I see her mouth moving but I’ve stopped any actual listening minutes ago. Oh I can hear muffled sounds. Like being underwater. I never knew someone could talk so fucking much.
I let my cool gaze wander to her hair. Head of messy brass curls. She needs a touch up at the graying roots. Her eyes are caked in powder blue shadow. And those lips, the ones that won’t shut up, stained with a bronzed orange. She has some on her teeth too. Yellowed atrocities rotted and discolored. Perhaps by too much smoking and black coffee. I find myself amazed she could’ve actually shut the fuck up long enough to inhale a puff of smoke or to take a drink.
My brief, drowned silence fades.
“The blanket is too hot in the room! I don’t like it! I want something else right now! Where’s the manager? We should be given some sort of discount shouldn’t we Fred?!”
That poor fucker Fred. He looks at me sheepishly. Embarrassed by the wonderful light of his life. The one he once foolishly decided to marry.
I inhale and smile. She pauses.
“Of course, I am so sorry you’re inconvenienced. I will make sure you are given a discount and I will have the maids bring you up a lighter blanket when they can.”
Fred looks relieved.
She preens.
I want to throw up.
After much hustling and bustling; crooning and fake fat grins, she leaves. Fred glances back at me. Nods his head slightly. I just keep smiling.
Until they are gone.
Then I put up a “Be right back” sign and head into the office. Closing the door.
Rage seeps out of me. Squeezing through every pore. A thick black tar substance slithers to the carpet, reforming. When it has become something solid, it quietly stands, studying me with vacant eyes.
“Shut her the hell up.” I whisper, biting my lower lip so hard it begins to bead with blood.
The demon before me reaches out a dark hand, it’s finger wiping the scarlet away. A seemingly tender gesture for such anger. It licks the blood off. Closing those eyes which are filled with a void of the deep. It sighs. Softly. Nods head. Such a small payment for the task I have asked of it.
Up into the air vents it slithers. My mind’s eye allows me the sight I need to follow the demon’s movements. There is no noise as it travels or when it stops. Hovering over the room of #221, echos from it are sent back to my ears. She is still talking. Fred grunts, agreeing here or there. He drinks his coffee with deep gulps. I sniff the air. A hint of booze is in the aroma. This causes me to chuckle.
Soon both are unable to keep their eyes opened even if they wanted to. As they begin to lay down, she is still mumbling about the comforter being too hot.
‘Not to worry bitch. I promise you won’t be overly warm in a moment.’
Demon slinks down onto them. Cloaking their bodies, suffocating them.
‘There now, see? A lighter blanket.’
I frown however. This is not pleasing. To simply have her fall asleep and die? No no. It will not do. Fred, he may have that ending. But not her.
So the demon coaxes her out of her slumber. She sees him and opens the wide canyon that is her mouth, a darkness is shoved down her throat. Lips are held shut while my demon begins to sew them closed. Liquid thread from its fingers loop, then pulls tight. She struggles of course but the weight upon her cannot be budged. At last her mouth is nothing but string and jagged bumpy skin.
It slides off of the pair to stand at the bottom of their bed grave.
‘That’s it my wicked one, speak to her.’
It’s jaws yawn and a wordless, soundless shriek is released. The very air folds in upon itself. The woman’s brain begins oozing out through her ears and eyes.
‘Remember you wanted cold? Let me help you out with that.’ I smirk.
Icicles shatter down from nowhere yet everywhere, puncturing the couple’s flesh. Raining upon them in rapid succession. Two little pincushions. Wet, red, voodoo dolls. I shiver, bumps of pleasure dotting my arms.
When all is done, my rage returns to me. Settling back down into the depths of my stomach. I open the office door, put away my “Be right back” sign, and attend the next guest.
He shouts about having to wait and begins a lengthy tirade.
I just keep smiling.
Written by ©®™ Atusha Avarus, Serial Writer
I let my cool gaze wander to her hair. Head of messy brass curls. She needs a touch up at the graying roots. Her eyes are caked in powder blue shadow. And those lips, the ones that won’t shut up, stained with a bronzed orange. She has some on her teeth too. Yellowed atrocities rotted and discolored. Perhaps by too much smoking and black coffee. I find myself amazed she could’ve actually shut the fuck up long enough to inhale a puff of smoke or to take a drink.
My brief, drowned silence fades.
“The blanket is too hot in the room! I don’t like it! I want something else right now! Where’s the manager? We should be given some sort of discount shouldn’t we Fred?!”
That poor fucker Fred. He looks at me sheepishly. Embarrassed by the wonderful light of his life. The one he once foolishly decided to marry.
I inhale and smile. She pauses.
“Of course, I am so sorry you’re inconvenienced. I will make sure you are given a discount and I will have the maids bring you up a lighter blanket when they can.”
Fred looks relieved.
She preens.
I want to throw up.
After much hustling and bustling; crooning and fake fat grins, she leaves. Fred glances back at me. Nods his head slightly. I just keep smiling.
Until they are gone.
Then I put up a “Be right back” sign and head into the office. Closing the door.
Rage seeps out of me. Squeezing through every pore. A thick black tar substance slithers to the carpet, reforming. When it has become something solid, it quietly stands, studying me with vacant eyes.
“Shut her the hell up.” I whisper, biting my lower lip so hard it begins to bead with blood.
The demon before me reaches out a dark hand, it’s finger wiping the scarlet away. A seemingly tender gesture for such anger. It licks the blood off. Closing those eyes which are filled with a void of the deep. It sighs. Softly. Nods head. Such a small payment for the task I have asked of it.
Up into the air vents it slithers. My mind’s eye allows me the sight I need to follow the demon’s movements. There is no noise as it travels or when it stops. Hovering over the room of #221, echos from it are sent back to my ears. She is still talking. Fred grunts, agreeing here or there. He drinks his coffee with deep gulps. I sniff the air. A hint of booze is in the aroma. This causes me to chuckle.
Soon both are unable to keep their eyes opened even if they wanted to. As they begin to lay down, she is still mumbling about the comforter being too hot.
‘Not to worry bitch. I promise you won’t be overly warm in a moment.’
Demon slinks down onto them. Cloaking their bodies, suffocating them.
‘There now, see? A lighter blanket.’
I frown however. This is not pleasing. To simply have her fall asleep and die? No no. It will not do. Fred, he may have that ending. But not her.
So the demon coaxes her out of her slumber. She sees him and opens the wide canyon that is her mouth, a darkness is shoved down her throat. Lips are held shut while my demon begins to sew them closed. Liquid thread from its fingers loop, then pulls tight. She struggles of course but the weight upon her cannot be budged. At last her mouth is nothing but string and jagged bumpy skin.
It slides off of the pair to stand at the bottom of their bed grave.
‘That’s it my wicked one, speak to her.’
It’s jaws yawn and a wordless, soundless shriek is released. The very air folds in upon itself. The woman’s brain begins oozing out through her ears and eyes.
‘Remember you wanted cold? Let me help you out with that.’ I smirk.
Icicles shatter down from nowhere yet everywhere, puncturing the couple’s flesh. Raining upon them in rapid succession. Two little pincushions. Wet, red, voodoo dolls. I shiver, bumps of pleasure dotting my arms.
When all is done, my rage returns to me. Settling back down into the depths of my stomach. I open the office door, put away my “Be right back” sign, and attend the next guest.
He shouts about having to wait and begins a lengthy tirade.
I just keep smiling.
Written by ©®™ Atusha Avarus, Serial Writer
