My name is Summer Rayne Tilman I grew up in a small town in Montana. Although, I was born in Salt Lake City, Utah. I have always been a fan of writing and reading short stories, and books. My favorite authors are Stephen King and John Green. While reading, and writing never came to easy for me I still liked it. I grew up with dyslexia and things didn’t change until high school came around. By the time I was in high school I was reading, and writing better than I ever have before. In those years, I was going to school in Southern Utah and that’s where I graduated from high school. In my last year of high school, I wasn’t sure what I was going to do for my future career or schooling. That’s when I decided I wanted to go online and get my Bachelor’s Degree in Creative Writing. So, now I go to school through Full Sail University.
Dark hallways, creepy footsteps, and black mold growing in the bathroom next door. All these things described the Vandercamp’s Hotel. The faint smell of dust and rat feces lingered in the air. It was strange that the dark mysterious hallways overtook the hotel. Drab carpets with wine stains… whispers within the hotel believe them to be blood stains.
Little knocks and claw sounds echo the halls. I tell people that this rugged building is haunted and full of unpleasant and unwanted spirits. Sad news to the people that don’t believe me. Oh, well. I don’t get a lot of guests here and when I do it’s a blessing. I have one expected reservation for some time today until the end of the week. As I think of my guest arriving a person comes up to the front desk and blurts out, “Hello, the names Johnson. I have a reservation.”
Finding a single name on my computer screen I click on it and go from there. “Okay, here you are Mr. Johnson. Do you want a twin or a queen with your stay?”
Without hesitation, he replies, “preferably a queen please!”
I hand him the keys to the room and say, “enjoy your stay sir.” He doesn’t notice my sarcasm while I say my statement. This hotel is anything but enjoyable.
After giving him the keys and thinking he’d just walk away as most guests do… he doesn’t. Instead he continues the conversation, “I hear this place is haunted… is that true? Because I work for a ghost hunters web page and was going to do a blog review on the Vandercamp hotel.”
I don’t want to lie to the poor guy. This hotel is not welcoming nor peasant in any manner. The hallways its self-made you want to get up and leave. Realizing that I have not answered his question yet I say, “Yes, it is. Some say that the hotel was built on ancient Indian burial grounds. The land has been cursed for centuries.”
He got all wide eyed and frightened, “okay okay okay g-g-g-good s-sounds,” he gulped loudly, “t-t-t-t-thanks for your t-t-time miss.” Terrified and scared he walked quickly to his suite without any other words spoken between us.
Published to Fiction on the Web.
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