The Blog Hop rules are simple:
- Add a new post on your blog with these rules, the story so far, and who’s been tagged.
- Title and tag the post as Nano Poblano Blog Hop Story.
- Add at least two sentences to the story.
- Pick another Pepper to tag (preferably one who hasn’t already been tagged).
- Add a link to your chosen Pepper’s about page to the Tagged list below.
And now here’s the story:
Edward walked into the hotel lobby just as the sun began to light up the city. He dragged a large, heavy trunk to the reception desk and rang the bell.
As he waited for someone to answer the bell, he tried to calm his breathing and wiped his sweaty brow with his coat sleeve. He heard a soft thud from the trunk and jerked his head towards it. His eyes had just a touch of fear in them as he listened for any other sounds. He never meant for things to go this far.
When the concierge emerged from the door behind the registration desk Edward stood up straight and tug on the lapel of his coat and says, “Er.” The concierge huffs and says, “Yes, may I help you?” Edward clears his voice and stutters out, “Mr. Maddox told me to deliver this trunk here for him.” Before the concierge could respond Edward abruptly turns and quickly runs out the door.
“What the…,” the concierge half-yelled as Edward cleared the doors and ran down the street of still-waking businesses.
The concierge, Randy, was now more than a little put out. First, he had been interrupted while playing Candy Crush at the end of a dull night on the desk. Now, he was having to deal with miscreants leaving junk in the lobby. He hoped his boss didn’t walk in at that moment and chew him out for it.
“Well,” Randy thought, “I guess I can prop my feet up on this at the desk.” He slowly, but carefully as not to ruin the flooring, started to drag the trunk into the office.
As Randy dragged the Victorian-era trunk with brown leather-bound maple paneling and shiny brass studs nailed into the trim, he noticed that the weight wasn’t distributed evenly. Grunting when he tried to lift the heavy luggage over a snag in the office carpet, he finally maneuvered the large object into position. This would be perfect for resting his tired feet, so he plopped his posterior into the cushy high-backed chair and threw his feet up onto the light side of the trunk.
Still bitter about his Candy Crush high score run getting interrupted, he decided to pull up Plants Versus Zombies 2 instead. Circulation returning to his legs, he vowed silently that no zombies would eat his brains tonight. He’d seen “Walking Dead.” They weren’t getting him or his sunflowers. Maybe it was thinking about zombies, perhaps it was thinking about how immobile he was if the zombie apocalypse hit, it could have even been the soup he made for dinner, but something didn’t sit well with him.
And then he heard and felt a thud coming from inside the trunk.
He whipped his feet off the trunk so fast, one of his shoes went flying across the room, knocking over a coffee cup. Dregs oozed out from between the cracks of his boss’s favourite mug.
“Damn it!” Randy exclaimed momentarily forgetting the sounds from inside the container. And then the screaming started.
The day clerk, Hank, had just entered the hotel lobby when he heard the screams coming from the office behind the reception desk. He ran as fast as he could into the small office and saw Randy slumped in the cushy office chair, wide-eyed and breathing heavily, and wearing only one shoe. Randy’s face was ashen gray and he was literally shaking.
Hank saw the large, antique trunk, its lid open and some sort of thick liquid inside. “What the hell, Randy?” he asked. “What was all that screaming about? And what is this trunk doing here?”
Randy extended a shaky hand toward the open trunk and pointed. All he could say was “something.” He said it several times, his eyes filled with fear.
Hank looked carefully at the trunk and then walked slowly closer to it. That’s when he noticed rancid smell and a trail of dark liquid leading from the old trunk out of the office and into the hotel lobby.
At precisely the moment that Hank’s addled brain (which, frankly, was a rather slow-moving machine in the smoothest of situations) caught up to the reality of what he was witnessing, the sounds of pandemonium crashed into the ears of both men. Screams seeped in under the doors. The metallic crunches and thuds of cars unwillingly having their shapes rearranged filtered through the lobby windows. Hank imagined that he heard bones snapping and blood dripping amidst the chaos, but certainly that wasn’t possible. Was it? Hank locked eyes with Randy, both faces reflecting terror to the other. What had been in the box? More importantly, would they be held responsible? Given his usual weasel-like demeanor, Hank made a brave decision: He would go have a peek at the street to get a better idea of what he had gotten himself into. Inhaling deeply for courage and balance, he shifted his foot to begin the short walk back to the lobby doors. And that’s when he noticed it…he was standing directly in a puddle of the sticky fluid from the trunk, and it was working its way through every opening of his shoe.
All of a sudden, both of his feet started to burn like he had just finished walking on hot coals. He certainly wasn’t getting paid enough to deal with such crazy shenanigans. He should have been a lawyer, just like his mother wanted him to be.
A quick detour to the mens room appeared to be in order, and whatever lurked outside the lobby doors would just have to wait. Leaving a trail of shoes and socks and rancid ooze behind him, Hank pushed through the washroom door, noticed that the cuffs of his pants were ruined and decided to drop those too. He hopped up on to the counter, turned the taps on full blast and plopped both of his burning feet under the gushing, cooling water. It immediately turned a sickly greenish purple. One of the cubicle doors opened and a stunned patron stopped dead to take in the sight of the dishevelled boxer-clad day clerk effectively occupying two of the sinks, decided against washing his hands just this once, and hurriedly scuttled sideways to the exit. Hank heard the door open, he heard the door close, and in between, over the thudding of his own heart, he heard the muffled sounds of chaos from the streets.
Who has contributed so far?
Fish of Gold
To Breathe is to Write
Silently Heard Once
Not A Punk Rocker
Inspiration in Progress
Mindful DigressionsNerd in the brain
Knocked over by a feather
And now me!
I pick markbialczak to be the next Pepper to add to this story!