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At one point my walls were the lightest shade of pale blue, and traces of my mania can be found in the floral spiral patterns. However, after years of people smoking they have turned nicotine yellow.
I have seen it all: Dominatrix fantasies, homosexual lovers, prostitutes, sex offenders, cheating ministers, and many more. And every one of them, whether they are young or old, innocent or vile, have never escaped.
While my victims drift off in between their vulnerable slumber and consciousness, I crawl inside them and cause sleep paralysis. Oh, how they struggle and try to pull themselves from my dark power. These souls beg for sweet release as I take the form of a demonic being and rape them. And the more they cry the stronger I become.
I restrict their wind pipes and watch with great glee as these fragile lambs slowly die. Imagine placing a bell jar over a butterfly and observing it struggle as oxygen depletes. Or visualize a weak worm in a scorpion’s pit.
I am malevolent.
I am the darkness.
I am a killer.
But sometimes my method of murder doesn’t involve depraved sex and suffocation. Take for example a victim I murdered back in 1999.
A young man sat inside of me and contemplated taking his life. He lost his job and struggled with depression for many years prior. To add to this, the guy’s boyfriend of three years had broken up with him. After an hour of contemplating his life and writing a suicide note, this man realized life’s virtue: Love, compassion, the smell of rain, autumn leaves crunching beneath his feet, and other things that made him happy.
Nevertheless, I am none of these and I forced him to undress, sit in the bathtub and take a switchblade to his wrists. “No, no, no!” he screamed, as I made his hand cut a vertical slit into the pale belly of his left arm. As the blood drained from his cold body, the young man’s final word was simply the question, “Why?”
“Because I can,” I replied coldly.
I am savage.
I am corrupt.
I am evil.
But in all honesty, my favorite kill was back in 1985. A married father and a hooker decided to spend the night within my walls. Between fucking the whore, he would call his wife and tell her all about the business trip he lied about. This should be fun, I thought to myself.
As the adulterer screwed the woman from behind, I possessed him. Inside the cheating husband’s mind, I demanded he reach between the mattress and the box spring and obtain a knife someone left years ago. Under my control, the man gripped the blade.
“Oh, baby!” the greasy-haired hooker exclaimed, faking an orgasm. “Give it to me, yeah!”
As he steadily pulled in and out of her ass, the father of three took the blade and slashed her neck from cheek to cheek. Blood gushed from her neck and soaked the entire bed with hepatitis. And even after the sex worker’s soul departed I made the man continue to screw her dead body.
I am brutality.
I am malice.
I am a trap.
After the unfaithful lover came, I snapped my fingers and he awoke from his trance. When he discovered the crime he unwillingly committed, the man screamed and screamed and screamed. However, it was no use. For the thing about my walls is that no matter how loud a person screams nobody will ever hear them.
And being that I am able to change my form, I made the door and windows disappear so the cheater could not escape. After days of being trapped with a rotting corpse, the man had gone insane from starvation and dehydration. Hell, he had even resorted to eating parts of the hooker’s body and throwing feces at the ceiling.
Oh, he shouldn’t have done that.
For the punishment of tossing his shit at me was that I made him remove his own genitals.
But no matter what happens within me I always clean up. A forensic scientist could investigate and find absolutely no DNA evidence that someone had died. And as for those who come to the Motel Astor and check into my domain, please know that there are complimentary tooth brushes and towels in the bathroom.
Also note that I will fuck with your mind and reflect the pit of your worst fears. Whether it is hissing cockroaches, snakes, or traumatic experiences, you will come face to face with them and fall into my inescapable snare.
I am destruction.
I am sadism.
I am room 115.