Bates Motel Novels & Stories

"I found out that he used to have a transaction with Mama about that restaurant that we now own. Mama bought the restaurant there in Luisito.” "How did you know all of this?" "I swiped right on his son's dating app. I know he is connected there... so, yes." The car was filled with deafening laughter. "We talked about that, and… he's really pitiful." "Because?" "His father is confined to the hospital. It's been six months since the accident, until now he's still unconscious." The former owner of the restaurant that Imelda now owns… is in the hospital now because of an accident? If the suspicion forming in my brain is correct... I think my plans would be so exciting to execute.

I just pray Jack can’t detect it any more than he already has. Soon enough, night falls and we’re traveling underneath a waxing moon down a desolate highway, Jack’s plush hotel reservation, nothing but a distant fantasy. Weary and with tempers are flaring, we roll into a lonely crossroads motel, a relic of the bygone Route 66 era. In the parking lot, its winking neon sign hums a feeble tune in the darkness, promising false luxuries like cable TV and swamp coolers. Kadeem holds open the door to the lobby and we carefully avoid each other’s eyes. The lobby smells of burnt coffee and bleach. It’s cramped and threadbare, with worn out carpet and dated sheets of wood paneling on the walls.

"Wanted urgently! Marketing Associate for the Motel. Send your application and resume to lovelanemotel@geemail.com. Benefits: Competitive pay and housing." “Housing?” But the Geemail account made her scoff. Add to that, the ad was on a chalkboard. She'd bet competitive pay here meant a pittance, not more than what her current job offered. She raised her head to look at the building. "Guess you could call this a one-star hotel-" "It's a Motel! Mo. Tel." A man's voice spoke from beside her.

I mumbled. “Okay, talk to you – ” I didn’t realize until he reprimanded me later, but I hung up on him. Then I stumbled to the door and opened it. Outside was nearly as grim as inside. It was some cheap, by-the-hour motel, the type prostitutes use for tricks on TV cop shows. The parking lot was mostly empty except for a few battered junkers, a dozen withered, used condoms, and a shitload of cigarette butts and broken crack vials. The main office was way on the other end of the building. The metal bars over its windows made it look like a prison, and the second ‘A’ in its neon ‘Vacancy’ sign was burned out.

Bates was the first to hog the mini bar to the left pouring himself the bottle of gin already on the slick counter. The guys went ahead, each of them occupying any place they saw fit while I stared at the floor-ceiling window gaping at the man staring ahead at the city on a hot noon. “Now this is some good shit, boss”, Bates cackled, “Having a kid in the house, it’s been a while since I had the good stuff. Salut” Blaze shot Bates’ an unamused look. The last thing we should have been doing was talking about anything or anyone that was related to Cannon.

Mom stormed out of the car and rushed to the motel door, knocking loudly. The door swung open. It was well past midnight, and the motel's guests were being disturbed by the racket. Just then, a plump, bald man appeared. "The motel's full!" He was Reggy Murray, the motel's owner. He was nearly six foot three, much taller than Mom. When he suddenly swung the door open, he glared at her with bleary eyes. It was definitely intimidating. Mom flinched but tried to peer inside. Irritated, Reggy attempted to shut the door, but a strong hand stopped it from closing.

I suppose that choice was made loud and clear when I transformed into some kind of lunar-dragon-wolf thing and fled the city. We finally reach a small town—the kind with one main street, a gas station, and not much else. On its outskirts sits a motel that's seen better days, its neon sign flickering with several letters burnt out. "Wait here," Maddox says, gesturing to a cluster of vending machines near the office. "And try to look less like you're wearing nothing but a coat." I huddle in the shadows while he approaches the motel office. Through the window, I can see him speaking with a half-asleep clerk, producing cash from somewhere and deliberately keeping the transaction brief. A few min

I banged a fist against the glass. He jerked awake with a sharp snort and squinted at us. “Welcome to Haven Motel,” he drawled amidst a yawn. His battered name tag read: Stan. “Forty dollars a night, cash only.” “I’m not here to book a room,” I said. His sleepy eyes took us in. “Okay, cause I think a threesome including you two hefty broads would break our bed.” Kaela slapped a hand over her mouth to muffle her snort.

I sobbed uncontrollably. "Damn you for dragging me into this!" I screamed. Speeding towards the address on the paper Dante had given me, I kept glancing at the rearview mirror, half-expecting to see flashing lights or a car pursuing me. —None. The street was empty. It was just me, alone, driving. The motel loomed ahead, a faded neon sign flickering sporadically "Sunset Vista," it read, the "S" fading out. Pulling into the nearly deserted parking lot, I could hear my heart pound. The place looked like it hadn't been renovated since the '70s, the kind of place that held an eerie secret.

They don’t stay quiet for long. I grabbed my jacket again, clipped my silver-lined blade to my belt, and stuffed a small charm pouch into my pocket. Never leave home without one. Especially not for a job that smells this much like bait. The motel looked exactly how I pictured it: haunted. Flickering sign. Cracked windows. The kind of place where bad things happen and no one calls the cops because they already know it won’t help. The front office was dark, probably empty, and the lot was a mess of overgrown weeds and old beer cans.