossed the ditch, broke off a fairly long branch from a sage brush rooted in the parched ground and stormed back to his car.
He opened the little door that housed the gas tank and stuck the stick inside. Impatiently, he waited and a moment later pulled the stick out again. Clean and dry. Damn. Out of gas.
James violently threw the stick into the middle of the highway, and let out another long stream of curses. Out of gas! How could he be out of gas?! He just filled up not two hours ago outside of Las Vegas! How could the tank be empty already?
Angered beyond all belief, James popped the trunk and searched for a gas can. His search, however, was in vain, since the only thing in his trunk was his army-surplus duffle bag.
He slammed the trunk; another burst of anger welled from his feet and was expelled via his mouth in the form of the foulest of words. Now what? James thought with a pang of helplessness, Jill's waiting on me! I should have been there tonight! She'll be so disappointed...
Sighing and stifling another outburst, James raked his fingers through his military cropped wheat colored hair and stepped into the middle of the highway. No traffic, no houses, no cities, nothing for miles and miles. No one to bother him and no one to help him.
A light breeze kicked up from the south and plastered James's sweaty white tank top to his spine, sending a shiver through him. He looked toward the sky, as if a gas station would fall from it to offer him fuel and perhaps an oil change.
No such luck would befall James, however, so he decided to sit and wait until a passerby came along.
He opened the driver's side door and plopped down in the seat to wait. He waited ten minutes, then twenty; he beat out a rhythm on the steering wheel and waited another ten minutes.
James leaned his head back and closed his eyes, willing himself not to fall asleep. When he opened his eyes he noticed a faint twinkling in the distance.
A car! He thought excitedly, someone, finally! He opened the door, got out and stood by the road. He waited and something twinkled again, but it wasn't a car, he realized with mild surprise. A town!
There was a town up there; that meant they must have a gas station! James walked to the trunk, opened it and pulled out his duffle bag, just in case. He looked to the north and saw the light still twinkling merrily, beckoning to him.
He rolled up the windows, locked the doors and started off in the direction of the light, his bag slung over his shoulder.
---
Roscoe, Nevada
Forty-five minutes later
---
By the time James made it into town it was nearing one o'clock in the morning and everything was closed. He hadn't seen one, single car since he left his own back on the road about five miles away from the town.
James stood in the street and looked at the quiet town. Off the main highway, several streets broke off and winded into other parts of town, houses lined the quiet streets and their porch lights glowed like torches in the wee hours of the morning.
James hefted his bag onto his shoulder again and started into town. He walked for about two blocks before he realized everything must be closed at this time of night. Shaking his head in frustration, he threw down his bag and sat hard on it, causing the air to be forced out of the bag and his clothes to flatten, so he was basically sitting on the street.
He shifted his weight on the hard ground. Great. The gas station was closed, it was one o'clock in the morning, his car was five miles down the road, he was dead tired and he wouldn't get to fall asleep with his arms around Jill tonight. Now what would he do?
James lifted his head from his hands, where it had fallen in despair. He noticed a street sign to his right, California Street. He scanned the street with his eyes and noticed an old house at the very end of the street. It was nothing like the modern 1970's homes with nice, green trimmed lawns, and cheery porch lights. It was an old, ugly moth colored Victorian style house that, probably at one time, was a grand house in its day. But now it seemed abandoned and lonely, sitting in a trashy vacant lot.
A light came on upstairs of the old house, and then another one and one downstairs until all the lights in the house shone brightly, casting long shadows into the street.
/Maybe they have a spare gas can I could borrow/, James thought as he pulled himself to his feet, hefted his bag again and trudged with renewed determination down California Street. When he reached the crooked and broken gate of the old Victorian house, his steps faltered as he stared up at the woodpile somebody called home. It seemed much taller than it did on the street corner a few blocks away. Now it seemed like something from an old time Frankenstein movie. The only thing the old house didn't have was a graveyard behind the house.
This house was way too creepy for him, even if it was all lit up like a tree at Christmas time. He turned on his heel, deciding that he'd go back to his car, catch a few hours of sleep, get some gas in the morning and be in Sparks by tomorrow night. Jill would understand.
James had only made it a few feet before he heard a voice call out, "Hello? Sonny? Can I help you?" He whirled around and looked up at an elderly lady standing on the front porch of the old house.
"Uh..." he started to say. Had she seen him? He hadn't seen any faces in the windows... "Can I help you?" she asked again. The old lady squinted at him through her blue framed bi-focals and shivered delicately in the cold Nevada night.
"Well ma'am..." James began, taking a step closer to the front gate, "My car ran out of gas, and I'm expected in Sparks tonight and I was wondering if you knew of any place where I could find a service station that's still open this late."
Her hair shone like polished silver in the yellowed light that now bathed both of them in its warm glow. Somehow the old house didn't look so creepy with this sweet old lady standing on the porch. "Oh!" She said, blinking behind her glasses and acting surprised. "You had your bag, I thought you were looking for a room!" She pointed to a sign on the front lawn, a sign James had missed. It was the same moth colored brown as the rest of the house, only with red lettering that read "Hotel California, 13 California Street, Roscoe Nevada".
"Oh..." James mumbled, his brown eyes glued to the sign, "I didn't realize this was a hotel..." He shook off his weariness and looked at the woman standing on the porch in an old white nightgown, "I wasn't looking for a room... is there... I mean; do you have some gas in cans that you could possibly spare? Just so I can get my car started? I'd be more than happy to pay you back..." he trailed off uncertainly.
She shook her head sadly, "No... I'm sorry; I don't own any motor vehicles, they're horribly noisy and I have very sensitive hearing! Oh but, you're so tired looking, why don't you come in and rest awhile?" Behind her, the lights in the house seemed to brighten.
James began to back away again, "Um... no, no thank you, I gotta get going..." The old lady clasped her hands together and gave a chuckle, "But if you have no fuel, how do you expect to get anywhere? Come, come inside and I'll fix you something hot to drink and you can have a good night's rest before you start your journey in the morning."
The lights in the house throbbed brighter.
She was right, James realized with sinking defeat and weariness, he wouldn't get very far if he didn't get some sleep soon. "Well," he said, still uncertain, "How much are your rooms?"
"Oh!" she exclaimed, "Don't worry about the price, sonny, you can worry about that in the morning, come on now, we have some nice rooms upstairs."
Giving in to the sound of a cup of hot chocolate and a soft pillow, James opened the old gate and joined the old lady on the porch. "Thank you for your kindness, ma'am, I appreciate it." She held out her hand, "You may call me Annabelle Lee, and you are?" He shook her hand politely, "James Campbell, ma'am."
"Nice to meet you, James, please, come in." Annabelle stood aside and pointed out the front door to James. He went inside and was bombarded with the scents of freshly baked bread, orange peels, mothballs, and that classic old lady smell. He blinked and shook his head, trying to clear out all of the uncertainties.
"Do you have a phone?" he asked, thinking he could at least call Jill and let her know where he was. "No," Annabelle replied cheerfully as she set about making a cup of hot chocolate for James, "No phone; can't stand the noisy things!"
His hope dropped another notch as he accepted the steaming cup. "Let me show you to your room." Annabelle lifted the hem of her nightgown as she climbed the stairs. She pointed to a room on the right, "Here we are!" She opened the door, "Have a good night James, I'll be right down stairs if you need anything."
James thanked her again, entered the room and shut the door. He looked around the room, yellowed wall paper with some sort of flowers on it, a bed with no box spring, and a bathroom where the water ran a rusty brown instead of clear. Yeah. What a great place to stay.
James set his hot chocolate on a stack of books used for a night stand, stripped off his shirt, pants, shoes and socks and crawled under the covers, ignoring the hot drink. Before he threw his pants on the floor for the night, he reached into the left pocket and extracted a slender gold band with a small ruby in it. He smiled and twirled the ring between his fingers, thinking the gold in the ring would match Jill's hair color.
Placing the ring back in the pocket of his pants, he tossed the dirty jeans to the floor and closed his eyes. He was too tired to get up and turn the light off, oh well, who cares? His eyes started to drift shut and he heard a loud creak. He dismissed it and figured the house was probably caving in, as old as it was.
Another loud creak caused him to roll over on his right side. Finally the snapping of wood, crunching of drywall and the eerie twisting of metal caused him to open his eyes. And what he saw when he did made him sit up in bed and grope for his blue jeans. The ceiling was caving in! As he looked up in horror he realized the ceiling seemed to have grown two arms and was reaching down for him. Out of sheer terror, he screamed.
Blood sprayed across the yellowed flower wall paper and in her room downstairs Annabelle sat up in bed as she heard the sickening dull thump of a lifeless body falling to the floor. Tears gathering in her eyes she placed a hand to her cheek, "Oh... my... and he was such a nice boy..."
---
When the sun rose above the town of Roscoe, Andy Martin was the first one to see it, since he lived the closest to the old house. He shook his wife Maureen awake at the crack of dawn. "Andy," she mumbled as she grabbed a handful of comforter and threw it over her head, "It's too damned early, leave me alone."
Andy however, could only stare at the old house outside. The old house was no longer a dusty moth colored brown. The lawn was no longer dead and crabgrass no longer ruled and grew through the wooden planks of the front porch.
The house was now a deep, sky blue with crisp, white gingerbread trim. The lawn was green and lush and not a patch of crabgrass was in sight. The sign out front was also the same deep sky blue as the house and in crisp, white letters the sign advertised "Hotel California, 13 California Street, Roscoe Nevada".
"Maureen," Andy whispered, staring in horror at the beautiful, blue house, "It got another one."
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