Uninvited Guests // Insp. Badlands - Halsey

Uninvited Guests

The blur of city lights caved in around me as I dashed past the endless cracks of a sidewalk. Due to my shortness of breath and pulsing heartbeat, I didn't have time to think of where to go.

So I kept dashing straight ahead, not knowing where I would end up, following the sidewalk until I halted at a dead end. Looking back, I noticed the police sirens had faded to a different part of town. I'd finally lost them.

Disappointment overwhelmed me as I realized I left my street art supplies at the "crime scene" where I was spraying "graffiti" as they call it. But my intentions were to portray a work of art. Yes, I'm a 19 year old teenage runaway that loves doing street art, but the police will never catch me. At least, I hope not.

Turning towards the view in front of me now, I noticed a dark, crippled door bolted into the fenced wall. Being the curious person that I am, I opened it slowly. An abandoned street stretched elongated in front of me. Along the path of this pavement stood a one-story building with a towering sign that flashed the words "Badlands Motel".

Might as well just stay a few nights here, I thought to myself, the police have no clue where I am anyways. And plus, I have nowhere else to go. As I walked in, the man at the front desk who was a 6 foot tall, lean figure dressed in a dark blue polo shirt and jeans stood before me.

"Welcome," he smiled, "would you like to check in?" I nodded a yes and he gave me a piece of paper and a pen to write my name and the date so I could check in. Halsey, September 29, 2013 I wrote. He then tossed me the keys to Room 93.

"Enjoy your stay," he remarked as I started to walk up the flight of stairs.

My motel room was a dump. Peeling wallpaper scratched the walls and the stench of rotten eggs haunted the air. The broken TV echoed with flashes and loudly buzzed when I tried to turn it on. I was thankful the bed felt comfy because it would suck if I had to sleep on an uncomfortable mattress.

All I had on me was my phone, my credit card, and some cash stuffed in my black ripped jeans, plus a free bottled water that was provided from the hotel. I had to make use of my time and wait a few days for the police to blow off the case of the use of my graffiti.

Exhausted from running, I drowned myself in the comfort of the bed sheets and dozed off immediately.

Thump. Thump. Pulling the covers away from my face, I forced my eyes open and the awareness of my surroundings returned. Thump. Thump. There was the sound again, this time even louder and I realized it was knocking coming from the door. The digital clock beside me read 2:22 AM, who would be awake at this time? Lazily, I sheltered myself back under the covers, praying it wasn't the police. Guess I'll have to find out who it was tomorrow.

A gray silhouette from the windows cascaded over my motel room, waking me up from a forgotten dream. I was headed toward the lobby when I found scratches tattooed on the wood of my room door. Weird. I thought, Maybe I should ask the person at the front desk about it.

The guy at the front desk had his back leaning back against a rotting chair and his feet propped up on the table. I decided to approach him and ask him about ideas of who or what could've been knocking on my door at 2:22 A.M.

"Room 93, huh? I've completely forgotten about what happened there three years ago. A man was murdered but no one has ever found out who did it or why so the police called off the case after 6 months. Anyways, I have no clue as to who or what could've knocked on your door. Maybe you were dreaming," he explained.

Later on again at 2:22 A.M. a noise that sounded like feet shuffling alerted me from my sleep. Thump. Thump. There it was again, the same repetition of knocking echoed throughout my almost empty room. I didn't dare open my eyes because I was afraid the person knocking would suddenly appear in front of me. So I forced myself to drift off to sleep.

The same knocking sound repeated for a couple more nights, but I'd gotten used to it and out of fear, assumed it was just a hallucination.

On the fourth night I stayed at the motel, the shuffling of footsteps awakened me again. This time, whispers of several people were heard and a gleaming white light silhouetted the crippled door.

My heart was pounding. I was sure I'd seen the doorknob turn. It took two seconds for the bright lights and noise to engulf the entire room. My arms were abruptly tied together and metal digged into my skin as I was cuffed. That's when I realized under the midst of all this commotion, it was the police. They'd finally caught me.

Arriving at the station at 2:20 A.M., I was sat alone in an office next to a mountain of police cases. There was a file titled "Room 93" dating back to 2010, when the murder in the motel happened. Out of curiosity, I opened it up and found out the homicide was caused by a mentally ill person attempting to kill his ex for breaking up with him.

Among the suspected people in the file, I found a 6 foot tall, lean figure dressed in a dark blue polo shirt and jeans named Richard. It was the guy working at the front desk of the Badlands Motel.

One of the policemen walked in, "Didn't you see this person at the motel lobby when you went in?" I questioned. "He was the first person I saw when I checked in."

"What person?" He looked clueless, "That motel has been empty for nearly five years. No one bothers to stay there anymore since the murder happened. Shouldn't I be the one asking you questions?" He smiled and took a seat in front of me.

2:22 A.M. struck on the digital clock, and this time I knew who was knocking on the door of Room 93, waiting to get their hands on me—Richard.