Motel Of The Mysteries Novels & Stories

Chapter 16 - There might be some hanky panky involved. ~~ We entered the dimly lit motel and even with the shining sun outside; the motel looked like it was cursed with shadows and ghosts and vampires lurking around, hunting for blood. I looked at the reception desk, a plain brown desk which was surprisingly tidy. A young woman adorned in a skimpy blue dress that left little to imagination. Were receptionists allowed to dress like that?

The sound of gunfire echoing down streets not unlike this one. They booked a motel on the outskirts of the city. Nothing online. Cash only. A place that didn’t ask questions and didn’t care who slept behind its peeling doors The motel smelled of lemon bleach and ancient cigarette smoke. The wallpaper was peeling in rhythmic curls, like dead skin. The room was small; two narrow beds, a flickering bulb and a window that didn’t fully close. It was a far cry from the glass-walled penthouses of their "new" lives, but it was the only place where the plan felt real.

But every light inside dimmed sharply for a split second before returning to normal. Several guests glanced upward uneasily. Then the elevator stopped moving. The gaming streamer frowned. “Uh… are we stuck?” Before anyone could answer, the overhead speaker crackled softly. [Midnight check-in begins in ten minutes.] The voice sounded distorted, wrong somehow. A second later, every phone inside the elevator buzzed simultaneously. Winona pulled hers out slowly. A new notification covered the screen. WELCOME TO MIDNIGHT HOTEL. FIRST RULE: DO NOT OPEN YOUR DOOR AFTER 12 A.M. NO MATTER WHO IS KNOCKING.

Marky got nothing to do but to accept Zandro’s invitation, after spending some time with his Auntie Mae’s food house he immediately drove to Zandro’s villa. It was an hour’s drive from Hale University to the villa where he lives. The Villa only built on top of the hill, a big villa, the kind in which most bachelors have and dreamed of living secluded among trees on one of Moover City’s most exclusive streets, it had turrets, gables, dormers, balconies, a screened-in front porch, a free-standing garage, a gazebo, pool, formal gardens, an American dream.

Instead, she touched my shoulder and said softly, “Let’s get your stuff and get out of here. I know a place” The motel Claire brought me to was across town, tucked between a laundromat and a 24-hour diner. It smelt like cigarettes and beer .The sign out front flickered as if it couldn’t decide whether it still had hope or not. The room itself was clean but plain two beds with cream coloured bedsheets, beige walls, and a rickety AC unit that hummed like it was singing its own lullaby. It wasn’t Evelyn’s polished penthouse, but it felt real.

The rooms in the motel are not like hotel rooms which are indoors and are equipped with CCTV cameras that will record every second of their activities there. The motel had simple rooms with a plastic blinds and curtains to cover each window overlooking the parking lot. When Hazel opened the door, the room was dominated by a soft cream color with dimly lit yellow lights. In the middle of the room there is a separate bed with floral green sheets with a scent of laundry detergent and a blanket folded neatly on top of the bed. Shifting to the right, there is a wooden chair next to a small wardrobe where visitors' clothes can be stored, which is equipped with three hangers hanging from a wooden c

He was the president of the Detective Club. Sarek’s eyes lit up. “Speak.” In the corner, I clutched my head, face twisted, screaming silently, ‘Please shut up. Please shut up!’ The elf adjusted his glasses, and as if possessed by the spirit of a legendary detective, he said, “Professor, look at the chat background image. The sausage receipt on the left—see the name? That motel is right below the girls’ dorms! “And the bedsheet pattern in the corner belongs exclusively to Welcome Motel’s themed rooms on the back street! It’s the only location in the entire city!”

The old lady breathed out heavily and got some newspapers. Miya, on the other hand, eagerly is listening to the old lady’s story. “Since the opening of this motel last 1992, more than any other motel in Greendale, we have the most guest suicides.” She honestly replied. Miya took a look back at the numbers pinned in the wall. “201? The old lady wiggles her head and grinned at them. “And counting.” She then laughed extremely afterward. “Okay, babe let’s go. This old creepy lady was just scaring us.” Porter shrugged Miya and went upstairs.

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.

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.