Bates Motel Novels & Stories

Sarah winked mischievously. Thirty minutes later, they arrived at the only motel in that area. The motel was a Holliday Inn, with a dimly flickering neon sign. Shanon wouldn't have been able to read it if she hadn't walked closer to the neon sign. The motel was not very big with rooms facing directly onto the parking lot. Almost all the windows were dark and looked scary. Shanon told herself that she would only stay for one night, and there wouldn't be any ghosts in the motel rooms. There were two SUVs parked in the motel yard apart from Stevan's van. The cars had been covered in quite thick snow. Shanon suspected that the SUV had been there since this afternoon because the snow had started

Bryson ignored her, took back his card, put it into his wallet, then turned and left. Betty followed him. Just as she arrived at the entrance of the second room, a fat man bumped into her. Betty quickly retreated, but this man's sharp eyes discovered her. "Ms. Bates, it's you! What a coincidence, you came to drink with us. Last time, you left without drinking, so let's call it an apology this time!" Betty looked and recognized him as the big sponsor of the movie, Paxton Odom. She quickly smiled and rejected him, "I'm sorry, Mr. Odom. My friend and I are having a meal, it's not convenient."

he said, his knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel. The 'somewhere' turned out to be a small motel on the outskirts of town, the kind of place that rented rooms by the hour and didn't ask questions as long as you paid in cash. The neon sign flickered weakly in the growing dusk, half the letters burned out so it read "Mo_el" in stuttering pink light. "This is depressing," I said as Ryder paid the desk clerk—a man who looked like he hadn't seen sunlight in years. "It's temporary," Ryder replied, pocketing the room key. "Just until we figure out our next move without reporters following us everywhere we go."

You’ll thank me later. Thank her? For selling me off? For standing by while Barry manipulated the deal? For ignoring my father’s memory? The cab turned off the main avenue and slowed. “This area’s quieter,” the driver said. “You sure you wanna stay here?” “Yes.” My voice sounded flat. “Here’s fine.” He stopped in front of a narrow building with a flickering sign: Haven Motel Brick walls, one narrow awning, a man smoking out front. Perfect. Invisible.

The motel room smells like cheap bleach and cigarette smoke. It was just the kind of place that this needed to be done at. Nothing else would do. The light flickers overhead, buzzing just enough to make the silence feel heavier. There’s a silver bat lying across the bed beside me — gleaming, polished, and perfectly still. Like it’s waiting for me to move first. I lean forward, elbows on my knees, staring at it. I don’t know if I hate it or what it represents.

Something dangerous. Sometimes what breaks us also forges us. The motel came into view like an afterthought. Two stories. Flickering neon sign that buzzed faintly. The kind of place people passed through, not stayed. Perfect. Bella pushed the door open and stepped inside. The receptionist barely looked up at first. Nails clicking against a keyboard. A tired sigh. "Yes?" "I need a room," Bella said evenly. The woman glanced at her, eyes lingering just long enough to make a judgment. Her gaze swept over the worn sack, the prison-pale skin, the hollow look. "Cash upfront."

Catherine's POV The motel on the outskirtb was the kind of place that rented rooms by the hour and didn’t ask questions. Faded pink stucco, buzzing neon sign missing half its letters, the smell of chlorine and cheap disinfectant clinging to everything. I arrived first, used the key Richard had left under the loose brick by the ice machine, and let myself into room 212. The bed was made with a threadbare floral spread. One lamp worked. I left it off. Moonlight through the thin curtains was enough.

“No signal either. We’re properly screwed.” I grabbed the cooler from the back, the half-empty bottle of Casamigos clinking against ice packs. “At least we’ve got this.” A faded sign flickered into view maybe half a mile ahead: MOTEL 6. One bulb burned out in the M. We walked in silence, gravel crunching under our shoes, the night air finally cooling enough to raise goosebumps on my arms. The clerk didn’t even look up from his phone. “One room. Queen. Hundred bucks cash. No refunds.”

He was still standing there, one hand gripping the banister, the other clenched at his side. I didn’t stop. The drive to the motel was short… twenty minutes of winding roads and my own racing thoughts. The place was exactly as Marcus had described: a low, faded building with flickering neon signs and rooms facing the parking lot. I parked near the office, heart thudding against my ribs as I walked up to the counter. The clerk, an older man with tired eyes, barely looked up. “Room 12,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt. “Marcus sent me.”

The light is golden. "Do you want to drive?" he says. "No." "Why not." "Because I like watching you drive." "That is weird." "Probably." He glances at me. "You are staring again." "I am allowed to stare." "At what." "At you. Being present." He does not respond. He just drives. The road unwinds. The world turns. --- We stop at a motel. Not a hotel. A motel. The kind with doors that open to the parking lot and a sign that flickers and a bedspread that has seen better decades.