The Hotel De La California

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I am quite usually a man of few words, but that hotel's evil occupants must have their story told. I had a good friend, Dr. Austin Black, who was a life-long friend of mine, and after a year of work related travel, he called me from California. He told me to meet him down at his temporary residence, a Hotel owned by a Mexican family, called The Hotel De La California. Before he hung up the phone he said, “...and they have a very hot teenage daughter, who's turning 18 in two days.” He was the kind of person who always had his mind in one place at all times; it's an anomaly he was able to get a Ph.D, among other things.

I drove out to meet him, in my old Chevy, and I had my .357 magnum by my side. Ever since my father gave me that gun, I've always kept it loaded. Shortly after I received it, he was murdered in his own house. If he had that gun with him, he'd have survived, I know that much to be true. One things for sure; if anyone thinks of killing me, I'm taking them out with me. Ever since my father's death, my friends and coworkers knew about the gun, and how angry I had been. I have a reputation for being quite scary in my own right.

It was about 5:30 in the afternoon when I arrived there, the sun setting in tranquil beauty, and the trees dotted along the road, with their leaves reaching out in the wind. I felt a sudden tiredness occur, and the light from the sun dimmed, and I knew I couldn't go on much further, but then I saw it. The Hotel De La California.

In the doorway of the hotel was a young woman, holding a candle in her right hand, a warm smile on her face, and she waved as she saw me pull up into the parking lot, and she looked quite joyful to see me step out of the vehicle. I then approached her, my one suitcase (I pack light) in my right hand.

“You must be Dr. Floyd!” the young señorita exclaimed, “Mr. Black has told us of your coming!” 'Wow, Austin wasn't kidding about this young lady!' I thought to myself. She opened the door for me and I stepped inside. It was amazing. I looked around, and judged it to be a hacienda themed inn. “¿Como te llamas?” I asked.

“There's no need for you to speak español, señor, but I do find it flattering of you to speak in my native tongue. My name Maria Sanchez, or shall I say, 'mi nombre es María Sanchez'?” I chuckled. “Sorry, my dear, I was just trying out my Spanish; I am rusty, I must admit.” Just then, an older woman descended the staircase. She paused and made eye contact with me, and then rushed down to greet me. “Hello, Doctor! May I show you to your room?” Before I could say 'yes', she grabbed my wrist and led me up the stairs.

She turned a key and opened a door with the number 237 inscribed below the peephole. She switched the lights on, and stepped back. I entered the room, doing a quick 180 degree scan of the area. There was a queen size bed, TV, AC unit, and a end table with a alarm clock. I automatically guessed that there was a Gideon Bible in the small drawer. “I heard you speaking with my daughter. I'm sorry if she seemed annoying, she is a bit energetic.” The woman said. “It's not a problem, Misses Sanchez.” “Do you need anything else?” I said no and I was left in my room.

After checking out the bathroom, I headed downstairs to ask about where my friend, Dr. Austin Black, was. “He had a business meeting tonight, Doctor. Would you care to meet us for dinner at seven-thirty?” Mrs. Sanchez asked. “Sure.” I failed to notice that I haven't eaten in a long time. Two men stepped out into the lobby. If I knew what was good for me, I should have shot both of them, then and there. “Dr. Floyd, may I introduce you to my husband and son, George and José.”

George was a very large man, he was easily taller than I was, and I am quite a tall guy myself, and he must have weighed twice as much as me. José was a thin boy of about 15. Still, I had a feeling that not even a hollow-point .357 would stop these guys. It's like what I learned in scouting: Be Prepared, and as I learned by myself, Trust Your Gut.

I greeted Mr. Sanchez and José, and as I was ascending the staircase, I heard a muffled scream and banging from the cupboard under the stairs. I quickly went back down. “What's that?” I asked. “Nothing, Doctor. It's just our...” Maria paused, looking for a word, “cat.” I didn't think nothing of it and headed back upstairs.

I lied on the bed and closed my eyes for the next hour. During this time, I had many flashbacks to my childhood, among other things. My wife died of cancer five years ago, and my daughter went out to Europe, and I haven't heard from her in over a year. Many childhood memories, dreams, and nightmares came back to me. I opened my eyes, and saw a man staring at me, sweat was running down his head. Then I noticed that there were mirrors in the ceiling. The digital clock radio beside my bed was flashing 7:30.

I went downstairs, and met Maria, who took me to a room with a large table, the rest of her family was already seated, with a large dish in the center. “What'll we be having tonight?” “Veal.” I loved some good veal, and this was the biggest damn deer I've ever seen, even the pieces that were cut off and on separate dishes were large. Hell, it didn't even look like a deer, it was so cut up. We dug in.

It tasted like very good, and I really enjoyed it. There was one piece of the deer left, and I finished it. I asked, “Where did you get the deer?” Mrs. Sanchez started laughing in an unsettling matter. “He came in here about two days ago, and he wanted to leave, so we killed him.” I didn't like the sound of that. “What do you mean?” I was getting worried, and sweat started going down the back of my neck and down my forehead. “I think you might have known him, his name was AUSTIN BLACK.”

My eyes grew wide and I vomited on the floor next to my chair. I jumped up and ran towards the door, my right hand grabbing the butt of my revolver. I yanked the doorknob but it was locked. I turned around and pointed my gun at the George. I pulled the trigger. *CLICK* *CLICK* I opened the cylinder and found there weren't any rounds in the gun. “Maria found that on you while you were resting, and we don't take any chances with our 'guests.'” Mrs. Sanchez laughed.

I threw the gun at her, hitting her right between the eyes. I bolted to the staircase, but I was grabbed by the shoulders and thrown onto the floor. George stood above me. He smiled, showing two rows of sharp teeth. “You can check out anytime you like, but can never leave. After he said this, he took out a foot long knife, as did José. Maria flicked open a butterfly knife, and Mrs. Sanchez had a meat cleaver in her hands. “Welcome to the Hotel California.”

Comments (6)

Posted by Tom da Cat 07-16-2007 12:27,   ... Creepy... :eek So I guess the narrator survived the knife battle to write this story   » Report this comment to administrator » Reply to this comment...   Posted by Terry Collett 07-16-2007 20:31,   ... Cool storyline.   » Report this comment to administrator » Reply to this comment...   Posted by Naragi 07-17-2007 07:38,   ... Cool story.. but the ending was a little bit predictable.   » Report this comment to administrator » Reply to this comment...   Posted by 1800 07-18-2007 09:51,   ... Actually, I wrote this story after listening to the Eagles hit song, Hotel California. To answer your question, Tom Da Cat, I had planned that he did not survive, and is in fact relating this story from either Heaven or Hell or on Earth as a Ghost. But, in the end, I leave the outcome to my readers.   » Report this comment to administrator » Reply to this comment...   Posted by Max Booth III 10-15-2007 16:57,   very interesting it had a good storyline. i like how you left the end kind of a mystery. very good! :)   » Report this comment to administrator » Reply to this comment...   Posted by wbboomer 02-02-2008 16:15,   advertising i just wanna advertise my poem Unkissable. Read it. Click short stories and you'll see it.   » Report this comment to administrator » Reply to this comment...

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