Origami

Origami

It was a blustery, snow filled night, as Monique made her way across the hotel lobby to turn down some of the lights. She did not like the dark, never had, due to all the many power outages during childhood from tornado threats. She was an easy-going sleeper, though and could fall asleep at the drop of a hat.

It was these kinds of mind numbing, idle nights that produced a bit of unease in Monique. It wasn’t easy for her after the separation with her totalitarian, Greek ex-boyfriend, so she threw herself into her work. Montana produced a vast landscape of endless horizon and wildness, much like Pieter Bruegel the Elder’s “Hunters in the Snow” that she loved so much as it conveyed warmth and beauty in a somewhat forlorn environment.

But winter was a special time, no matter how bad the circumstances. She could have moved to Prague, where she had planned to finish a course preparing her for teaching ESL, but she chose to put it off for a year as she was too raw emotionally, as well as crippled financially. So, the sadness had to take a back seat to actual real life. She tried to manifest a greater destiny than wallow in self-pity.

Instead, she withdrew her mind, except when reading and imagining herself writing fatalistic journalism pieces that would grasp the world’s attention, and worked two jobs, with the current state as a night auditor in a subpar hotel.

The front door blew open with a gust of ferocious wind and a lengthy man in a wool overcoat stumbled in, the snow following him. “Whoa,” he said as he fell into the table, nearly knocking the pewter lamp off the table. “Hello,” Monique gasped as he shook his sandy blond hair, knocking the precipitation around the floor as it tumbled straight down in many glistening droplets.

“Do you have a room?” the stranger quizzed. “Yes, of course, let me get you a key and check you in so you can get dry,” Monique felt she was stammering. The man was quite handsome, not to be outdone by his clearly expensive wool coat that fell about his stature quite amicably. Monique walked over to the desk and started entering details on the computer. His name was Peter Wilhelm, from Arizona, only a few states away. He was quite charming and when she handed him the key, his hand brushed across hers and lingered there. She looked up at him and his face was illuminated by the moon through the window. His blue eyes sparkled, and she felt herself blushing like Jo in “Little Women.” Thank you, he said. She showed him down the hall and wished him a good night.

When she got back to her chair at the desk, she began working on her origami beginner’s pack. It was clearly too hard for her, but it was a distraction. No need to worry about improper folds as she had her scissors handy to fix any trouble spots. Monique felt herself drifting off to sleep amid the news anchor’s rapt attentive voice. Say what you will, she thought, but at least they are doing something a bit extraordinary, even if people just loved to complain about hearing what was going on in the world.

Suddenly, Monique was drifting into a cloudy realm and felt the avenues of the dark world of sleep start to overtake her. She was walking down a hallway, it was, in fact, the hallway at the inn where she worked. The phone at the front desk was ringing and she half ran to try to catch it from where she was. “Front desk,” she answered. “Hello, this is Peter, I need some towels for my room, please.” Monique assured the intense stranger that she would bring some right away.

She walked down the hall and felt a strange sensation overcome her. The walls seemed to be moving or changing shape just ever so slightly. That is mad, she thought. She knocked on Mr. Wilhelm’s door and a voice bellowed from within, “come in.” She opened the door and there was Peter, I mean Mr. Wilhelm, laying on the bed, under the covers with just his upper torso showing. His face seemed different than before, and she gasped when she looked at his eyes; they were red. Blood red. “Thank you,” he seemed to snarl. She was awash in confusion and felt very hot and suddenly frightened. “I, I must get back to the front desk”, she stammered. “We don’t mind if you stay,” the voice sounded like a demon coming from inside his chiseled face. Monique turned and ran out the door of his room and ran down the hall. She felt like this once before when she dreamt, she was being chased by a grand bull in an old house, (it apparently meant one was running from masculine figures). She screamed as she saw him come out of the room and chase after her. She made it to the desk and tried to grab the phone receiver, but he was upon her. Monique saw the scissors out of the corner of her eye and grabbed them, turning and thrusting them into his chest. She screamed, which woke her up and sat straight up. Monique looked around the lobby, tears welling in her eyes, as she had been so scared. She felt relieved when she realized it was just a dream, then looked down and saw the scissors in her right hand, and blood pouring out of her side. She slumped down in the chair and decided to rest a bit, as after all she was very tired.