A/N: New story. Because who gives a fuck about maintaining a proper schedule. :D
I'm actually not gonna go into much detail because I don't wanna spoil anything the blurb hasn't already hinted towards. Basically, a journalist finds information concerning a hitman with connections to a mob crime organization. Late at night, she finds herself being persuaded by a hostile figure.
And then horrific weird shit happens.
Very, very, very, very weird shit starts to happen. That is all the info you're getting out of me.
Story contains gore, violence, swearing, and brief bits of nudity.
All right. So then, enjoy the story. :D
She recognized that sound immediately after it happened. The young woman couldn't help but grimace after hearing the meaty thump beneath her car's tires.
"Shit," she murmured.
She was tempted to stop the car just to see if the animal got caught in the tires. But it was already creeping up on midnight, she was driving in the middle of the woods, and she knew whatever residue that got stuck on the tires would inevitably come off the further along she drove. So she sighed to herself, wiping some sweat off her forehead before she continued to drive down the road. Five minutes later, she looked down at her gas tank and blinked. It was only halfway empty, but when the driver saw the sign advertising a run-down, seemingly desolate gas station just a mile up on the road, she decided to stop anyway. The woman sniffled as she stopped by one of the pumps that was still working, got outside of her car, and started walking into the convenience store. She adjusted her loose-fitting green denim jacket as she headed into the store and spotted the cashier standing on the opposite side of the cash register. For a brief moment, the woman heard him snorting, and the cashier quickly opened his eyes and stood up straight before coughing.
"AHEM! Ah, wel-welcome to Gasin' at Andy's! Need help with something, miss?"
The woman ignored that the man was sleeping on the job and casually approached the cashier. "Yeah, mind givin' me twenty on pump five?"
The cashier shook his head. "Not at all."
After nodding and digging into her wallet, the woman started to pull out a twenty-dollar bill when she suddenly asked, "Actually, you know of any rest stops or motels nearby I can spend the night?"
"Sure! S'a motel 'bout six miles down the street from here. Logo's 8 it's called."
The woman raised her eyebrow. "Don't you mean Super 8 Motel?"
The cashier chuckled. "You know how grocery stores got the name-brand soda, and then there's the store-brand soda?"
After thinking for a moment, the woman closed her eyes slowly and sucked on her teeth.
"Yeah. Sorry 'bout that."
The woman sighed before opening her eyes and shrugging. "S'better than sleeping in the car. They're open twenty-four hours, correct?"
"Indeed they are!"
As the woman handed the cashier her twenty-dollar bill, she took out her phone and frowned upon realizing the battery was nearly dead.
"Okay, thanks for the help," she said, before sliding her phone back into her pocket.
"No problem. You have a good night!"
The woman smiled at the cashier before walking back outside and feeling the humid summer air already clinging against her skin. She grumbled as she made her way to the gas pump, still beating herself up for wearing jeans and boots after the news reported that it was supposed to rain throughout the night Yet the only traces of water she came across outside were a few puddles on the ground, and the occasional pond or stream she drove past. When the driver was ready, she started to fill up her gas tank, leaning against the car and hearing her phone beep in her pocket. She looked at the phone again and grumbled.
"Yes, phone, I know you're about to die. Shut up," she said crossly.
Just as she slid her phone back into her pocket, she looked out into the street behind her and froze. Someone was watching her. At least, she assumed it was someone. The driver kept pumping gas into the vehicle and looked away, telling herself not to overreact. Ten seconds later, she looked in the same direction. The entity was still there. Still, the woman kept calm. As she continued to refill her gas tank, she looked into her car at the passenger's seat. Buried beneath the folders, binders, and hamburger wrappers was the bottom of her SIG Sauer P226 handgun. And even though the cashier was most likely asleep again, the driver wouldn't be surprised if he had his own shotgun or rifle somewhere in the store. Nevertheless, the woman kept calm and finished filling up her gas tank. She looked in the same direction again and frowned. The same entity was there, staring at her, the silhouette just faintly visible in the street lights surrounding the gas station.
The woman got in her car, turned on the ignition, and immediately went back out onto the road. She drove almost fifteen past the speed limit, not caring if a highway patrolman was hidden amongst the trees waiting to prey on reckless speeders. Whoever or whatever was watching her was out there somewhere. At least, she thought someone was. Yet when she looked in her rearview mirror six times, she never saw any headlights, nor did she hear any other cars on the road. There weren't even vehicles that passed by her going in the opposite direction. Taking a huge breath, the driver told herself to calm down and to ignore what she did or didn't see.
Just get some sleep, she said to herself. You're just tired.
The driver finally reached the motel and parked in one of the empty parking spots in reverse, just so it'd be much easier for her to immediately escape if any trouble should arise. She got out of her car—taking her pistol with her this time—and entered the motel's lobby. There was nothing inside short of a clerk sitting behind a desk—a desk that was worn out and scratched—along with three chairs for customers to sit and wait in. Some random magazines were splayed about a table, and the driver noticed a water dispenser and three doors: one for employees only, and two leading to the bathrooms. The clerk spotted the woman after she entered the lobby and stopped reading her magazine so she could check her in.
"Cash or card?"
The woman paused before saying, "Cash."
The clerk looked at the driver before sizing her up for a moment and straightening out her red hair.
"Mm. Staying for one night or multiple?"
"Name here, please," the clerk said, as she placed an open book on the counter and offered the driver a pen.
The driver grabbed the pen and started to write out her name. She started to scratch in "Beverly" when she froze. After a moment, Beverly looked at the clerk and sized her up too. She didn't look like anyone threatening, just a regular aging woman with messy red hair wearing spectacles and a wrinkled yellow blouse and skirt. Still, Beverly couldn't put down her real name, so she wrote out "Beatrice Nosgolan" instead before handing the logbook and pen over to the clerk. The aging woman looked at the name before standing up from her squeaky chair and walking over towards the display case containing all of the keys for the rooms.
"Do you have preference? Double beds, room with a window?"
"No. Probably going to sleep as soon as I settle in."
"All right," she said, before snatching a small key with a plastic card reading "10" chained to it. Before she handed the key over to Beverly, she pointed at the pricing board on the wall, prompting Beverly to take out two twenty-dollar bills and a ten-dollar bill. After she handed the clerk the cash, the clerk gave Beverly the key.
"You have a nice night."
"Thanks," Beverly said with a nod.
Even for a shady, seemingly decrepit motel in the middle of nowhere, Beverly didn't mind the accommodations. There were no cockroaches, bed bugs, or other bothersome critters in the room, no mysterious stains, no noisome odors clinging to the furniture, and the air conditioning was working properly. Her room was small, only containing a simple bed, chair, small TV, dresser, and a nightstand with a lamp on top of it. Beverly dumped her suitcase on the floor and tossed her assortment of files and folders on the bed. After taking off her jacket and boots, she plugged her charger into her phone and sat down on the mattress, examining some of her files as she made a phone call. Even though it was past 12:30, the person she contacted answered the phone very quickly.
"Hey, Jeff. I didn't wake you, did I?"
Jeff scoffed over the phone. "You kidding? I've been injecting coffee into my bloodstream."
"See, I know you're joking, but I can see you holding a syringe right now with a tourniquet wrapped around your left arm."
"You're right. I have a problem. I'll check myself into rehab first thing in the morning."
Beverley chuckled. "I'll believe it when I see it."
"Mm. Speaking of the inability to quit something that'll kill you, did your source pan out?"
Beverley exhaled as she looked down at some of the files and photos on the bed. "Absolutely. Hit a gold mine today, Jeff. Should finally be enough to publish a story about the Antinello Family's top hitman."
"Who, that Ginny guy? Gin Ciccolero?"
"Bev, I really wish you would just drop that story. They already caught the guy; who gives a damn about the details?"
"Everyone. You don't go to Burger King and order a plain whopper, do you? You want the pickles and the tomatoes and the cheese, etc. No one gives a damn about being plain."
"'Plain' can still be satisfying, y'know. 'Sides, don't compare this to food anyway; this is a whole different situation. What you're doing can get you killed, Bev."
Beverly paused for a moment and looked outside the window. She slowly moved the curtains aside and stared out into the parking lot, where she only saw her gray sedan and four other vehicles parked outside. Frowning, Beverly walked over to the lamp and shut it off before she picked up her handgun and put it in the back of her pants.
"People need to know, Jeff…people need to know what drives someone to do something like this. Have you seen some of these photos? I mean, Jesus—I'm looking at a picture of a guy who had his face dunked in a deep-fryer. And then he had an ice pick shoved up his ass and was left to bleed out and die." Beverly stammered. "Who does shit like that, Jeff? Why? What the hell kind of message does that send?"
"Why do you care? Why does it matter? They caught the sick bastard. He's in prison. He was found guilty. The end. All that matters to me is that asshole is gonna spend the rest of his life rotting away in a cell. Hell, maybe someone will shove a shiv up his ass, leave him to bleed out and die. …Isn't that all that's important?"
Beverly exhaled and shook her head. "Like I said, Jeff. Details. And I got 'em right here."
Jeff groaned over the phone, and Beverly could picture the man rolling his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I gotcha. You and this damn story. Just be careful, all right? You know this type of shit is gonna attract the wrong attention."
"Trust me," Bev said, before she looked outside again. "I'm aware."
"Good. You have a good night."
"You have fun shooting more coffee into your arm."
Beverly smiled smugly. And then she hung up the phone. Afterwards, Beverley went back to examining the photos and files in the darkness, using only her phone as a light source to view the documents.
She shouldn't have been surprised. She hadn't slept in over thirty-six hours and had been running on coffee, junk food, and fast food. Still, Beverley was surprised when she woke up in the middle of the night after falling asleep slouched against the wall. Bev grunted as she got up off the floor and headed into the bathroom, rubbing sleep out of her eyes as she turned on the light. Afterwards, she used the toilet and washed her hands, grimacing as she rolled her tongue around her mouth. Beverly exited the bathroom and took her toothbrush out of her suitcase before she went back in the bathroom and brushed her teeth, scrubbing away the stale flavor of all the food she ate over the past several hours. As she brushed, she heard muffled thumping coming from one of the rooms nearby, followed by a man screaming. The screams abruptly stopped, and Beverly stopped brushing her teeth. She spat into the sink and waited patiently, wondering if any of the noises would return. Despite her apprehension, Beverly slowly brushed her teeth again and rinsed her mouth out. It wasn't until Bev went back into her room that she heard glass breaking.
"The fuck…" she murmured.
Bev turned her light out and slowly walked back over to her phone that was still plugged into the wall. She crouched down and looked at the battery life, pleased to see that it had been completely charged. Listening closely, Beverly tried to discover the source of all the noises coming from the other rooms, and eventually heard someone scream again, which was followed by another thud. Not taking any chances, Beverly dialed 911 and put the phone up to her ear.
"Don't be busy, please," Bev murmured to herself.
"9-1-1, what's your emergency?" the dispatcher asked.
Oh, thank god, Beverly thought.
"Yes, hello. I'm at the Logo's 8 motel, just off the interstate. Address is 299 Woxon Road. Is there deputy's station near here?"
"Yes, ma'am. What seems to be the trouble?"
Beverly chuckled and rubbed her forehead. "I may just be paranoid, but I-I heard screaming about two minutes ago, followed by banging. Heh, I didn't mind it at first; figured it was just two people having sex, y'know? But afterwards, I heard glass breaking, followed by a different person screaming. And then more banging."
"You're saying there's a murder-in-progress?"
"Or a kidnapping in progress. S'what it seemed like to me."
"Okay ma'am, stay calm. We're sending a unit over there now. Lock all the doors and windows and stay hidden."
"Yeah," Beverly said, as she looked around the dark room and slowly removed her handgun from her pants. "I got that covered."
Beverly hung up the phone and exhaled. She crept over towards her boots and slid them back on before she waited impatiently for someone to show up. Every five minutes Beverly kept looking at her phone, watching as time slowly went by and nothing of importance happened. She didn't even hear another car pull up into the motel's parking lot. It wasn't until she heard someone turning on the motel room's doorknob that she knew something was off. Beverly scooted backwards into the corner and pointed the gun at the door, breathing heavily and waiting for the intruder to show him or herself. Whoever was outside kept turning the doorknob, grunting with frustration when the door didn't open. Then the intruder banged against the door five times, shortly before the noises suddenly stopped. Beverly remained as calm as she could be, blinking a few times and expecting either the door to burst open or for some malevolent entity to throw itself through the window. The young woman exhaled as she looked at the window and saw a shadowy figure standing outside of her motel room. The one thing that Beverly was shocked at was how large the figure was; it looked like some kind of bloated beast built like a weightlifter who had been eating too much.
Bev also couldn't help but notice the entity was holding some kind of weapon. The woman swore to herself, hoping that the police would show up sooner than later now that she confirmed someone was coming after her directly. The entity snarled in frustration and left, giving Beverly a small bit of comfort. She kept waiting, expecting to hear more sirens. Ten minutes passed. Then fifteen. Then twenty. Beverly frowned and lowered her gun. It was starting to feel more and more likely that waiting for the police wouldn't work. And staying in her room knowing full-well the intruder would eventually break in was futile. So Bev stood up, edged her way towards the door, looked outside the peephole, and gradually opened up the door. She pointed her gun outside first before stepping onto the sidewalk and looking in every direction around her. To her left were a few parked cars and the rest of the motel rooms; to the right was the entrance to the lobby, and the other half of the motel rooms. Seeing that the lobby's door was wide open, Beverly cautiously made her way into the lobby, her heart racing when she discovered that various windows had indeed been broken, and there was a disgusting series of black footprints on the ground. The journalist finally reached the lobby and peeked inside. She only caught a glimpse of blood splattered on the wall and what appeared to be internal organs before she immediately backed away and dialed 911 again.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," Beverly murmured.
"9-1-1, what's your emer—"
"Yes, I just called you almost half an hour ago," Beverly snarled, sounding both panicked and full of ire. "Where the fuck is the deputy you sent here?"
"Ma'am, I need you to calm down—"
"There's a body here, goddamn it! The intruder killed the desk clerk; I'm pretty sure he or she killed some of the guests too! I might be the only one left!"
"Okay, hide in your room, lock all the doors and windows. What's the address again?"
"299 Woxon Road! It's the Logo's 8 motel!"
There was a pause, which made Beverly frown.
"Ma'am…are you sure that's the address?"
"Ma'am, we did send a unit down there. We were informed it would only take fifteen minutes to arrive at your location."
Beverly paused and looked in the parking lot. There wasn't a single SUV or police vehicle parked outside. She hadn't even heard a single car drive past the motel since she called earlier, let alone heard a police siren.
"…Oh my god," Beverly muttered.
Beverly hung up the phone, sprinted back into her motel room, and locked the door. She couldn't wait any longer. She had to leave. Beverly slid her phone back in her pocket before she started to gather some of the files on the bed. Just as she was going to head back outside to her car, the intruder banged on her door. Beverly held in a scream before she panted and backed away. She looked around the bedroom and started to swear quietly to herself before glancing at the bathroom. Rushing inside, Beverly turned on the light, activated the shower head, and immediately turned on the hot water. As the intruder kept banging on the door, she ran back into her room and unzipped her suitcase, taking out another pair of pants, a blouse, and a pair of panties. Then she ran back into the bathroom, tossed the clothes on the floor, closed the shower curtain, and left the bathroom door ajar. After doing so, she quickly slid beneath the bed and hid, muffling her breaths as she knew that the door would inevitably be broken down. As expected, the intruder kicked the door in with an ear-splitting bang and stepped inside.
Nothing was right about the intruder. For starters, when Beverly looked at the person's feet, she noticed that the intruder was barefooted. More importantly, the feet didn't look humanoid. They looked more like a set of paws belonging to a rodent, like a mouse or rat. And for some reason, the person was constantly leaking dark sludge onto the floor—which explained the odd footprints that Beverly saw earlier. When the creature entered the room, Beverly heard a series of primeval snarls and grunts, like a monster that was trying to communicate in a foreign tongue. She kept trying to fathom it, the various grunts one would hear from a gorilla, some of which was mixed in with gurgling and deep belching noises that weren't far off from the noises that came from a walrus or sea lion's mouth. Then there was a soft hiss akin to a snake or reptile, and Beverly narrowed her eyes in confusion. As the intruder got closer to the bed, she had to keep herself from gagging. The beast smelled like it had spent all night sleeping in a landfill or just finished rolling around in a pile of carrion. For a split second, Beverly thought the beast in question wasn't human.
But that just wasn't physically possible.
Beverly still kept silent, and she listened to the intruder, or monster—whatever it was—sniffing the air, almost like a dog. The beast growled deeply before letting out a watery belching sound, which was followed by the beast grunting as it stomped towards the bathroom door. Beverly waited for a moment, looking straight ahead at the front door that the beast left wide open. She knew what she had to do; she just had to time it correctly. So Beverly kept waiting, and listened as the beast pushed open the bathroom door and stepped inside, growling softly to itself. With the exit open, Beverly quickly crawled out from beneath the bed, headed for the door, and sprinted outside. She took her car keys out her pocket and immediately unlocked the doors before nearly hurling herself into the driver's seat. After slamming the door shut, she activated the ignition.
And then shrieked as a bullet zoomed through the rear window and out the windshield, nearly grazing her right ear. Beverly glanced in the rearview window and saw the beast standing outside holding a sniper rifle with a suppressor attached to the end of it. She started to put the car in drive, only for a second bullet to crack two of the windows. Knowing full well that the beast could chase her in its own vehicle, Beverly ducked her head, put the car in reverse, and slammed on the gas pedal. Two more bullets slammed into the car, shortly before Beverly heard the beast shout, and felt several thuds as the entity tumbled over the car. Beverly shouted when the creature rolled against the windshield and landed on the ground with a heavy thud. Panting, Beverly waited for a few seconds, but stayed inside the car. As expected, the beast stood back up, snarling and bleeding. Beverly scowled as she put the car in drive and ran the beast over a second time. Once again, the creature toppled over the car before landing on the ground near the car's rear bumper. Taking absolutely no chances, Beverly put the car in reverse again and ran over the creature a third time—this time listening as the creature was dragged under the tires.
She put the car in drive and ran over the beast a fourth time.
And then put it in reverse and ran it over a fifth time.
And put the car in drive and ran it over a sixth time.
Beverly huffed several times and straightened out her rearview mirror, gazing at the beast and waiting impatiently for it to do something. She was sure it was dead. It had to be. She ran it over six times, and four of those times, she managed to drive the tires over the creature's body. Yet, to her disbelief, the monster let out a pitiful moan as it started to twitch and move its arms. Beverly looked at the beast's furry black arms and shook her head as she watched them move.
"Uh-uh," she said, getting out of her car.
Beverly took her handgun out of her pants and stomped over to the beast, watching as it got on its hands—or paws—and knees. With no hesitation, she pointed the gun at the beast's back and shot it three times. The beast howled in agony as blood shot up from its back, and it collapsed to the ground and started to moan pathetically. Scowling, Beverly shot the beast in its head twice, and it went silent. Smoke came out of the gun's barrel, and Beverly suddenly felt a huge sense of relief. She thought about calling the police again, but it seemed pointless now—especially since they were taking so long to get here. Beverly exhaled and wiped some sweat from her face before running a hand against her brown ponytail. She looked at the creature more closely and kept scowling. It dressed like a human being; it was wearing a plaid red shirt and messy jeans, something she would see on regular hunters or even truckers. It even had on some kind of baseball cap that matched his shirt.
Bev walked over towards the other side of the beast and stared at its head. And she confirmed that whatever she just killed was not human at all. Even its head was contorted to resemble a rat's long muzzle, with whiskers and all. Its mouth was left hanging open, and disgusting saliva kept dripping from the maw. The journalist was just about to get into her car when she heard deep laughter come from the beast, and saw its body twitching again.
"You're shitting me," Beverly said in disbelief.
The beast opened its green eyes—all six of them—and glared at Beverly. Beverly whimpered and backed away, watching as the monster's face slowly contorted into a devious and ravenous grin. It growled gently and started to breathe normally, as if the bullets hadn't damaged it at all. Having exerted every viable option, Beverly ran back to her car, got inside, and slammed the door shut. She pressed her foot on the gas pedal and drove out of the motel's parking lot post-haste.
She had no idea what that thing back there was. And right now, she didn't want to know.