Occasional Demons by Rick Hautala

Author:Rick Hautala
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Horror
Publisher: Crossroad Press
Published: 2012-12-15T22:00:00+00:00

Hotel Hell

“Would you please stop talking?“ Phil Vernon turned and glared at the two detectives. Their incessant chatter was breaking his concentration, and he needed to focus his entire attention on the small circle of yellow light that was hovering in the darkness about two feet above the unmade bed.

“I must have absolute silence if I’m going to pick up anything,“ he whispered.

Barely aware of his own breathing, he stared at the wavering circle of light, willing it to brighten and resolve. Without even looking at him, the two detectives strode over to the single bed in the hotel room and looked down at it. The grimy sheets lay in a tangle on the floor, and the ratty mattress cover and wall behind the bed were stained with wide splotches of blood that had dried a deep brick red. The largest splash on the wall looked a little like a distorted image of the continent of Africa. Shriveled chunks of flesh also stuck to the wall and pillow, looking like shriveled husks of dead insects. Both detectives wrinkled their noses at the stench of death that still lingered in the room. The body had been removed earlier that morning after festering in the August heat for three days.

“Wanna know what I think?“ Fred, the older of the two detectives said. “I think we’re wastin’ our fuckin’ time on this. It’s so friggin’ obvious the whack-job suicided.“ He folded his arms across his wide chest and leaned against the wall. His eyes reflected his impatience as he grit his teeth and shook his head with frustration.

Jack, the other detective, much younger and less experienced, got down on his hands and knees, and shined his flashlight under the bed. Wide puddles of dried blood had mixed with gray clots of dust. Wrinkling his nose, Jack looked back over his shoulder at his partner and said, “This isn’t exactly my idea of a fun time, either, you know, but there’s something about this whole thing that really stinks.“

“Yeah,“ Fred said, laughing as he waved his hand in front of his face, “but they already carted it down to the morgue.“

“You’re a laugh riot, you know that?“ Jack said. “But as long as Fisher says this obvious suicide case isn’t air tight, then it’s our ball game.“

The entire time the detectives were talking, ignoring his request for quiet, Vernon watched as the hazy circle of yellow light slowly dimmed and then finally winked out. He had the unnerving feeling that he had seen that circle of light before, but he couldn’t quite place it.

Was it on another case similar to this, or was it sometime from further back in the past? Maybe he’d had a premonition of this hotel room and the murder—not suicide—that had taken place here.

Whatever it was, the idle chatter of the detectives irked him. He knew it had contributed to making the illusion disappear, irked him.

Sighing with frustration, Vernon shifted over to the window and peeked out around the edge of curtain at the heat-hazed skyline of Bangor, Maine.

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