A Room For The Guilty - Part One

The wind howled, alive and relentless. Nathaniel pulled his coat tighter around his shoulders. The road had been empty for hours, a stretch of gray earth that seemed to dissolve into the storm. The rain and snow pummeled him from all sides, drenching his clothes and chilling him to the bone. He’d been walking for almost an hour, trying to find help to revive his car. He’d seen no sideroads, lights, or even a sign.

Finally, as the sun began to set over the horizon, he could barely see the outline of a building in the distance.

At first, it looked like an abandoned, long-forgotten farmhouse. But as Nathaniel drew closer, the details emerged: a tall, weathered sign with Blackthorn Inn carved in faded letters. The door, wide open, beckoned him inside. He hesitated for only a moment before stepping over the threshold, the warmth of the fire immediately surrounding him. A gust of wind slammed the door behind him, making him jump.

Looking around, Nathaniel felt as though he’d stepped back in time. The floorboards creaked under his weight, but the walls, thick with age, boasted vintage wallpaper that peeled slightly at the corners. A low light flickered from a single lamp behind the bar, casting shadows that stretched unnaturally across the room. A figure stood behind the counter, tall and lean, with cloudy eyes.

"Welcome," the man said, "I’m Victor. You must be weary from the road."

Nathaniel nodded, his throat tight. There was something about the man's polite smile that seemed too practiced, but exhaustion set in before he could care.

"I’ll take whatever you have," Nathaniel replied, his voice a rasp from the cold.

Victor’s smile didn’t waver. "Of course. You're welcome to stay the night. It’s no trouble at all."

“Is your phone working? My car’s stuck in a ditch a ways down the road.”

Victor’s eyes softened, “Unfortunately, the lines are out, and it’s much too dangerous to get a crew out there tonight. I’ll help you sort it out in the morning.”

“Thank you,” he nodded at the man, taken slightly aback by his steady, intense eye contact.

As Nathaniel moved further into the dimly lit space, he glanced around. A few guests sat at the tables, their faces half-hidden in shadow. An elderly woman sat alone by the fire, her eyes flickering toward him before quickly looking away. A young man sat by the window, watching the storm. No one spoke. The quiet seemed out of place. A sprawling dining room like this should have happy families, laughing children, and curious travellers.

Shrugging off the unease, Nathaniel meandered to the bar to wind down with a drink. Draping his soggy jacket over the back of a tall chair, he turned to the bartender as the clinical stench of spilled wine and stale beer hit his nose.

“Can I get a whiskey, neat?” He pulled out his card and smiled at the tired-looking young woman before him.

She nodded wordlessly and began preparing the drink. Nathaniel watched her work, fascinated by the long, tangled tendrils of black hair that lay flat against her back.

“Thank you,” he said as she slid the glass over to him. The whiskey inside almost sloshed out as it hit a sticky spot and stopped abruptly.

The awkward silence permeated the room and soon became too much for Nathaniel to bear. He had hoped to make conversation with a fellow road-tripper, but no one even took notice of his presence. Downing the last of his drink, he hastily got up and headed to his room. He rounded the corner and stopped short. There had been only ten room keys behind the counter. But the hallway stretched on, far longer than it should, its dimly lit path fading into darkness.

However, he didn’t linger on the thought as he found his room and felt the call of a soft, warm, dry bed. With no belongings to speak of beyond the clothes on his back and the frozen candy in his pocket, he stripped off his wet garments and relished the softness of the provided bathrobe. Gathering the items in a towel, he ventured back out to find the laundry room. He found it at the end of the hallway, but not before passing several plain, unmarked doors.

Sighing, he tossed his clothes in the dryer and momentarily leaned on the small counter, reaching to soothe his sore back. Suddenly, a damp, musty aroma hit his nose, and he turned to find the old woman from the dining room standing in the doorway, eyes boring into him.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Ma’am, I just need a few minutes with the dryer, and the machine’ll be all yours!” He smiled, but his attempt at cheeriness drew no reaction.

The woman kept staring at him, slowly shaking her head without breaking eye contact. “You won’t remember,” she said before turning on her heels and walking briskly out.

She disappeared before Nathaniel could respond. Though taken aback by her bedraggled appearance, bare feet, and cryptic message, he didn’t think too much of it. An old, run-down Inn in the middle of nowhere wouldn’t be complete without one crazy person roaming the halls, right?

With newly dried clothes, Nathaniel retreated to his room and fell asleep almost immediately upon hitting the pillow.

The lights appeared in the black night as though the truck had been dropped in front of us at the last second. I heard screaming from my backseat before I could register the blaring horn. The quiet night became violent and chaotic in the time it took me to draw a single breath.

The world flips. Metal screeches. Glass explodes in a thousand tiny shards. My scream rips from my throat as I dangle upside down, seatbelt biting into my chest. My wife—she’s gone, thrown from the car. Behind me, my friends slump, unmoving. There’s another car across the road, lights flashing, doors hanging open. Someone cries. The long truck is sideways, stretching across the narrow street, blocking the way. Branches poke at my skin, and the scent of blood and rust assaults my senses.

A man in overalls approaches. He reaches his hand and opens his mouth to speak-

“Help us!” Nathaniel blurted as he jolted awake. Breathing hard, he looked around to find himself back in the hotel bed, drenched in sweat, the room pitch black. He twists around to look at the alarm on the side table: 3:33 am.

Sighing, he flops back down against the damp sheets and tries to recall the dream. It felt so real, so visceral, like a memory. Shaking his head, he got up to find some water.

His bare feet smacked quietly against the cold floor as he fumbled around the kitchenette. Fingers grasping a glass, he held it to the faucet only to find the water not working.

“Damn, pipes are probably frozen,” he mumbled as he shrugged the bathrobe over his shoulders and ventured out. The hallway stretched even further than he remembered, but he blamed it on the bleary sleep in his eyes. He trudged across the diamond-patterned hallway, scrunching his nose at the thick, musty aroma. He finally found the inlet with an ice maker and a vending machine with water, relishing in the crisp, fresher air in the room.

“Howdy, Nate, fancy meetin’ you here!” Nathaniel jumped, startled by the sudden voice - loud and far too cheery for the middle of the night during a snowstorm. He turned around to see an unfamiliar face looking at him with clear recognition and an inviting smile.

Rubbing his heavy eyes, Nathaniel studied the man’s face closer but could not place him. “Sorry, do we know each other?” he asked, fingers tightening around his water bottle.

“Ha!” The man threw his head back and laughed. His eyebrow piercing glinted in the harsh fluorescent light as his long, thin beard swayed about. “You’re hilarious. Tell Marion I said hello.”

Nathaniel’s stomach dropped. His pulse pounded in his ears. This man knew Marion’s name. But as far as he knew, Nathaniel had never seen him before in his life. He tried to remember the man as he stumbled back to his room, but nothing came to him.

Too tired to think very hard, Nathaniel flopped back down onto the dry side of the bed and returned to a restless, fitful sleep.

I crawled out of the car’s window slowly, small knicks from the broken glass inevitably scraping across my skin. Grabbing the trucker’s hand, I pull myself out of the ditch and glance around, trying and failing to take a deep breath.

Across the street, two people lay unconscious. I see a woman face down, and a man, neck twisted unnaturally, faces me. Somehow, his cold, dead eyes bore into my soul. A series of headlights now illuminate the scene, clearly showing me the bloody eyebrow piercing and thin, unmistakable triangle of a beard.

Once more, Nathaniel woke with a start, the vivid dream sticking solid in his mind. Light now filtered through the curtain’s edges, prompting him to grudgingly get up for the day. He drained the last of his water, rubbing his tired eyes. Then he froze. The alarm clock still read 3:33 AM—unchanged, as if time itself had stopped. Brow furrowed, he picked it up and tapped it a few times. He hit a few buttons, but nothing happened.

“Whole place is breaking down,” he mumbled to himself as he ran his fingers through his short, greasy hair and got dressed for breakfast. He meandered into the dining room, hoping for sunlight and cheery conversation to lift his spirits. Instead, the windows were darkened by piling snow, and though many people sat eating, nobody spoke a word.

Desperate for a slice of normalcy, Nathaniel breathed in the bitter, comforting aroma of black coffee and grabbed a pastry. He made his way over to a young man who stood near the door, his right hand on the handle of a suitcase. He stared out the window silently, waiting for his family, Nathaniel assumed.

“When are you heading out?” Nathaniel asked, happy for even some mindless small talk.

The man turned slowly to meet his eyes and smiled stiffly. “When I confess.” He said in a deep monotone before turning back to the window, fingers never leaving the suitcase.

“When you - what?” Nathaniel’s words caught in his throat, a cold shiver running down his back as he struggled to process such a bizarre response. But the man didn't answer, his gaze fixed on the glass, as if Nathaniel’s voice had never reached him.

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. Nathaniel’s heartbeat quickened, his breath shallow, but he forced himself to move.

“Whatever, man,” he said as he walked away. He shivered again, the room seeming to drop ten degrees in an instant. He shook his head and tried to deny the uneasy knot twisting harder in his gut with each strange encounter.

Finishing his breakfast, he perked up when Victor arrived at the front desk to begin his shift.

“Good morning, Victor; how are the pones lines looking?”

Victor met his gaze with eyes full of sympathy. His expression softened with a slight smile, “I’m afraid I cannot make a phone call at this time.”

Nathaniel clenched his fist, aggravation quickly tightening in his chest. “Well, my car is still out there - how am I supposed to be on my way?”

Victor nodded, his movements infuriatingly slow. “I understand, where is it you have to go, though, Mr. Bracken?”

Nathaniel glared and spluttered. "What?" His throat tightened, and his irritation faltered as he tried to remember. "I... I have to go h—" His words died in his mouth. The fog in his mind overwhelmed him. The more he tried to grasp the thought, the faster it slipped away.

Victor’s smile deepened, a quiet satisfaction spreading across his face. “Yes, and where did you come from yesterday, Nathaniel?”

“Well, I was… I had…” Nathaniel trailed off, glaring at the floor momentarily. He looked up and locked eyes with Victor, his mind twisting in panic as his memory failed him completely.

“Mhm, that is what I thought,” Victor murmured, voice soft but forceful. “Why don’t we get you signed in.”

Victor opened a weathered, golden-brown guestbook, its edges worn with age. He flipped it around to face Nathaniel and gently placed a pen in the middle of its open pages.

Hesitating, Nathaniel hovered his hands over the pen, scared to touch it. Finally, he picked it up and scanned the large, ancient page. Multiple names were written in neat cursive, each letter curling exquisitely across the uniform lines. He scanned the page up and down, flipped back one, and scanned it, too. Every single name appeared in the same handwriting.

Without thinking, he picked up the pen, gingerly placed the tip on the next empty line, and froze, mind paralyzed. What letter came first? How did he spell his name, anyway? Glaring at the page, he focused hard, searching the recesses of his mind. But the harder he fought to find the letter, the more blocked he felt. Panic rose into his throat, and took his breath.

Victor’s warm smile grew, the corners of his mouth extending unnaturally across his face. “It’s alright, sir, I’ll take care of it.” He gently plucked the pen from Nathaniel’s hand.

All he could do was watch, immobilized by cold dread and confusion, as Victor etched his name into the foreboding guestbook. Victor completed the entry by firmly penning his arrival date as if sealing his fate with outdated cursive.