Blah, Blah, Blah

Blah, blah, blah, Eliot thought. This was supposed to be like the coolest night. Eliot had skipped school and played sick so he could psycho call WERR all morning and win two tickets to a midnight showing of The Shining at the actual Stanley Hotel. Just saying the name Stanley Hotel gave him chills. Eliot cut his baby teeth on horror movies. His best friends was Freddy, Jason, and Michael Myers. Eliot spent his nights binging the Saw movies and his summers watching all of the Scream franchise instead of watching the kiddie pool as a lifeguard. Horror was his whole life.

The Shining was old school awesomeness. Sure it was a little low on the body count but the style is on point. Eliot loved Jack Nicholson and his axe. He loved the twins and the hallways of blood. When Eliot won the radio contest, he couldn’t wait to walk those same bloody corridors. As soon as Eliot arrived he asked Deborah the tour organizer when they were going to see Room 292 home of the infamous axe scene.

Tour guide Deborah laughed right in his face.

And now that he was here in the very hotel where the movie was filmed only to find out The Shining was not filmed here at all. It turned out The Stanley Hotel was just an imspiration or something. It was just a hotel. Marijo squeezed his arm. Just when Eliot couldn’t be more disappointed he looked at his little sister. Eliot only brought her along because it annoyed his horror movie loving pals that and she was scared of everything.

“Isn’t it exciting El?” Marijo whispered. “This is a real slice of history, turn of the century grandeur. And the first hotel west of the Rockies with electricity.”

“Blah, blah, blah, if I wanted a history lesson I would listen to that nerd tour guide,” Eliot said loudly enough to be heard by the rest of the tour.

“Eliot! you’re being rude,” Marijo hissed.

The tour continued. Chandielers from Paris, rugs from Egypt, and other boring stuff from other boring places, the guide talked on and on about nothing.

“All though the Shining was not shot here, The Stanley Hotel is known for its friendly ghosts. Eliot scoffed. There was a chambermaid who straightens beds, a bartender who tells guests its closing times, ghostly girls who play up and down its hallway, the anemic ghost stories went on and on. Ghost stories were pure kids’ stuff. Marijo shivered in delight.

Eliot looked for an escape. He spied a fire exit.

Eliot whispered, “You can stay if you want but I’m looking for the real story, the scary stuff.”

“Don’t leave me I’m afraid.”

Eliot hung back and made a dash for the exit. He hurried up the fire stairs with Marijo running behind him. They ran up and up. The air was close and smoky. The stairwell was dark, impossibly dark. Marijo squeezed his arm as they ran. Eliot hit the door to the second floor. He pushed. Locked.

“Damn Mari let go. We have to go back to that stupid tour and wait for the movie.” Eliot turned from the locked door to an empty stairway. In the blackness, a chill ran up Eliot’s spine as tiny fingers gripped his biceps hard and then melted away.

Comments 0