Haunted Hotel Floors 1

You are seeing faces: pimpled, freckled, oily, dirty faces of men. But they can’t see you; they’re all blind. That fellow in grey suit and khaki pants – the only fellow with dark glasses – he’s pretending: same as you pretending to feel happiness after your dog died.
This room stinks of phenol. Last night, something happened here, something bad. If it was good, why would they clean the room? Now you are feeling relaxed and comfortable in that cozy bed, but it was not cozy when they removed what was on it. That sag and warmth on your bottom means whatever was here got removed just before they put you in.
Don’t be frightened. Listen to me. Strap yourself to the bed with the brown leather belts on the armrest. There’s a good question! Of course you can’t do both hands by yourself. See the mirrors on the four walls, and the ceiling, and the floor? It’s not just mirrors; nurses, male nurses are watching you from the other side. Nod if you can understand me. Nod now.
We learned about your abilities years ago. For six years, we watched and studied you in this room. Each day, we came in with syringes, tablets, and tubes to test you. There were times when you fell sick, when you gave up on us and fell into a coma – when we tried everything to put you back together and you just gave up; but, we always brought you back. No, we are not gods. Are you?
See that red flicker on the top left ceiling? It’s a camera. People are going to study this tape in labs, and in a few years in medical colleges. You are that important; children are always important. In a few hours, these men will want your eyes. Let the vacuum eye-sucker enclose your face and do its job. Plop, plop, plop; roll, roll, roll; and then we collect it and plug it into these guys.
Tonight is different. Usually, you are prepped for days before such acquisitions. But this week, we need more from you. On the hundred and fifty third floor there are nine thousand miserable souls without sight. Who’s going to make them well? We are. Stop nodding. It’s not you.
Stop squirming. You can’t escape this time. Last time when you ran, we had to shoot your legs for two days before you gave in. Now we don’t have ammo and you don’t have your legs. How will you go out? Crawling? Your hands are weak. Yes they are. Every time you pull on the straps, they will bind tighter to your arms. You are superhuman, but even you are not…
Okay you are.
Now go back to the bed and strap your…
Don’t try breaking the glass. It’s not glass to tell you the truth. You are glass: fragile, weak, and pathetic. You can try breaking it all night and not a dent or scratch will appear on it. Supposing you did smash it to bits, our nurses are going to restrain you and put you in another room and we will take more from you, not just your eyes!
Who shot your ears? Then listen to me. Listen! Okay, there are no nurses. I was lying. Before you burst out, think about all these blind men, think about their families and friends. Don’t you have a family? Don’t you have a loving father? Listen to him. He worked on you for two decades to make you so strong. Can he do what you are doing? So, stop pouting and go back to the bed and strap yourself with the brown leather belts. Pull the long, left one with your mouth.


6 thoughts on “Haunted Hotel Floors 1

  1. Thank you Angie. I was playing around with second-person narration and making a transition to first-person without affecting the flow of narration. There is more, technically speaking. Story-wise, I want to introduce characters and locations without really changing the setting. (I don’t want to reveal too much at the moment, but the idea hangs on the this paradox: The room remains the same and the room changes.)

  2. Thanks Raj. You have a great blog yourself. I read some of your posts, it’s interesting. Keep working on your skill and read as much as possible. 🙂

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