Norman Bates Motel Novels & Stories

He had some kind of fetish with keeping things clean and let’s just say we all had a kick messing everything up. The elevator doors parted, I put my shades on walking in. A minute scarcely passed when Bates’ voice echoed in the air. I didn’t even get to the couch before Pindrop’s muggy face met me on the small open mini bar. “It’s a whole reunion”, he gushed handing me a glass of Macallan 18, I scoffed taking the glass. “You are not going to stop me”, I warned. It was no bloody coincidence; he was here the same day I was or the fact that Bates was somewhere in the other room complaining about some shit wen he should have been in Texas in the first place.

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."

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.

It seems that her brother didn't care when they will reach the Dark Howlers pack. Well, Marcy wouldn't care either if not for Nora, but she couldn't talk to George, Nora was obviously eager to stay in a motel, and James was useless. Marcy released a slow breath and opened the door to get out of the car. She frowned at the desolate sight that greeted her. Only four cars and several massive motorcycles were on the parking lot that provided more than thirty parking spots. On one side of the parking lot was the road, and on the other one was a two-story motel that had stairs on each side which provided access to the rooms on the second floor. The rooms on the ground floor were accessible directl

Some just watch. Ecstasy isn’t just a name here. It’s a lifestyle. A promise. Be who you really are, no judgment. I walk in, letting the heat and sound swallow me. I don’t know what I’m looking for. Fragments of who should not exist. I barely take ten steps before I hear it. "Didn’t think I’d see you here again." I stop. Norman. He’s leaning against the bar like he owns the place—because he does. His face curls up into a smile that does not reach his eyes.

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

"Traffic's bad on the main road." I tried to keep calm and assured myself that Bruce wouldn't do anything stupid. But we weren't heading toward any clinic. The realization hit me like cold water. Bruce pulled up in front of an old motel—the kind with peeling paint and a flickering neon sign that read "VA ANCY" because the C had burned out. There were no other cars in the parking lot. "What is this?" I demanded, my hand closing around my phone. Before I could pull it out, Bruce's hand shot out, gripping my wrist. "Don't."

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.

It's on the kitchen counter, right next to a bright red laptop that I recognize. "…leaving now. There had better be some bitches there, Ricky. Someone needs to suck me off." Norman's voice has me ducking into the kitchen and quickly flicking the light switch to shroud the room in darkness. His footsteps pound on the steps, and he walks right past the kitchen entrance. The entrance is U-shaped with two walls extending on each side. I'm curled up on the ground, on the inside part of the wall, hoping he doesn't smell my blood. Fortunately, Norman just walks out the front door, and a few minutes later, I hear the sound of his car roaring away.

Her screams and curses abruptly stopped, and a flicker of unconcealed terror crossed her face. Meanwhile, Solomon slowly came back to his senses and looked at her. I stated calmly, "Last month, on the 15th, you were in Room 305 in Lakeport Motel. The person you were with was Solomon's driver, Chad Baxter. "He booked the motel room with his ID. There's a record of it in the receptionist's books. I believe that the surveillance cameras in the motel hallways captured everything clearly as well." Melanie's face was completely drained of all color. She couldn't get another word out. She just instinctively held a hand to her belly and staggered backward.