Page 162 of Phobia
The click of each letter resounds through the room, charged and permanent. With a bated breath and a vacant littlethump,I hit search. The first thing that pops up is some random ad, so I scroll past to the link for the website just beneath.
The photo of that godforsaken motel loads in the background, surrounded by all different shades of black. Clicking on the menu, I scroll through each option with hesitant interest, wincing as that freaking photofollows me.
I click on the tab that saysFEEL US,unsure as to what that means. “Welcome to Mayhem Motel.Beware…” I read aloud, choking on the word as my eyes rove faster than my brain can keep up with.
“You will feel like a victim—because you are.”
Oh… my God.
My intestines wrap around my heart.
“You’re our victim now… Prepare to die… Oh, shit.Jesus,what does that even mean?” I sound hysterical to my own ears. My eyes sting with the unexpected pressure of tears, but I barely manage to bite them back with a grit I didn’t even know I had.
I amnotgoing to cry over reading a little freaking introduction paragraph—even if it does make me feel like I’m volunteering to bemurdered.
“It’s just part of the gig,” I whisper to myself, not feeling the slightest bit of reprieve at my faint, pathetic words of consolation. “Yeah, I freakingfeel youall right,” I grumble as I click on the next tab,YOU MUST—whatever the heck that means.
The Mayhem Motel experience is only suitable for persons aged 18+.
You must read and sign our WAIVER AND RELEASE, EXPRESS ASSUMPTION OF RISK, INDEMNITY, AND VOLUNTARY CONSENT AGREEMENT. If you choose not to, you will not be allowed to enter.
I blink slowly, lips parted as I reread the paragraph two times over. Awaiver?We all have to sign a waiver before we can enter. The thought makes me want to throw up. It certainly can’t mean anything good.
With hesitant, shaky fingers, I click onHISTORY,immediately curious as to what that could mean.
What I didn’t expect to find was an endless scroll of paragraphs explaining the history of theoriginalmotel—before it becameMayhem.
Gooseflesh devours my bare skin as I absorb every word. Each one settles deep in my gut, adding more weight with every passing minute.
By the time I reach the bottom, I try to keep scrolling but come up empty.
What… the heck.I blink helplessly at the dimmed screen as the glowing, white words blur, my eyes unfocusing.
Apparently, not even five years ago, all it was, was a sad, news-riddled motel due to the endless cycle of apparent suicides.
There was at least one suicide a week, which gradually turned to two. And then, when lucky number three became the pattern, the owner, Mr. Haynes, decided to close up, not even bothering to sell.
It stated in a direct quote that he didn’t want to sell because he didn’t want the“bad juju”to continue.
But what Mr. Haynes didn’t predict was that he’d die, sooner rather than later. Which then left the motel up for sale by the bank.
And that is apparently how Mayhem Motel came to be. Two years later and it’s now one of the country’s most known horror spots. People come from all around to experience the terrors within the walls of Mayhem.
Now that I know, I feel like Ishould’veknown this whole time since I have lived here my entire life, but I guess I can blame my suffocating parents for my lack of knowledge of obvious state attractions.
And now, I am one of those stupid,stupidpeople.
I mean,Jesus,a building with a history of dozens of suicides is now a haunted attraction, where you have to sign acontractwaiving your right to legal action.
Apparently, Mr. Haynes was right about the “bad juju.”
Backing out as soon as everyone goes in is seeming like a better idea by the second.
Clearing out of my browser with a shudder, I stare back up at the ceiling. Only this time, my mind is reeling for an entirely different reason.
And I can’t get the image of that motel out of my mind, long into the darkest hours of the night.
Chapter 2
