Room 143

The rain drizzled down from the sky, creating a mist through the rolling hills of a small mountain town in southern Appalachia. Neon lights illuminated the dark streets, advertising the soulless corporate food chains and gas stations on the wet and shiny main street. But if you take a left after the McDonald’s and keep straight for about ten minutes, you will find a small hotel, named the Rest Well Inn. And in the Rest Well Inn there is a hallway with old carpet that smells of stale smoke and feels permanently damp, leading you to room One Hundred and forty-three.

There was nothing flashy about this room, let alone the Rest Well Inn. It was a hotel that peaked in the late 80s due to it being a short drive from the Blue Ridge Parkway. It had since been left to be consumed by the kudzu. It was a cheap, economical option for travelers passing through. It was fairly clean, offered a hot shower, and what were once up-to-date TV sets with cable. While it was your fairly average, low-profile hotel, there was once a time, about twenty years ago, when a young newlywed couple stayed for the weekend in room one hundred and forty-three.

I was there the night this couple checked in. I don’t recall the exact month this happened, just that it was cold outside and it began to occasionally snow. The colorful leaves that attracted mass amounts of people had all fallen, and the holidays had just begun. They were a fairly average couple. The woman was of an average height, with medium-length brown hair in loose waves, and a pretty face. And the husband was a tall, good-looking fellow, sharply dressed with a winter coat and loafers, who kept his hair in a clean, neat style pushed back away from his face. An odd time for a seemingly nice, young couple to take a trip. I sat in a plush armchair with an old magazine when they walked in, a gust of cold air followed them in as they walked over to the front desk to be handed their room keys. The woman was practically glued to her husband's arm as he fumbled, trying to situate their luggage and room key. I watched as they headed down the hall to their room. I soon followed in suit and went to my very own semi-dingy, wood-paneled room across the hall from the young couple. I was dreading the night ahead of me, knowing what was across the hall, a young couple in an empty hotel except for the front desk attendant and housekeeping. To my surprise, that night, all I heard was the hum of the TV and the air conditioning cutting on and off. Not a single peep from the newlyweds across from me.

The next morning I was in the lobby, reading my magazine whilst drinking a hot cup of black coffee when I heard a shout followed by a door slamming from down the hall. The young woman with brown hair soon appeared, in a fuzzy robe and slippers, strolling over to the coffee station. She poured two cups of lukewarm coffee. I walked over to refresh my coffee. I watched the wife’s shaky hands as she creamed her coffee. “Good morning for a cup of coffee, nice and chilly outside, right?” I said, trying to make polite conversation. The woman said nothing in response and grabbed the two cups and scurried off to her room.

A short while went by before the young couple both came out into the hall; the wife no longer appeared to be glued to her husband's arm as the night before. The husband, with his slicked-back hair, seemed to be annoyed, ignoring any attempts his wife did make to do so little as to hold his hand. They exited into the chilly air of the afternoon and went to the car. A light snowfall from the night before coated the windshield. The husband cranked the car, and exhaust soon appeared in a dense cloud behind them.

A few hours later, I was in my room, looking out the window into the mostly empty parking lot. I took a long drag from my cigarette as I watched as flurries fell in the grey sky, when I saw the car of the young couple pull up. Only the husband got out of the car. Perhaps the wife was at a spa in town relaxing in a warm sauna, and the husband had decided he needed something from their room. I continued watching the parking lot for anything remotely intriguing, as nothing was on TV that piqued my interest. The husband walked to the other car door, opened it, and leaned inside for a moment. I watched a bit closer as the husband fumbled around; he didn’t appear to be grabbing a bag or doing anything that made much sense. Then, as he took a step back, he ran his hands through his suddenly messy hair, pushing it back from his face. He stood to the side of the door while a heeled foot stepped out. A blonde woman, in a brown coat trimmed with fur on the cuffs and collar. He closed the door behind her and locked the car. The husband took the blonde's hand and leaned down to kiss the top of her head. I watched as they walked side by side up the stairs to the hotel lobby. After a few minutes, I heard footsteps and giggling approaching. I went over to look through the peephole into the hallway; the blonde was holding onto the husband's arm as he unlocked the room he and his wife were staying in, and he picked up the blonde and disappeared into the room. The door slammed behind them. What I had believed to have escaped the night before soon came to haunt me.

I slipped on my loafers and grabbed my long coat. I made my way down to the lobby and out to the parking lot; the couple's car had disappeared. The cold air stung my nose and throat. I reached for the pack of cigarettes in my coat pocket and fumbled around in the other pocket for my lighter. I watched as the flurries turned into snow. I took a drag of my freshly lit cigarette and started walking.

The snow eventually stopped, and I had gone back to the hotel. When I approached the parking lot, I saw the couple's car had returned, free of snow, unlike the other two cars in the lot with a light dusting coating their windshields. I walked into the lobby and looked around at the dusty sconces that illuminated the dated wallpaper. Suddenly, feet came beating down the hallway. The wife, in a pretty red dress and winter coat, ran through me and out the front door. The husband chased after her, also running through me. I turned around in shock, and I watched her run into the dimly lit street, where she collapsed into the snow. The husband stopped and stared at his wife, who sat sobbing in the street. I saw her soft hand reach for something in her coat pocket as she turned to look at her husband. She paused for a moment. Then she removed her hand, with a glint of something metallic from her pocket. The husband kept watching her, then he took a step back and, with a loud noise, dropped.

I ran to the front desk and pounded on the bell. No one came. I jerked the phone, throwing pens and papers to the floor from behind the desk, and rang for 911. I waited, then finally a voice picked up,

“We’re sorry; you have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service. Please check the number and try your call again.” I dialed again and listened to it ring. “We’re sorry—” I slammed the phone down and ran into the parking lot, the wife still sitting in the street, half of her emotionless face illuminated by the neon red vacancy sign. She did not look up. The snow where the husband fell was no longer white and was now stained a vivid shade of red. I looked down at my feet, and behind me, where my footprints should have been, as well as my shadow. I shouted at the woman. She did not look up, she didn’t flinch, she just kept staring at her husband's body sprawled out in the cold snow.