I am currently
sitting in room 231 of The Avalon Hotel in Beverly Hills, drinking black coffee, contemplating a nightmare. It must be a nightmare. I can not call it a memory.
It has a different name now.
For two nights I
have slept here. I must have slept, though the bed is still made and the mint
lies uneaten on the pillow. I tried to go for a walk this morning, but the
corridors confounded me and turned me back to my room.
Marilyn lived here.
She got out, for a time, but her suicide tells me she never really left. She
carried these corridors with her.
Alvin Lustig
designed these hallways. He was clever to merely call himself a designer and
not an occultist, but anyone with understanding can perceive secret messages in
the architecture — sigils bound in stucco and steel.
Everyone here is
from out of town.
Everyone is here on
business.
Last night I was
drawn to the amoeba-shaped pool, though I was very tired. Other guests seem to
feel it as well, travelers dressed for dinner though it was nearly eleven. A
young woman drank too much champagne and fell laughing into the water. I wanted
to help her, but knew better than to stain my good suit.
We watched her
thrash for a time, and when she grew still we raised a glass to her beauty and
then retired smiling to our rooms. The pool was empty this morning. Someone else is
checking in now.
I too am here on
business, but I cannot remember what I do for a living. My credit cards are all
maxed out. My pistol and passport have been stolen from my room.
I fear I will never
leave.
----------------------------------
*I am staying in this hotel for work. I got sick of working so I wrote this up. No one actually drowned here last night.
And the Cubist Portrait behind the desk [apparently by Picasso] isn't a portrait it's... aaaaaaaaaaaaaaauugh!
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The things that get written in the OSR/RPG community never cease to amaze me.
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ReplyDeleteEvocative. I can imagine a campaign starting like that- you wake up in a hotel in a city you've never been too. You are warned by the Staff to not be out of your room after midnight, and beware of Grayson, the Night Manager. You can tell what Grayson looks like, because he is Gregor's, the Day Manager's, identical twin. Gregor is helpful, and knows many useful things. But Grayson only lies, and is terribly, terribly hungry.
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