It was ten o’clock at night, and David cruised down Highway 10. Thick, dark forest engulfed one side of the road. Fields as far as the eye could see to the other. He yawned deeply, then fiddled with the radio, hoping the sound of another’s voice—even just the recording of someone singing—would keep him awake.
It wasn’t helping.
He’d never been down this stretch of road before. Wouldn’t have to be if it wasn’t for Christine texting him in a frenzy three hours before. His head was done with her, but his heart hadn’t given up. She needed help, and he couldn’t help himself. He got in his Jeep and began the drive to Fort Smith.
He yawned again.
Towns were scattered sparsely along this stretch of road, it seemed. Small towns. Blink and you’d miss them. He needed one of those towns to crest the next hill. His eyes burned and felt heavy. His mind slowed a little, drifting like his Jeep drifted a little over the center line.
He corrected his driving and turned the radio volume up a bit more.
A sign lit the road over the next hill. An old roadside motel. David couldn’t make out the name—some letters were out, others flickered—but he recognized a single word, and that was all that mattered: VACANCY.
He slowed and pulled into the empty parking lot. Stepping out into the humid night, something felt off about the place. Just the empty parking lot, he thought. The sign's buzzing caught his attention: Sleepy Fields Motel. The parking lot was clean. Too clean. Not a single shred of debris or trash to be seen. He walked into the small office, and a bell jingled as the door opened.
A bored man in his mid-forties sat behind the counter, swiping on his phone as he rested his chin in one hand. He didn’t even look up at the jingle.
David stood before him for several seconds, then rang the bell placed on the counter.
The man sighed and looked up. “Next motel’s ten miles up the road.” He went back to scrolling on his phone.
“I don’t think I can wait ten miles,” David said. What kind of place doesn’t want business? Probably just lazy.
“This isn’t the right place.”
“It’s a motel, isn’t it?”
“Yep,” he said, drawing out the word mockingly.
“I’d like a room.”
He sighed, then grabbed a card and slid it over to David. David filled out the information and paid the man.
“Just one thing,” the man said. “The crowd hits at midnight. Just get your sleep and you’ll be alright.”
Alright?
The man noticed his confusion. “Just don’t worry about the crowd. Get your sleep. They won’t bother you.”
The room was small, and it smelled as if it had been vacant for years, but the sheets looked clean and the bathroom wasn’t a mess. The AC unit clanked, but his sleep-tingling eyes told him it wouldn't be an issue. David locked the door behind him and sat on the bed, yawning into his fist as he tested the mattress. Not exactly comfortable, but it'd do.
He laid back, trying not to think so that he'd drift off to sleep, but his mind raced with thoughts of Christine and what might be, and he tossed and turned, eyes watering from the sting of much needed sleep.
After what seemed like an eternity, he rolled onto his side and felt for a remote on the side table. There wasn't one. He sat up and looked harder. Still no remote. Inspecting the television revealed that it was one of the old models that required you to operate it with dials. He flicked it on and turned the dial until he found a program running reruns of an old television show—black and white, chipper actors, loveable mascot. Happy times.
Checking the time revealed it to be ten past eleven. David laid back down and shut his eyes, and let the background noise drown out his thoughts.
Sleep.
David's rest was interrupted by a growing murmur. Growing louder. Fuller. His eyes peeled open. His phone showed one minute past midnight. He blinked several times before spotting the curtains shielding the wide window of the room. Dark silhouettes passed by. A seemingly never-ending throng of figures. Murmuring.
What the hell?, he thought. He flung the sheets off and stormed to the window, slashing them open. Nothing. Not a soul outside—but the murmur continued. He pressed his face to the glass and peered down the parking lot, still seeing nothing.
His brow furrowed, and his sleepy mind tried to process the sound with the lack of people. He pulled the curtains closed. Silhouettes continued to pass by. David backed up until he bumped into the bed. He chalked it up to sleepiness. He was imagining things. Laughing to himself, he turned towards the bathroom, then froze.