Motel Of The Mysteries Novels & Stories

Four lonely cars and several massive motorcycles were scattered around a space built for thirty. The motel was a dull, two-story box. Stairs ran up the outside walls to a narrow landing for the second-floor rooms. The ground-floor rooms opened right onto the lot. To the right was a small, beat-up restaurant. It had definitely seen better days. Behind the restaurant, I could just make out a gas station. That was it. Nothing else. Who picked this dingy place? I swallowed the complaint. It was just one night. I could manage it. Hopefully.

He was scanning the street, his hand near his waistband where his gun used to be. "There," Chloe pointed down the road. A flickering sign. THE SLEEP-EZE MOTEL. $39.99 a Night. Free HBO. It was a single-story building with peeling paint and rusted railings. A drug deal was happening in the parking lot. "No," I said. "Absolutely not." "It's cash only," Chloe said. "No ID required. It's perfect." "It is a petri dish," I argued. "I will catch hepatitis just by looking at it."

~*~ With a sigh, he looked at me almost tiredly and undid my seatbelt, “Just please for God's sake listen to me when I tell you what to do inside there." “Absolutely!" I smiled and got out of the vehicle. The place was cold, dark, and smoky. Of course, it was from the heavy smokers that loitered around. I walked closely next to Sinister as he instructed and followed him to the receptionist. Now that I looked around the place a bit more, it seemed like a five-story motel. Although, it was quite eerie for my taste. A strange man with the most crooked teeth bedazzled with silver and gold grinned at me as he walked past us and I grabbed Sinister’s hand unconsciously. A few seconds passed and Sal

“Such good taste you have, my Prince,” I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm as we pull up to the motel. The building is dull and unimpressive, the word *Motel* spelled out in flickering neon letters on a sign. The *O* is burned out, leaving the sign to read *M tel*. A few rundown cars are scattered across the lot, and a handful of humans loiter around, their voices carrying through the night air. Our car, a sleek black Audi, is by far the fanciest thing here, and it doesn’t take long for us to draw attention.

Tonight, he sounded like he was drowning. And Ava… Ava was already on her way to him with no hesitation. When the car pulled into the dim, nearly empty parking lot of the Suncrest Motel, Ava’s breath caught. This wasn’t a hotel. This wasn’t a safe anonymous conference lodge. This was a place where secrets went to rot. A neon sign flickered overhead, half the bulbs dead, the rest glowing a sickly pink. The parking lot was uneven and cracked. A vending machine sat outside the lobby, humming like a dying engine.

A red sign sputtered and buzzed overhead: Motel. I stopped, frowning at it. I knew the shape of such places—cheap rooms rented by the hour, the stink of strangers and sweat disguised as sanctuary. “A brothel?” I asked. “Why here, when Willow House already holds us?” She didn’t answer. She only led me inside, stopping first at a small office window where she slid bills across to a half-asleep clerk and took a key without ceremony. Then she led me down the hall, which stank of bleach and stale smoke, the kind of anonymity made for hiding. In the room, small and ugly, she shut the door and turned to me.

"Okay. Take care out there, Ellie." "I will. Bye." I end the call, composing myself on the seat as we manoeuvre the busy boulevards. A little close to an hour later, the car comes to a stop in front of the gate of the magnificent high-class motel known as The Almenda Motel. I pay for the ride and exit the car, analysing the ambience for a moment. This does seem to be far more meticulous than I envisaged. Nevertheless, the security man lets me through politely as I approach the gate.

"I can't calm down! You said it yourself—the ticket was booked under her name! She booked it, didn't go, and my daughter and the other two disappeared! There's no way that's a coincidence! It has to be you! You vicious, heartless monster!" She thrashed and screamed, spewing the ugliest words imaginable. "Honey, stop!" Giselle's father finally showed a flicker of reason, pulling his wife back—but his eyes were just as cold and suspicious when they landed on me. "Mrs. Murdoch, I'll say it one more time. I didn't book those tickets." I looked her straight in the eye and said. "If I did—five hundred per ticket, three tickets, that's fifteen hundred dollars. Do you really think a student who can

What horror was in store for me? In the middle of nowhere, just into Tennessee, he pulled into a small-town motel. It was probably built in the ‘60s, with a dozen rooms attached to a floor-to-ceiling windowed circular main lobby area. There was a pool in the parking lot, but by the debris of lawn chairs and leaves, it hadn’t been used in years. “We’ll stay here tonight.” He stepped out of the car, locking the doors before dipping his head back in. “Try to run and you’ll be dead in ten steps, and then I’ll have to kill everyone here.”

It had taken much more than a new coat of paint and new front door. He had completely gutted the place and practically built it new from the floor up. Then all the business that he had gotten had come from the morbid horror chasers and those who are obsessed with true crime. Everyone had wanted to see the 'murder motel' where the crazy man and his deranged son had kidnapped all those women and then brutally murdered them. Everyone's favorite place to check out was the old well that had held all the bodies of the victims.