Norman Bates Motel Novels & Stories

"Then let's finish what she started." We stood there in the quiet that followed, the kind not born from peace but preparation. War wasn't coming, it had already started. And the ghost we thought we buried? She was clawing her way back. * Alex Hamilton * We didn't wait till morning. The car's headlights cut through the fog like twin blades, slicing the darkness as we turned onto 47th. The motel looked exactly like it had in the photo—peeling paint, flickering neon, the air stale with cigarettes and secrets. Even the ice machine still hummed beside the rusted vending unit like it was stuck in time.

I let go of the bars and sat on the dirt again, listening to him attentively, “What do you mean?” “The motel belongs to the owner of the restaurant. So, whoever goes there and checks in is reported straight to the restaurant. Well, the motel doesn't have food services, so you have no choice but to go out and search,” he replied, “they lure you in, jump you for trespassing and throw you in here while they ransack your stuff for anything valuable. It's horrible! A town loaded with criminals.” I regarded him dejectedly, “Sure you wouldn't want to take your own advice? You told me not to speak bad about them.”

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.