Driftland Heights
Reasonable rates. Total isolation. Vacancy guaranteed.
A Testimonial
Tuesday
A snow storm. My plane has been diverted. Touched down God knows where. There are no signs. A man was waiting for me at the airport. He didn't say a word, but he was holding a card with my name on it. The company must have phoned ahead. There are no flights until tomorrow because of the blizzard. So ... away we go!
Without warning, we swerve off the highway and onto dangerous mountain roads, blind bends curving over bottomless canyons. I ask the driver to take it easy, but he doesn't react. Can there be a hotel in this wilderness? What if there is? We're never going to make it.
There it is. Alone. A dark hotel hiding in the forest. The man takes my bags, I am checked in silently. My name is already on the register. They have been expecting me. It's late and I dine alone. The soup is bitter and thin; the meat tough and mysterious; the wine sour and undrinkable; there is no dessert. I complain, but the waitress will not speak to me.
I storm to my room to find it dusty and dark. The shutters are jammed. The bulb glows dim and flickering. The bed has not been remade. I raid the minibar — it is full of spiders. A half empty bottle of blue liquid is all that remains. Sweet Jesus, I am going to drink it and then I am going to sleep like a corpse on that goddamn dirty bed.
Wednesday
Snowed in. The whole hotel is cut off. I am trapped here. I demanded that they clean my room, but yet again they refused to answer. I tried French, Spanish and even a little Russian, but they just look at me blankly. Who are these people? There are only two of them — the driver and the maid. A hotel of about 100 rooms. What do they care? No-one knows what goddamn language to complain in. I swore at them repeatedly in Dutch. It didn't do any good, but it made me feel a whole lot better. There is nothing else to do. I am going to take a walk around.
There is no one else here! Where the hell are the other guests? God help me, I am off-season in crazy land. When I discover which son-of-a-bitch booked me into this place, I swear to God I am going to bury him. Just give me five minutes with that son-of-a-bitch and a spade. Send me to the Hilton. Go ahead and take it out of my pension. I don't care anymore.
Thursday
Spent some time exploring the grounds — if only to keep me away from the 'gruesome twosome'. I poked into rotting woodsheds and kicked about dead-end paths. They have a pool! A cold, concrete monstrosity - murky water frozen solid, full of detritus, glittering like a dirty emerald. I imagined I saw a hand reaching up from the bottom of the pool. They are driving me crazy! I will not let them drive me crazy.
Friday
Things have really kicked off! I was exploring the rooftops. I climbed in through an open attic window. There's a cobwebbed toy room up there. Ranks of rusty soldiers line the shelves, giant dolls slump like corpses, toy soldiers cocooned in dust like spider victims. I heard something. A sound coming from the back of the room.
“Mama. Mama.”
I push past threadbare curtains and strands of hanging webs. In the corner is a large doll.
“Mama. Mama.”
What set it off? I bend down on my knees and stare into its face.
“Mama. Mama.”
I reach forward to pick it up and take a look at the mechanism. Suddenly, its eyes flash open.
“I tricked you, Bob! I was hiding.”
“Don't call me Bob!” I screamed and fell backwards onto the floor. How could it know my name?
The door handle rattled and the gruesome twosome burst in.
“Why did you disturb the baby?” the man said in perfect, strange-accented English. I didn't answer. The woman was shrieking and crying in a language I couldn't understand. I ran, pushing past them down the stairs and into reception. I jumped over the desk, found the car keys, and went outside to the garage. I drove the car out onto the forecourt and stopped there with the ignition running, looking at the snow. It was piled thick and high all around me. After a while, I drove the car back into the garage, returned the key to its hook and went to my room.
That's where I am now, and that's where I'll stay until tomorrow morning. Thank you and goodnight.
Saturday
Human bones. Underneath the carpet. A trapdoor to the cellar. A room of human bones.
I've locked myself in my room and pushed all the furniture against the door. They'll not get me, goddamn it. What am I going to do? Can't stay. Can't go. What can I do? Someone tell me what to do. Goddamn them! I am going to tear down those shutters and watch the snow fall.
A spider's silk-spun web hangs across the window glistening with winter dew. I hope you read this one day. But I know that's impossible. I love you. There's nothing else I can say.