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Anjoola's Website Short Stories The Scary Story

A mysterious man by the name of Bush books a room in a hotel. But there is something a little strange about this hotel, especially the room next to Mr. Bush's. Based on a campfire story.

A shadow fell across the ground. A figure crept under the dim streetlight and paused for a moment, as if looking at a piece of paper. In the light, his form was more clearly defined. The figure was a ragged man, young but going through hard times. Tattered clothing hung from the slumped, dejected shoulders. The gaunt face had clearly seen better days. Grime and dust clung to the man's unshaven face as he observed a piece of paper held in his hands. In its illegible scrawl, it wrote, “duh larj billdeeng withe bleenkin lits”. Clearly whoever wrote this needed some lessons in writing. The man looked up, and saw a large building with blinking lights. The sign on the roof depicted, “The Cypress Motel” in nice and friendly letters. With a yellow-toothed grin, the man scampered over to the building. He straightened his coat a bit, as if it made any difference, and hunkered into the motel.
“Hey! Have ye gots some room in this motel of yers?” he said, placing his hands on the front desk. The short man behind the desk looked at the man’s hands with disdain.

“Yes sir, let me check a moment.” With a tired sigh, the vertically challenged man got up from a squishy rolling chair and headed into a room full of nice, shiny keys. He took a key marked with the number twelve, and glanced at the key next to it, inscribed with the number thirteen. He shuddered.
“Here is your key Mister...”
“Bush. George W. Bush. Is that yer cheapest room? ‘Cos I’m not the richest dude on Earth ye know.” The squat man behind the desk nodded.
“Aye, then thanks to ye. And how much is it a night?”
“Five dollars, Mr. Bush.”

George dug his hands in his pockets, searching for money. “Owww!” George cried, as he poked his finger on a pin. He threw it out. “Owww!” he cried, as he poked his finger on a very sharp knife. Soon there was quite a generous pile of lint, dust, and other very sharp objects. Finally, George found some cash. “All right, one night it is, my man.” The diminutive man behind the desk nodded as George slapped some green paper on the desk. Grabbing the sparkly key marked with a number twelve, he headed into the hallway. The dumpy man took a conveniently placed trash bin and wiped up all the junk on the front desk with a Kleenex.

George whistled with delight. Finally he had a place to stay, after a couple of weeks in the streets. His friends (the squirrels) told him that he wasn’t a very intelligent man. It seemed that having a job of shining shoes wasn’t a good idea, and using up the pitiful amount of money earned from the job by living in a motel was an even worse idea. George shrugged, thinking how silly his squirrel friends were, as they all became roadkill anyway..
George headed down the hallway, observing the interesting stainless-steel numbers that gleamed in the hallway. Nodding to a cleaning lady pushing a cleaning cart, he dug in his coat pocket and took out the key.
“Excuse me sir, but what room are you in?” inquired the lady.
“Eh? Oh, m’name’s George.”
The lady sighed, Men these days, you could never get a straight answer out of them. She hunched over her cleaning cart and peered at the key in his hand. She gasped dramatically, and clutched her heart with both of her right hands. Suddenly the lady burst into a fit, sobbing and stomping her feet.
George backed away slowly. “Er… woman? Are ye all right? D’ya need some doctors or what?”
“No sir, I-I’m sorry. It’s just that, you-you have room twelve, which is the room right next to-to…” she paused, wiping away some tears, “the haunted room. Please don’t go in there, no matter what you do! Please sir!” The lady tugged weakly on his grimy jacket.
Pushing her hands away, George whispered serenely in her ear, “Hey lady, calm down! I promise I won’t go in there.”
Sighing with relief, the lady pushed her cart away, sniffling. George shook his head. Women these days, so dramatic. Besides, he didn’t have the key to the haunted room anyway. George paused, examined his key, paused, and examined the keyhole in his door. He paused again. George stuck the key into the keyhole and twisted. The door opened!
With a great whoop, he jumped onto the bed, immediately dirtying the bed and ruffling the covers. The cleaning lady wouldn’t be too happy. He took a quick tour and rummaged through the closet. Aha! It seemed like there was a careless man who forgot his suit. He slipped into the suit and fell asleep, standing up.

A strange noise awoke him. Eerie music floated through the walls that were glowing with a mysterious green color. George rubbed his eyes. Is this coming from the haunted room? Am I dreaming? Heading towards the closet for clothes, he remembered that he already had a suit on. He dusted it appreciatively. With a quiet tiptoe that he practiced for years, he headed out towards the door, knocking down a couple of coat hangers and glass cups, while causing loud groans to emerge from the wooden floor. Out in the deserted hallway, George stumbled towards room thirteen. The door was glowing, pink this time, and the eerie music grew louder.

He conveniently forgot his promise to the cleaning lady, and peered into the keyhole. He drew back immediately. George hit his head with his elbow, trying to clear his mind. This time he peered closer, his eyeball almost inside the room. A silvery figure twirled and weaved to a strange music. It was a girl, yet she seemed inhuman in a way. She floated around the room, wailing and banging on the walls. Ah, he thought, some girly ghost. I suppose that’s why the room is haunted. Ha! George unglued his eyeball from the keyhole with some difficulty, rubbed his eyes, and shuffled back into his room.
The next morning, George got up to a free continental breakfast in the motel. It wasn’t too fancy, just a couple of frosted cupcakes, a delicious French toast with high-quality butter, some excellent scrambled eggs, and a cup of freshly-squeezed orange juice. The lady who was cleaning the food counter looked familiar. “Hey lady over there, turn around will ye?”
She spun around. Ah, it was the cleaning lady. “Yes sir? Do you need anything?”
“Er... no thanks.” He scratched his head, dimly remembering a promise.
Today was the day he would find a better job, as he had a dream that convinced him to. This dream involved a couple of aliens invading Earth who wanted to kidnap George. George, being a shoe-shiner, couldn’t do anything except shine the alien’s spaceship for them while they prepared his cell in their ship. This convinced him that shining shoes was not a good idea, and if aliens ever invaded Earth and wanted to kidnap him, he would have a better weapon to use than a shoe-shining cloth.

He headed out the motel and winced under the bright sunlight. After a close inspection of the street around him, he decided he wanted a job as an accountant. He was very good at mathematics, as he had failed all of his kindergarten math exams. Banks also had many good weapons to use if aliens ever attacked him, such as heavy gold bars and scary burglar alarms. With a nod to no one in particular, he headed into a building with an ominous sign that shadowed over him, depicting “Bank of America.” He went inside.

Checking out his beard in a conveniently placed mirror, he picked out little specks of toast and eggs and ate it. Mmm... deee-licious. Combing his beard and hair, he nodded in approval.
George looked around the bank, with a stare that would frighten daisies. The bank was so big! But where were the money, and the gold bars that people stored here?
He walked up to a counter, unknowingly ignoring the twenty-nine people in line waiting impatiently. “Hey my man,” he greeted to the man behind the desk, “have ye gots a job opening? I’m in need of one.”
The man behind the desk. Joe, stared at him suspiciously. He did look like a man who needed a job. Joe eyed George, and raised his eyebrows at George's ruffled coat with interesting brown stains, and his ragged beard, which still had some breadcrumbs. “Er... sir? You’ve cut in front of twenty-nine people.”
The twenty-nine people in line glared at him. George rolled his eyes. He slammed his hands (which haven’t been washed since the beginning of the story) onto the counter and demanded, “Now listen here my man! I’ve been renting a room fer five bucks a night, and I expect t’have some money leftover. Ye here give me a job, and ye’ll be glad fer the rest of yer life. I’m t’become president, and I’ll remember this y’know.”
Joe nodded slowly and backed away, eyeing the very noticeable patch of dirt where George’s hand once was. He returned with some forms and a shiny pen with a Bank of America logo. “Now fill out this form and return it to me when you are done.”
“Yes sir, right away sir!” George saluted and boldly marched to an empty seat and promptly sat down. Twenty-nine people in the line cheered as they moved up a couple of inches.

George sighed with relief. His day was over, and he brought in some money. True, it was only enough for one more night and a decent meal, but hey! Enjoy life while you can. He stumbled into his motel room, and went to bathe himself. A cleaning lady outside his room frowned as she inspected the greasy doorknob of his room. Her frown deepened as she listened to banging and spraying coming from in the room. The frown almost dropped off her face as colorful language streamed out of the door. Her eyes strayed to the door labeled with a number thirteen. Eyeing the door closely, she noticed strange marks by the keyhole; as if someone looked inside- it was that man! The man in room twelve! He promised her he wouldn't, but he did look inside the room! She knocked on his door.

George cursed as the shower kept on changing temperatures. First it would be scalding hot, then freezing cold, and burning hot, and chilling cold, and the pattern would repeat itself every few seconds. He didn’t know what was wrong, because he knew he was turning the right nozzles. George peered closely at the top nozzle, which had a side that said “H” and a side that said “C”. H stands for “hey it’s on” and C stands for “close it.” He twiddled a knob under it experimentally, and the water stopped. George gave up on showering. Maybe he could shower tomorrow. As hopped out of the shower, he heard a loud rapping on the door. “In a moment will yer? I’m in yon shower here.” The lady outside waited patiently.
Finally, George was dry, dressed, and looked fresher than ever. He got ready to open the door, afraid of what lay ahead. Did the aliens finally locate him? Would he be kidnapped and shipped off to Sedna? Ah, it was the cleaning lady. “Yes lady, how may I help ye? D’ya gots a problem?”
“Sir, I am very disappointed with you! You promised me you wouldn’t look into room thirteen, but you did. Did it scare you? I hope you have nightmares. What a horrible man you are, breaking promises to cleaning ladies.” She slammed the door. George gaped.
That night, he tossed and turned, unable to sleep. Would the singing girl come out again tonight? I hope not, I really need some sleep. Unfortunately, the wall behind him started to hum and glow, this time red. Throwing back the covers with an angry grunt, George tromped out of the room, and once again peered into the keyhole of room thirteen. What is the girl up to now? Her silvery figure glistened with an unseen force. This time, instead of singing, she floated about, banging her head on a beaten-up desk. George couldn’t take it anymore. “Be quiet in there will ye? A man needs his sleep!” he roared into the keyhole, and scrambled back into his room, bolting it. The wall stopped glowing.

George paced nervously around the bank. He didn’t have a good night’s sleep, and it didn’t help his current mood. He wasn’t doing well today; hardly any customers came up to his counter to deposit money. For some reason, their eyes went past his counter and to the next. George strolled back to his counter, and drummed his fingers on the desk. He had given up an hour ago calling for the next person in line to come up, because for some reason, the customers also couldn’t hear his voice.

He sighed. Maybe this would be a day. He could go back to the motel early, and maybe catch up on some sleep. Yawning, he closed his counter and went to the manager for his pay. Ah, not as much as yesterday. He couldn’t sleep in the motel after today, because the money he received was only enough for a meal. But it didn't matter. At least it would be quieter in the streets without that annoying ghost girl.
Once he was in the motel, he headed directly towards his room. Hoping for the worst, he plopped down from the bed and heard nothing. Where was the girl? Did she die? He sniggered. She’s a ghost, how can she die again?
The suspense was killing him. George went to investigate. With a new technique of peering that involved two days of practice, George squatted down and peered into the keyhole.

Red. Blood red, crimson red, fiery red. Red. That was all George saw. The red was so deep, it was bottomless, and George was unable to comprehend the depth. He gibbered madly. It was as if he was staring into someone’s soul. Finally he shook his head. Did the hotel management paint the room? That’s dumb, for a haunted room. He went back into his room, and with an involuntary shudder, he fell asleep.

That night was his last night at the motel, for he had ran out of money. Groaning at his empty coat pockets and his tattered suit, he did a quick check of the motel room, and went into the lobby.
“How was your stay sir?” said the same dwarf man he met three days ago.
“Er, fine, fine, thanks to ye,” replied George, forgetting about the ghost. Then it struck him. “Hey, why’d ye paint room thirteen red? I think t’is dumb for a room that’s supposed t’be haunted.”
The man behind the desk looked bewildered. “I don’t believe we’ve repainted any of the rooms since the last century.”
“Oh? Is that so? What about the girl in yon haunted room? What’s up wit’ her?”
The man shuddered. “Oh yes, her. She was one of our guest’s daughters, but unfortunately died due to some strange illness or something. That room is quite unlucky, for the room number is thirteen, and the girl was born on June 6, 1906.”
George’s eyebrows rose and flew off his head. It floated to the nearest alien spaceship. “Your hotel is that old? No wonder the shower was broken.”
The man shrugged. “Ah, we’ll see about that shower of yours. Anyway, I really liked that girl, even though she was quite peculiar. I suppose she had it because she was born on the day of the devil.”
“She had what?”
“Oh. The girl had red eyes.”
George W. Bush soon became extremely rich when aliens from a nearby spaceship returned his eyebrows and accidentally gave him five tons of gold. He moved to a democratic-republic country where he became a leader in a close race with his opponent. He is now very famous and well loved, having led in two wars, and having a 22% approval rating.

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