Dark Visions by Anthony Rivera

Author:Anthony Rivera
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Grey Matter Press
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

* * *

It was not till the next morning that a police patrol found Gary’s body, or what remained of it, nailed to the door of a disused chapel. Spokes from the wheels of an abandoned pram had been driven though his arms and legs, pinioning him to the thick panels.

His head had been severed.

It was never found.

John’s eyelids flutter, then jerk wide open in the jittery light of the television. The plaid bedspread beneath his face is wet with drool. How long was he asleep?

He sits up with a start.

This room... Where the hell am I?

Groggy, he slides off the bed and staggers toward the console television on the floor, its screen a flurry of static.

“Hello?” The echo of his voice is muted by thick drapes over the two windows and the popcorn ceiling and the shag carpet—a motel room from the ‘70s. “Is anybody there?”

Silence.

He storms toward the door and tries the knob, but it doesn’t turn, not even a jiggle. He pounds with his fists, but there’s no hollow thud. He’s hitting concrete.

“What the hell?” He takes a step back.

The windows. What’s outside?

He throws the drapes aside, but there is no window. Only a dingy wall.

Am I still sleeping? He glances at the bed, then back at the TV.

He moves to the other window, but the drapes there are a ruse as well. The wall mocks his growing panic.

What is this place?

His knees swim in their sockets. His throat tightens. His chest—he can’t breathe. He stumbles over to the telephone, an old green rotary device like his grandmother had when he was a kid. He grabs the handset and stares at it for a long moment, trying to remember how the ancient thing worked. He digs his finger into the dial to call 9-1-1.

Placing the receiver against his ear, he finds only silence. No dial tone.

As if trying to force it into life, he shakes the handset. Nothing. He curses and pounds it against the nightstand. Still nothing.

Then, a voice on the other end.

“What do you need?” The voice cracks across the wire. It could be that of a small child—or a very old woman. Or both.

John blinks and clears his throat as the hairs rise on the back of his neck. “Hello?”

“What do you need?”

“Where am I?” he asks. “How did I get here?”

Dead air.

“Hello? Are you still there? I’m in a motel room, there’s no way out—”

“What do you need?”

“I need help! Call the police! Call somebody! Tell them where I am!” John screams, short of breath. “Who are you? Do you work here?” He gestures toward the drapes. “There aren’t any windows, and the door, it…” He pivots on his heel, glances at the static coming from the television. “Hello?”

“What do you need?” The tone of the ninety-year-old girl’s voice doesn’t change. It could be a recording for all he knows.

John curses again. “I need some answers, that’s what I need! Can you help me or not?”

No response.

He slams the receiver down and runs his hands through his hair, raking his fingers down his unshaven jaw line.

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