Murder Online

Murder storyline

We've been driving all day across the hot dust bowl that is the mid-west. Setting off a few days ago from the east coast and with the beaches of the west coast being the final destination, it's been a lot of driving. There's a group of us, all young, all full of beans and looking forwards to a great American adventure. At first there was lots of exciting chatter. But as the miles started to pile, the mood became one of comfortable silence. The mini-bus had enough room for everyone to spread out. Today was a particularly hard one, as there was nothing to see but the red dessert stretching off to the hazy distant mountains. We didn't see another car or another person for that matter. The sand and dust got into everything, and our eyes were red from rubbing.

As evening fell, we found ourselves tired, bored and bickering. There was no phone reception, so finding a motel would have to be down to luck. As the sky blues, gave way to pinks and oranges, and finally the black of night fall, we tried to keep our spirits up. As far as the eye could see, there were no lights. It felt as though we had driven into some sort of purgatory, between one world and the next. Soon the temperature started to drop and the insides of the bus's windows began to mist up. A fog descended and we were forced to drive real slow. Then, to our amazement and joy, we spotted a dim neon sign flashing up ahead. Pulling up outside, a huge and decrepit Gothic pile, loomed forth out of the mist. The sign was partly broken, hanging at a funny angle and you could see the broken bulbs inside the partially smashed case.

Turning off the engine we all sat in the bus and listened. Nothing. Just a deathly silence veiled in fog. We all piled into the front door and found ourselves in a dank reception area that looked straight out of a Victorian Gothic house of horror. The walls were covered a dirty flock wallpaper and old sepia photos of people stood in formal fashion covered every inch. I noticed that many had their faces scratched out. On the front counter were a selection of newspapers. Some of our group were quick to point out stories about missing travelers. We tried to joke about it, but there was a nervous edge and our laughter fell flat. One of us rung the reception bell. The whole building seemed empty, devoid of life. The smell of loneliness and mold filled our nostrils. Along with a sudden chill, a midget hunched old lady appeared through a door on the other side of the counter. She stood absolutely still, staring at us. Though her expression was blank, there was something else behind the stare. her grey hair was pulled back in a tight but unkempt bun and she had a discolored glass eye that somehow seemed to big for her tiny wizened old face.

Without a sound she turned the tattered hotel guest book towards us and motioned that we sign. Everyone was given a room key. But for some reason she held mine back. Only when we were ready to go up the stairs, she suddenly reached out and grabbed my hand. Hers was cold, damp and bony. I flinched. Her grip was vice like. She placed the key into my hand. Looking down I saw it was clearly marked "Number 9". As we quietly went up the stairs, she came out from the reception and watched us with her creepy glass eye. We were so freaked-out, that we decided to all stay in one room together. There something going on here, and whatever it is, we're going to find out soon enough.