The Hotel California: A Friday the 13th Story Read online

  THE HOTEL CALIFORNIA

  A Friday the 13th Story

  CALLIE HUTTON

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Author.

  Author’s website: http://calliehutton.com/

  Cover design by Maria Connor, My Author Concierge

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition May 2022

  Contents

  Friday the 13th Stories

  About the Book

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Friday the 13th Stories

  13 different authors each wrote a stand-alone, suspenseful story in the series. The stories release on Friday, May 13, 2022.

  We hope you enjoy them all and that they bring a chill to your spine. We would love to hear from you. You can find us here: Friday the 13th Facebook Page:

  https://www.facebook.com/Fri13thShortStories/

  Get your Fright on…

  Sincerely,

  Friday the 13th Authors

  About the Book

  It had been planned perfectly. Then it all went to hell...

  Lauren Adams hadn't intended to kill her ex-boss. She only wanted his money. Now, with a suitcase full of bills, she's on the run. But very strange things are happening at the hotel she stopped at along the highway.

  Chapter 1

  The Plan

  Lauren Adams stared at the gun sitting on her bed, along with the satchel filled with a few of her clothes and grooming products. Next to it sat the empty suitcase she intended to fill with money.

  A lot of money. An escape from her lousy life.

  She took a deep breath, ready to do this. She’d dreamed, researched and planned this robbery, and she would be successful.

  All her life she’d been behind the eight ball. Loser parents, snotty teachers, uppity schoolmates, POS boyfriends, and the absolute worse, her job at Murphy’s Trucking Company.

  She huffed. She and about twenty disgusting men worked there. All of them making remarks, offering their ‘services’ and generally treating her like a whore. Mr. Murphy was no better. In fact, he encouraged their behavior, and did some groping himself. When she complained, he told her she could just go work somewhere else because she was easily replaced.

  Then the bastard had the nerve to fire her when she threatened to file sexual harassment charges against him. Her life sucked and at twenty-three she was ready to turn the tide in her favor.

  Mr. Murphy kept a lot of money in the safe in his office. A ton of money. So much, in fact, she wondered at times if he was running drugs or laundering money. Well, for whatever the reason he was full-up with cash, she planned to take her share of it and head to California.

  The gun was only a precaution. No one should be at the company now. All the trucks would have been checked in hours ago, and Mr. Murphy was always gone by six o’clock.

  She checked her watch. Seven minutes past ten. She grabbed her satchel and suitcase, tucked the gun into her jacket pocket and left her shit-hole apartment and hopefully her equally shit-hole life.

  The drive to the building took only fifteen minutes. With a combination of nerves and excitement, she parked her car outside the locked gate and grabbed the suitcase. She fumbled with her keys and found the one that opened the gate.

  The nitwit man had been so gleeful when he’d fired her that he'd forgotten to ask for the keys to the building back.

  Everything was dark and silent as she walked through the warehouse to the office door, pushing it open. She pulled out the small flashlight from her pocket, her fingertips briefly touching the gun.

  The quiet was eerie, and she planned to make this quick and be on her way. She pulled out the five-digit safe combination she’d copied from Mr. Murphy’s desk drawer weeks ago, somehow knowing in her mind that she would one day do this. And today was the day.

  She knelt, laying the flashlight on the floor, illuminating the slip of paper with the numbers on it. Totally engrossed in her endeavor, she jumped when Mr. Murphy’s voice shattered the stillness. “Girl, what the hell are you doing?”

  There was obviously no correct answer since it was quite obvious what she was doing. Licking her suddenly dry lips, she said, “Why are you here?”

  He glared at her, his hands on his hips. “Don’t try to pull no shit with me, girl. I own the place; I can be here anytime I want to be here. And you were fired." He pointed his finger at her. "Just stay where you are while I call the police.”

  Did he really think she was that stupid that she would allow him to get the best of her? He always did underestimate her intelligence. Lauren climbed to her feet and whipped out the gun from her pocket. “No. I don’t think so, Mr. Murphy.” She pointed the Glock .22 at him. “I’m going to finish what I started here. Then I’m getting out of this f'ing town and starting a better life.”

  “With my money.” HIs voice was flat. “You don’t know what you’re doing, bitch. Not all that money is mine.”

  She grinned. “Right. It’s mine now.”

  He started to move forward.

  “Stop.”

  He had the nerve to grin. “Come on, girl, you ain’t gonna shoot me. You don’t have the balls.”

  The last word was barely out when she pulled the trigger, and Mr. Murphy grabbed his middle. “What the fuck?” He fell to his knees.

  She took a deep breath. This had not gone the way she’d planned, but she was this far into it now, so she turned back to the safe, pulled out as much money as she could fit into her suitcase and stood.

  She took one look at Mr. Murphy lying on the floor, bleeding and moaning, his ugly meaty hands gripping his stomach. There was a phone on the desk behind him and chances were he would crawl there and call the police as soon as she walked out the door.

  “Sorry, Mr. Murphy. I guess I should have put in my two weeks notice real proper-like before you fired me, but I decided one more visit to my favorite job was necessary. Now I must be on my way.” She raised the gun.

  “No. Don’t do this, Lauren.”

  A shot rang out and Mr. Murphy stilled, a hole in his forehead.

  With a steady hand, she lowered the gun. It was done. No witnesses and now she would be on her way. She quickly slammed the suitcase closed and clicked the two latches.

  Panting heavily, Lauren took one last look around the office of Murphy Trucking Company, her place of employment for the past three years. She barely gave a glance at Mr. Leonard Murphy, the bastard, curled up into a ball under his desk, the last of his life’s blood pooling on the floor from the two gunshot wounds.

  She shoved the Glock .22 into her pocket. The suitcase, now heavy with probably thousands of ten and twenty dollar bills felt good in her hand. The money was her due. He’d been the worst man she’d ever worked for and never learned to keep his hands to himself.

  She smirked when she looked at the calendar hanging on the wall. Friday, the 13th. She looked down at Murphy’s body. “Bad luck for you today, Mr. Murphy. Sorry about that. Hmm. Not really.”

  Thankfully the trucking company was located on a deserted street and set back about a quarter mile from the pavement, surrounded by a high fence. Now all she had to do was get the hell out of there as fast as possible and head for California.

  Chapter 2

  The Hotel

  She tossed the suitcase on the front seat of the shiny ‘previously owned’ Toyota 4Runner she’d bought that afternoon. The sleazy salesman was so anxious to sell her a car that he let her take it without checking her application or depositing the five thousand dollar check she gave him for the down payment.

  On a bank account she closed two days before.

  She climbed behind the wheel, her heart pounding. By the time the cops were notified when the men returned Monday morning, she would be far, far away. With a new identity. A quick look in her mirror reflected a woman with glasses, short curly black hair and brown eyes.

  So different from Lauren Adams, the long straight blond hair, blue-eyed former clerk at Murphy’s Trucking Company. Plus it had been two weeks since she’d been fired. The truckers probably wouldn’t even remember her, since there was most likely another poor girl fielding their gropes and lewd comments.

  But covering all her bases, she carried the driver’s license of Darlenee Marshall with Lauren’s new persona on it. Despite having to kill Mr. Murphy, she had no regrets. She’d hated the stupid job, hated her boss, hated the truckers with their constant gross remarks and gestures, and even hated her small, dull, apartment. She was meant for better things. And now she would have them.

  Three hours later, her head snapped up when she found herself nodding off as she zipped down the deserted highway. Her headlights reflected the sign coming up. Winslow, 53 miles.


  It had been her plan to stop in Winslow for the night before continuing on to California, but she would never make another fifty-three miles. It had taken her longer to kill Murphy and clean out the safe than she’d expected. Who knew the old man would even be there? His threats that the money wasn’t all his confirmed what she’d suspected. He was doing something illegal.

  Within minutes a building seemed to rise from the desert on the north side of the highway. Hopefully it would be a hotel or motel so she could spend the night in comfort. The thought of sleeping in her car, no matter how comfortable it was, held no appeal.

  She swung her vehicle into the parking lot and parked in front of the building. She grabbed her backpack and suitcase with the money in it, and slid out of the car, grinning as she looked up at the name of the hotel.

  The Hotel California.

  Since she was headed to her new life in California, she felt it was a good omen. Suddenly feeling more alert, she pulled open the door to the hotel.

  An older woman stood right inside the door, holding a candle, almost as if she had been expecting Lauren. She got a strange feeling, but put it down to the stressful night she’d had so far.

  “Good evening, ma’am. I would like a room for the night.”

  A bell rang in the background which the woman who’d greeted her ignored. “Welcome, miss. If you will follow me, I will show you to your room.”

  Lauren picked up her suitcase. “Don’t I have to sign in or something first?”

  The woman shook her head. “No need, dear. You can sign in when you check out.”

  If she hadn’t been so tired, Lauren would have walked out of the place. Maybe sleeping in her car was not such a bad idea after all. Then she chastised herself. This was a hotel sitting right on the main highway. When she'd driven up she saw flickering lights in several of the windows, so there were other people here. She had to rein in her thoughts and get the night over with.

  California awaits.

  She followed the woman holding the candle up the stairs to the next floor. Once they reached the landing, she turned to Lauren. “Are you hungry?”

  Her appetite had vanished once she saw the hole she’d blown in Murphy’s head, but in the time since then she had grown hungry, but the uneasy feeling had not left her, so it was better to merely climb into bed, get a good night’s sleep and then move on tomorrow.

  “No. Thank you, anyway. I just need a good night’s sleep.”

  The woman holding the candle nodded and continued down the corridor. Sconces along the wall lit with candles cast the space into alternate dots of brightness, then dimness. This was certainly an odd place, and she would be grateful for the morning sun so she could leave.

  Lauren shivered as an odd smell of flowers drifted to her as the woman holding the candle opened the door to the room. It was a glorious room, most unexpected given what she’d seen so far.

  “This is very nice.” She moved farther into the room and placed her suitcase on the bed, then turned. “Well, good night, Mrs.?”

  “Yes, good night miss. Have a nice slumber.”

  “Um, excuse me.”

  The woman turned toward her. “Yes?”

  “Is there no other way to light the room than the candles?” She nodded toward the candelabra on the dresser across from the bed.

  “I’m afraid not. Welcome to the hotel.” With those cryptic words, she left the room, closing the door softly.

  Well, that was certainly surreal. Again Lauren was anxious for the night to pass. She pulled out her nightgown, toothbrush and toothpaste from the satchel. There was no bathroom, only a pitcher filled with warm water and a bowl under it sitting on the dresser.

  Once she’d cleaned herself up and climbed into bed, she found sleep did not come immediately, despite her fatigue and the comfort of the bed. After tossing and turning for what seemed like hours, she finally fell asleep.

  To be awoken by the sound of a very loud, terrifying scream of a woman’s voice.

  Chapter 3

  The Snow

  Lauren bolted upright and gripped the blanket in her fists. Silence. Had she imagined the scream? Was it part of a nightmare she was having? After the little bit of sleep she’d had, she seriously considered not waiting for morning, but leaving now and just slapping some money on the front desk of the hotel.

  She rubbed her palms up and down her arms. The air had grown quite cold which was normal for nighttime in the desert, but one would think inside the building shouldn’t be that cold.

  Then she chided herself. She was being flat out dumb. Apparently, the scream was not real or she would have heard noises coming from the rest of the guests or at least the management as they headed to wherever the scream had come from.

  She blew out a deep breath and collapsed back onto the mattress. She would keep her eye out for the rising sun and get the hell out as soon as it sneaked over the horizon. Although stressed, she fell into a deep slumber.

  Her eyes flicked open. Had there been another scream? A quick glance to the window showed the sun more than sneaking over the horizon. It appeared to be mid-morning. She reached over and picked up her cell phone from the table alongside her. Dead.

  If what the woman holding the candle from last night had told her was correct, there was no electricity in the building. She flicked the covers off and stood on the cold floor, grabbing whatever she reached from her satchel and dressed in jeans and a sweater. After pulling on warm socks and her tennis shoes, she glanced around the room to make sure she had everything, then left.

  Several people sat in the dining room which was attached to the reception area. No one paid her any attention, which was fine with her. She walked up to the desk and dinged the small round bell sitting there.

  After a few minutes, when she was just about ready to give it another slap the woman holding the candle from the night before walked up to her. She practically glided along. “Good morning.”

  Lauren nodded. “Good morning. I would like to check out. What do I owe you?”

  The woman looked at her with a puzzled expression. “You cannot leave, miss.”

  Her heart began to pound. “Why not?”

  The woman waved at the large plate glass window. “Because of the snow.”

  “The snow?” What the hell was she talking about? “There can’t be any snow, this is the desert. And it’s June. Even in Alaska it doesn’t snow in June. Maybe. Not sure, really.” She shook her head as if to settle her brains since she was babbling like an idiot.

  The woman shrugged and pointed again to the window. Lauren moved slowly across the room and looked out the window. There must have been six feet of snow piled up in front of the building. She blinked several times, sure she was seeing things.

  She turned back to the woman holding the candle. “This is impossible. We’re in the desert. It doesn’t snow in the desert.”

  “Would you care for some breakfast?” She walked past Lauren and glided into the dining room. “We have a special this morning.” She stopped and looked at her. “Pickled herring.”

  The only logical explanation was she was still upstairs in her room sound asleep and this was all a dream. Actually, a nightmare. So maybe she should just go along with it until she woke up.

  “I don’t like pickled herring.”

  The woman holding the candle shrugged. “We have other things.” She waved in the direction of the area where about a dozen people ate breakfast, speaking to each other, everything looking perfectly normal. Couples starring happily at each other. An older couple who seemed to ignore everything except their food.