DRIP. DRIP.
Dagnia's eyes flew open. It was her first night in the Motel 7 and she simply could not get to sleep. She's wasn't sure why. (Not!) It wasn't like there was any lack of reasons: unlike money, of which she had only a little, she was in possession of plenty of reasons for her restlessness. First of all, she was thousands of miles from home and she missed her parents and older sister terribly.
DRIP. DRIP.
Originally from Latvia, she was spending her summer going door to door in Florida selling textbooks. Last summer, she'd gone to Alabama and she'd been able to make enough money that by the end of the season, she'd paid for her entire freshman year of college. This year was not going so well, however.
DRIP. DRIP.
The young woman sat up in bed, pushing her short-cropped blond hair out of her eyes. She hated this new haircut, but it was so hot in the southern United States in the summer, especially in Florida, that she'd thought it would be a good idea. It had wound up being more of a bother than anything and for some reason, everyone made fun of her because she was different.
DRIP. DRIP.
That was another one of her issues - everyone she'd met in Florida seemed to be so negative and so unfriendly. She hadn't sold very many books at all and what little money that she'd saved was being consumed by the hotels she was forced to stay in...normally she was able to meet people who would let her stay for free in their homes, but not this year.
DRIP. DRIP.
And now, it sounded like something in the bathroom was leaking. Dagnia sighed as she padded toward the cold, white tile floors. This crummy hotel had taken almost everything from her; she just knew now that the manager would blame her for whatever was broken and charge her for the repair. She almost had nothing left to give.
DRIP. DRIP.
She flipped on the switch, blinking rapidly from the light glaring off the white tile walls and floors. Dagnia scanned the room but everything looked perfectly dry. There wasn't a trace of water anywhere. The young woman rubbed her head--perhaps the stress of the summer was getting to her after all--and she moved to flip off the light and head back to bed.
DRIP. DRIP.
Something plopped on the edge of the sink and splattered onto her arm. Dagnia reached out and dabbed her finger into the liquid. On instinct, she rubbed it between her thumb and forefinger. Grimy. Greasy. She sniffed it and it stank.
It was not water at all.
DRIP. DRIP.
She heard something shuffle behind her, it sounded like a towel slithering off a towel rod. She turned.
It was not a towel at all.
Dagnia screamed.
This crummy hotel had taken almost everything from her.
Dagnia's eyes flew open. It was her first night in the Motel 7 and she simply could not get to sleep. She's wasn't sure why. (Not!) It wasn't like there was any lack of reasons: unlike money, of which she had only a little, she was in possession of plenty of reasons for her restlessness. First of all, she was thousands of miles from home and she missed her parents and older sister terribly.
DRIP. DRIP.
Originally from Latvia, she was spending her summer going door to door in Florida selling textbooks. Last summer, she'd gone to Alabama and she'd been able to make enough money that by the end of the season, she'd paid for her entire freshman year of college. This year was not going so well, however.
DRIP. DRIP.
The young woman sat up in bed, pushing her short-cropped blond hair out of her eyes. She hated this new haircut, but it was so hot in the southern United States in the summer, especially in Florida, that she'd thought it would be a good idea. It had wound up being more of a bother than anything and for some reason, everyone made fun of her because she was different.
DRIP. DRIP.
That was another one of her issues - everyone she'd met in Florida seemed to be so negative and so unfriendly. She hadn't sold very many books at all and what little money that she'd saved was being consumed by the hotels she was forced to stay in...normally she was able to meet people who would let her stay for free in their homes, but not this year.
DRIP. DRIP.
And now, it sounded like something in the bathroom was leaking. Dagnia sighed as she padded toward the cold, white tile floors. This crummy hotel had taken almost everything from her; she just knew now that the manager would blame her for whatever was broken and charge her for the repair. She almost had nothing left to give.
DRIP. DRIP.
She flipped on the switch, blinking rapidly from the light glaring off the white tile walls and floors. Dagnia scanned the room but everything looked perfectly dry. There wasn't a trace of water anywhere. The young woman rubbed her head--perhaps the stress of the summer was getting to her after all--and she moved to flip off the light and head back to bed.
DRIP. DRIP.
Something plopped on the edge of the sink and splattered onto her arm. Dagnia reached out and dabbed her finger into the liquid. On instinct, she rubbed it between her thumb and forefinger. Grimy. Greasy. She sniffed it and it stank.
It was not water at all.
DRIP. DRIP.
She heard something shuffle behind her, it sounded like a towel slithering off a towel rod. She turned.
It was not a towel at all.
Dagnia screamed.
This crummy hotel had taken almost everything from her.
#MMWW, #Makes, #Me, #Wanna, #Write, #BrannonHollingsworth, #spooky, #notagoodday, #notagoodnight, #horror
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