Uncategorized by Sue Lange

Author:Sue Lange [Lange, Sue]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: science fiction, short story, ebook, satire
Publisher: Book View Cafe

First published in Adbusters, March-April 2007

Copyright © 2007 by Sue Lange

About

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Every small town that is not going to get any bigger has an old hotel. The one in my town inspired this story.

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Hundreds of faces flew into and out of the frame of her eye. Straight-faced, they hid their emotions, as if their souls might be captured. Old, young, male, female, broken down, blooming, chapped, hardened, innocent, they came at her, one right after the other, and then disappeared into the swirl of dreamscape.

If this had been back in Montana, Janet would assume it was all part of kicking the goo. But she was clean now, it wasn’t Montana, and she wasn’t even awake. What the hell was it?

She backed away, ducked, turned to run. No matter how she feinted, if she evaded one, the next one popped right up inches from her face. She screamed but no sound came out. She pleaded with them without a voice. She tried to run but her legs wouldn’t move. Relentlessly they came at her.

They began banging, as if swarming with their faces wasn’t enough. They wanted service. They wanted answers. They wanted her to do something. She had no idea what. They clanged metal against metal: the sounds of a building being dismantled, or maybe even constructed. Hiss and whine soon accompanied the ever-slamming noises and never-expressing faces.

Finally she jerked awake to the safety of reality. Sitting bolt upright, she listened to the clanging steam pipes. The water hammer beat its head in percolating ire, seeking release. It was the middle of a very hot summer. By midday they’d see the 90s. The old hotel apparently needed a plumber.

She lay back down and turned to the clock. 6 a.m. She’d closed the bar hours ago, but once again she’d gotten only a little sleep before the faces and the steam pipes woke her. How long was this going to go on?

She reached over to the pack on the nightstand and extracted a cigarette using her middle and fourth fingers, turned it 180°, and held it to her lips while her gaze sought the Bic. It lay on the floor by the stand. She grabbed it, lit up, inhaled, exhaled, and thought about the unrecognized faces with their black and white somber demeanors.

After a few drags, she snuffed the cigarette out on the frame of the bed and tossed the butt through the unscreened window. She waited a few minutes, staring at the faded dahlia and corn cockle wallpaper of the room, then went downstairs to scrounge for breakfast. Not much to work with. The Inn was a lunch and late night place so they never stocked much waffle and jam fare.

Tent, the youngish cook, would be in around eleven to feed the locals who stopped in after their morning chores. She had a while before she needed to do anything in the bar. Good time to go shopping on Gale’s tab.

Gale owned the hotel. He hadn’t been in the place for years.

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