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Saturday, June 15, 2013

A short snippet from "Terror at The Sterling."

We met the pair in front of the alcove; barring the door.

 “Look guys, we’re trying to be nice here. Pack up your items and please leave. Rents ten days past due, and we have to let you two go.” The pleading look in their eyes ran shivers up my spine. The smell coming out of the room was horrid. It reminded me of a hundred pounds of two week old road kill on State Highway 183. You know the smell. It permeates the interior of your car and clothes. No matter how high you turn on the AC with all the windows down, you can’t shake it. And if you’ve ever breath it in with an open mouth; I need to think about Tammy again. That’s better. 

I looked at RJ. “RJ, do you think they’re high?”

“I don’t know, man. I just know we need to get them out of here. Look guys, we need to examine the room and make sure there isn’t any damage.”

They didn’t budge. It was as if their feet were set in stone; glued to the floor. And these weren’t the usual wimps that hung out at the hotel. These guys were each 6’ 4”, about 250lbs. Side by side, they were a formidable force. Maybe the Cowboys could use their help. Lord knows they need it.

RJ, again politely asked to see the room. They didn’t move.

“Mel, go call the cops. I’m gonna have a look inside.”

“Okay RJ. Be careful.”

He was no slouch himself at 5′11″ and a lean, mean 195lbs. He was training to play for the Carolina Panthers. His baby brother was already on the team and he wasn’t going to be outdone.

“Hey Mel. I got this. Just get the cops here incase my bro’s give me trouble.”


I was no more than fifteen feet down the hallway dialing 911, when I heard a blood-curdling scream.

“911. What’s your emergency?”

“This is Mel with the Sterling Hotel. I’m not sure. Give me just a second.”

“911. Sir, you need to claim your emergency.”

I couldn’t speak as I rushed back to the room. The two blue chip prospects were standing side by side in the hallway shaking like a long tailed Tom Cat in a room of rockers.

“Where’s RJ?” Neither one spoke. Their faces resembled characters from, “Night of the Living Dead:” pale and lifeless.  They only pointed to the open door.

“RJ? RJ?” I was feeling panic well up in my stomach as I passed by the pair, entering the open door. The smell was overwhelming. I wrenched up the coffee and jelly doughnut. RJ was heaving in the sink; white as a ghost. First time I could say, and hopefully the last time, I saw a black man turn white.

Blood splatters covered the walls. The threadbare carpet was covered in crimson liquid. The queen sized bed was shattered in a hundred pieces. The statuesque mirror adorning the wall, lay mangled on the floor, smashed to pieces.

“My GOD!”

“911. Please sir. What’s your emergency?”

Thoughts or comments? 

On  lighter note, still compiling the Thriller list. Should be up tomorrow. 

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