Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-27905100-20161116221352

This is for the 2016 collab. I've been trying to flesh this out as well as I can, but I didn't exactly succeed compared to my other endeavors. The plot might not fit well with the title, all thing considered, but I made up the title on the spot. I hope it's okay, and do not hold anything back in the critique.

I found Hallowroots driving on my way from Red deer to Thunder bay. A quaint little place, it interested me, and as it was on the way, I figured I may as well stop for the night. I found it to be, to my delight, a place that seemed to be off-the-grid, so to speak, and had been left behind at the turn of the century. I drove in in my 2009 Mercedes, and found there to be no paved roads, and to my surprise, no cars whatsoever. The roads, unpaved as they were, made me need to focus on driving through; the narrow streets, even more so. Because of this, I was in a hurry to explore the town, so I tried to find a hotel to check into as quickly as possible.

Finding the closest hotel, I parked my car along the street, as I couldn’t find a lot. I unlocked the doors, the clicking noise of the locks startling me. I realized that my nerves were completely on edge. I assumed it was from the drive over, but was wary nonetheless. The lack of cell phones, and more modern technology in general was eerie to say the least. I didn’t like the look of this town, but I had already stopped for too long to get to the next town over before dark.

I got out of the car, a smell unlike any others I could recognize. I wasn’t able to quite place it, but I know that there were at least hints of gasoline fires, somewhere. I wondered why, considering that I couldn’t find a single piece of familiar technology, especially nothing to do with pumping gasoline. Pushing that out of my mind, I walked inside the place. The sign hung over my head as I walked through, making me realize how out of place I was. I didn’t want to be stared at by the locals, so I tried to be low key, but I couldn’t help but wonder what was going on with the locals and their strange, pioneer-like customs and old timey dress.

The inside of the place was made of straight wooden walls, with some boards crudely hammered on over large cracks in the wall. The kerosene lamps provided tiny sparks of light inside the otherwise midnight-black emptiness of the inn. The smell of cedar and booze floated lazily around the place, and the kerosene lamps gave off a light smell of smoke, which added a feeling of edge to the place. I walked up to the desk where I assumed that I was supposed to get a key to a room, and met eyes with a somewhat strange character that was, I assume, playing poker. I pressed the little bell on the desk, and waited for someone to arrive. After about fifteen or so seconds, a woman came walking out from a door and began writing things down in a notebook.

“Excuse me,” I said, “could I check in to this hotel for the night?”

The lady behind the desk looked up at me, and asked about my style of dress. I replied that it was simply my work clothes; she gave me a strange look, but inquired no further. I simply requested a key, and she gave it to me, then asked for a small sum of money. I reached into my pocket, the coins jangling as I grabbed them. The metal on metal gave me chills, the goosebumps running up my arm like sprinters. Breathing out harshly, I handed over my pennies and dimes so that I may stay the night. I put the key in my pocket, and started walking up the stairs, each step softly creaking under my weight. I moved quickly, as I was beginning to become unnerved, but before I got to my room, I felt a hand, icy as that of death grasp my shoulder.

“What’re you doing here, stranger?”

I turned around, looking for the origin of the voice, and found a man, dressed in casual clothing looking at me. A red beard ran down his chin, and his hair was cut down to an inch or so. His manner seemed to indicate a level of knowledge about something that I didn’t have.

“You’d best be getting going. I smell fire, and that means something’s going on.”

“What do you mean?”

He simply gave me a puzzled look, as if there was something I should know. Sighing, he spoke once more, his voice taking on a much more serious tone, the words coming much more slowly.

“The fire means they’ll come. They’re drawn to it like moths are to a lamp.”

I looked at him, the kerosene lamps blinking like stars behind him. His brow was furrowed in a worried look, his eyes stern. I was taken aback by this, as I assumed Hallowroots to be a simple town, that was strange for the attractions of tourists more than anything, and in no way outright dangerous. He must have seen my confusion, so just said one thing.

“Don’t go out after dark.”

Puzzled by this, I simply nodded, and turned to leave.

I found my room quite easily, and put the key in the lock. It went in with a scrape that reverberated up my arm, as if to announce I had committed to staying here. I never enjoyed the feeling of being stuck doing any one thing, but I had stopped here, and nothing I could do would change the fact that I would have to pull an all nighter to get to the next hotel. Opening the door, I stepped inside. The room was pitch black, as though something inside was sucking out all the light inside. I wandered in, feeling around for a sign of something, anything to create a light. I stumbled more than once over something loose on the ground before finding a small cardboard box. Assuming this to be a matchbox, I opened it up and pushed my hand inside. The matches felt old and rotted, but nonetheless match-like, so I took one out and struck it. The orange glow penetrated the darkness like a single star in the emptiness of the night sky, giving everything I could see a slightly orange hue. Right next to the matchbox was a kerosene lamp, and a note, saying: For your use. I lit the lamp, and the larger flame burst up with a puff of sweet-smelling smoke. I swung the light around the room, and I found a single bed. Sighing with relief about the room, I realized something was off. The crimson sheets seemed wet, almost shiny. I dismissed this as a simple spill. Yes, perhaps the previous guest had been drinking wine, and the housekeeping had forgotten to clean it up. I began to hum a tune to myself, and sat down on the duvet.

The salty smell of dried blood hit me straight in the nose.

I jumped off the bed, and ran straight downstairs, the boards shrieking under my weight, my footsteps crashing and echoing through the entire inn, announcing my presence to everyone within the walls. I slammed to a halt at the front desk, and bent over, panting. My breath tasted salty in my mouth. I stood up straight, and slammed my hands down on the desk with a sharp crunk! that made my palms sting with a vengeance. I pulled my arms away, the unpolished wood leaving a few splinters in there as painful souvenirs. The lady looked up at me in a strangely calm fashion.

“Yes?” she said

“What is going on in there?”

She looked at me again in a calm manner.

“The crimson liquid! The blood!” I shouted, my eyes darting around the room. I wanted to run far away from Hallowroots, to just get away from this fucked up town.

“We like to provide our guests with the very best experience, sir. If you don’t like this, may I suggest the moonlight inn?” she said, still quite calm.

That’s when I realized something. This wasn’t a hotel.

“Excuse me, but what is the purpose of this place?” I inquired.

“That’s simple, sir. We provide meat to the local restaurants when the other stuff becomes too expensive. If you were simply looking to stay the night, the moonlight inn will suffice.”

I looked around the room, and everything began to make sense. Everyone in this town was going to eat me. That man, warning me not to go out simply wanted a cheaper dinner. I began to scream.

---                                     ---                                   ---

He looked through the window, his unkempt red hair glistening in the light of the kerosene lamps. The stranger hadn’t held up well in this place. They never do. He sighed. That stupid kid was burning those fires again, making it even worse for him. The shrieks of the banshees had started up again, as they do every night a fire is lit. They screamed monotonously, almost harmoniously. He sighed. The stranger shut the door to his car, and the headlights lit up. He should have told him about the stranger things that go on in this town, but then again, that probably would have frightened off anyway. Hallowroots was a bigger place than most people expected, and the stranger wouldn’t have made it anyway.

He turns away from the window as the car is engulfed by the shrieking darkness. 