Page 111 of The Monster of Hotel No. 7
Nothing.
There’s nothing but blackness in the hall.
I reach out my hand for the cool knob of the bathroom and twist it slowly, closing my eyes tight for a moment before I tell myself to stop being a baby.This is important. He would want to know.
I spring open my eyes.
I open my mouth to call to him. To warn him I’m coming in.
But the word dies in my throat.
The first thing I see is the white tile of the floor, the door only opened a sliver, humidity rushing out and warming my skin, causing me to shiver with the contrast of cold and heat.
It’s not that which has his name refusing to leave my mouth, though.
It’s the second thing I see.
Blood.
Along the floor, thick and smeared haphazardly, a few drops leading out of sight, toward where I know the shower is, the water still running.
It wasn’t there before.
The floor was clean.
My heartbeat thrashes in my ears and I glance up to see steam clouding the rectangular mirror above the sink, my makeup and face products set along it, but nothing else.
My own shadow hovering here in the doorway like a specter reflects back to me, too.
I realize Sullen is…too quiet. Not that I would expect him to be talking to himself; he barely talks to anyone else as is. But it’s like he’s not even moving under the stream of water. There is no jump or dissonance in the flow, just a steady rush of it.
Dread wells up inside of me.
I twist around to stare at the sliver beneath the room door again.
And this time, the lights are back on.
I should feel relief. Power outages are probably common here if this place isn’t taken care of daily, but for some reason, I’m only more unnerved.
I tighten my fingers on the bathroom knob.
The shower is still a steady, continuous stream.
He isn’t moving in there.
Blood is on the floor.
Something has happened to him.
Or maybe… Maybe it’s not evenhimin the shower.
My limbs feel strangely cold as I turn once more to look at the bright red blood, vivid against the white tile.
What if he isn’t there?
It doesn’t make any sense, but the thought bubbles up in my brain and I can’t reel it back. Panic causes my heart to beat faster, stronger, sweat pricking beneath the dampness of my hair, unfurled down my back, grazing my exposed skin from the bra top.
Sullen.
