Collectors

When Christine saw the shiny, silver hotel sign, she picked up the pace.

«Oh boy, where did I end up?»

At the entrance Christine was surprised by an unusual interior full of bloody red tones and wooden decor elements. Cold and greasy old woman looking quite peculiar in her velvet blue dress fixed her eyes on Christine from the reception desk.

«Maybe, it is a part of the style», she thought, «à la mysterious hotel with sinister owners attracting tourists, which are apparently not to be found here».

«Sweetheart, you can sit in the lobby while I'm looking for a vacant room for you». Old lady offered.

Christine nodded kindly but there was only one thing in her head - a vacant room? She wondered who lives here. The hotel looks so small and deserted. The girl curled up in a chair next to the fireplace. It became cozy. Every inch of the walls in the lobby was covered in paintings and photographs. It smelled sweet and pungent veal. Probably, there was a kitchen where owners cooked dinner for themselves. Christine eyes began to close slowly.

A shrill, piercing squeak woke her up. The old lady stood next to the chair. It felt like her dress merged with the surrounding darkness.

«Sweetie, I don’t want to spurn my hospitality but our guests are not allowed to stay till late in the lobby. Also, you forgot to sign the paper for your key and payment».

«Oh, sure».

Christine could barely open her eyes when she was signing a piece of paper so politely held out to her by an old woman. The girl walked into her room. Christine quickly felt asleep.

Waken up early, the girl left the room without changing her clothes. This time it was young smiling guy who checked her out at the reception desk. He wished her a successful journey.

«Dammit!» Coming out from the hotel, Christine saw branches lying all around the carpark when her windshield was scratched and weather-worn. Upset and slamming the door shut, girl ironically decided to post nice comments about soft pillows and comfortable chair later on.

On the way, she stopped by a mechanic to see how much the damaged glass will cost.

«Where are you from?». The guy asked.

«Chicago. Came here to work, write an article. I stayed at the hotel yesterday. Guess, it is called ‘Collectors’».

Sharply turned pale, the guy looked at her.

«Where did you spend the night? Are you kidding me? We scare children with stories about the family of collectors who own the hotel. Souls are collected on receipt».

Christine didn’t answer.

«Hmm, it seems I don’t have appropriate tools but you can find a mechanic in the city. Here is the address».

Taking a piece of paper, she got into the car. Christine felt uneasy.

«What kind of nonsense?». She turned on the key and suddenly saw her ink-stained blouse.

And just like that she sold her soul to the devil.