No Reservation

The cider was piping hot; the smell of sweet cinnamon was making her taste buds delirious. The cider turned out to be delicious and her frayed nerves were soothed. Even with the cider, the popped feeling in her ears hadn't subsided. She'd tried unsuccessfully to clear it; she had chewed a piece of gum, held her nose and blew. Nothing.

She won a pumpkin in the toss game, they shared some hot dogs over by the bonfire, felt each other up while riding the scary hayride, heard a few spooky stories about a witch that haunted the nearby woods, and kissed a lot under the artificial orange sky glowing from the circus tents. An hour had passed and their feet were growing tired but when she saw the sign for the haunted corn maze, she knew he wouldn't be able to pass it up.

"Come on, Sarah! Let's go in the corn maze!"

"Mike, I've already been freaked out enough tonight. That zombie that jumped out at me on the hayride almost made me wet my pants. I'm not sure I can take anymore today."

"We'll be fine! Come on, hold my hand. I'll be your big strong protector man."

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She walked behind him, his head outlined by the faintly orange sky. As they entered the deeper part of the maze though, the corn wrapped itself around them like a blanket, cutting off what little light there was. He had released her hand to brush away some fallen corn stalks that was blocking their path. She was struggling to keep up with him; it was so hard to see and her head and ears were throbbing. She squeezed her eyes closed for relief but she ached. Her feet pounded the dirt, blindly feeling their way. When she opened her eyes, she saw his outline turn the corner, heading off to the left. Or, wait; was that him to the right? She veered left, saw him, and she cried out.

"Michael!" No answer. The path shifted and then it branched, she took the right fork. She called out his name again.

"Mike! Where the hell are you?" She heard him from somewhere behind her.

"Sarah! Over here!"

She turned around, heading back down the path, following his voice. How had they gotten separated? "Mike! I'm lost!"

"Keep coming! I can see you!"

She walked faster down the path and could make out the outline of someone up ahead. The darkness made it too difficult to tell but (maybe?) it was him. She could feel the blood rushing in her popped ears; her feet were pounding against the hard packed dirt. "Sarah! Where are you going?" Now, Michael was off to the right. Who was that to the front of her? She meant to turn around but instead, hit a corn stalk lying across the path, tripped, and fell face first to the ground.

She could smell the earth and corn on the cold ground. Her hair had blown across her face and was tangled up in the dirt. Suddenly, she heard footsteps coming towards her, the feet shuffling along the earth. "Michael! Is that you?"

No answer. She sat up and spun around. At that moment, a crack of moonlight burst from the clouds and revealed the shadow of the ball cap, cockeyed on his head, the plaid shirt, and the toothless grin. He was shuffling towards her, his arms wide. His mouth opened, as if to speak, his fingers flexing and releasing, reaching for her. His hand held a lighter, his fingers flicking it, trying to get it to light.

There was no time to waste. She stood up and sprinted to her left, barreling her way into the corn, paying no attention to paths or boundaries. She ran. The corn slapped at her face, her chest, and her thighs. She didn't care. She had to get away from him, get out, find Michael, put this whole day behind her. She heard crunching corn stalks behind her. Her feet stumbled out onto a path. She saw an outline, which could be Michael, (?maybe Carl?) and she ran, swiveling her head backwards, and saw no trace of Carl. Michael caught her as she ran by.

"Holy crap! Sarah! Where did you come from?

"Michael, God damn it! Where the hell did you go? How could you leave me out there by myself?"

"Wait, wait. I didn't leave you. I thought you were right behind me!"

"Ever since we got here, all this crazy shit that I've been going through, you haven't cared one bit. This isn't funny anymore, Michael. I want to go home. Our real home. I've had enough here."

"Please, honey, listen. Honestly, I think you're still on edge from your Dad. It has all your thoughts twisted."

"Twisted? Look, don't bring my father into this. It isn't him I've been seeing in the mirror or the cornfield."

"Your nerves are frayed. You lost the handkerchief and I get that it would bother you, but you're making up some crazy stuff."

"I'm not making anything up, Michael! I don't care if you believe me or not!" She needed to get away. She wanted to scream at him, shove her finger in his face, and call him every name she could think of. Instead, she ran. Faces swirled through the crowds, all the colors running together, the light from the tents pulsated. She cried as she ran. She whipped through the exit, passing the Frankenstein's in a blur, and made her way to the car. She lay down on the hood and stared up at the swirling clouds, the moon veiled. A gust of wind blew her nipples hard. She wished she had remembered her coat.

Maybe Michael was right. Maybe this was because of her father, she had been burying those thoughts and feelings. Losing the handkerchief today had sent her into a tailspin. Carl was a nobody, certainly not someone she should be afraid of. No reason she would see him in random locations. Her imagination was running away from her, she was being silly. She heard footsteps and saw Michael standing over her.

"I'm sorry I haven't been more supportive. I haven't known what to say, Sarah. Maybe this trip was too soon. We should have gone to that spa you love in Western Maryland instead. Please forgive me."

"I do. I'm scared, Michael. What am I going to do without my father? Please, hold me."

Michael lay on top of her and held her tight. Her sobs came. For the first time today, she felt protected and she gripped him tighter. He started kissing her, his warm tongue probing her mouth, and his hands were kneading at her breasts. He rubbed his finger over her nipple and she shuttered. She felt relaxed for the first time since they had arrived at the Inn. A warm heat overcame her and she bucked her hips, pushing her precious mound against his length. He responded by thrusting himself back along her dress, and her pussy quivered. With her hands, she pushed him up. "Let's get out of here, Michael."

"As another surprise, I bought your favorite wine. You can take another shower, I'll pour us some, and we can drink. Plus," he pushed himself on her clit again, "I can love on you."

"That sounds good, really good."

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The ear popping and headache went away the second she walked back into the Weary Traveler. It was strange. Stranger, was the group of people standing outside the entrance to the party room. Lucille Ball look alikes, men in suit coats with clown masks, woman dressed as black cats with pointy ears, men with fake teeth and large fake breasts, and devils, lots of those. They were smoking cigarettes and cigars, the air clogged and stifling with the stench. She still couldn't escape the feeling that in this Inn, she had traveled back in time to the 1950's. The nostalgia was too great; the past seemed to be right here with her. Michael grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the hallway and in the direction of their room. She obliged.

They clinked their wine glasses together and toasted happiness. She swirled her Cabernet around the inside of the glass. The smell was divine. She took a sip, savoring the taste in her mouth. She was naked on the bed and facing him, her breasts falling freely, the nipples taut and reaching, her legs curled under her. She had showered again, trying to scrub out the smell of the corn and dirt and the fear. Michael hung out with her in the bathroom, there was no Carl. She was relieved.

Her nerves were frayed but she leaned in and kissed Michael deeply anyway, their tongues probing each other. She could taste the wine on his tongue and lips. She pulled back and took another long sip of her wine. "I'm sorry I've been so weird today, Michael. I should've left Dad's handkerchief at home. Part of me wanted to carry a piece of him around, you know? Everything since arriving here has been odd. I know with this trip, you were trying to take my mind off of it. I love you." She reached out and grabbed his cock. "Plus, I think some of this will do me good, too. After that, a good night's sleep should fix me right up. Everything will look better in the morning."

She stroked him gently with her hand and he leaned in to kiss her again. This time, the kiss lasted longer, their tongues savoring the taste of each other. She released him and put her wine glass down on the bedside shelf. Michael was sitting Indian style and he was naked and hard. She took him in her hand again, stroking his smoothness. She ran her fingers over his sensitive head and his cock flexed, she saw his stomach go taut. She ran her fingers slowly down his shaft, watching it jump from the sensation.

"Oh. You're going in for the kill already huh?" he asked teasingly.

She leaned in and took him in her mouth, sucking on his head, and plunged her mouth down to the base of his shaft and to the back of her throat. She loved his cock, loved sucking it, loved feeling it inside of her, and loved watching him come. She cupped his balls with her hand and rubbed the soft underside with her fingers.

"Sarah, oh God, I love you so."

"Of course you do." She took him in her mouth again.

He downed the rest of his wine and tried to put the glass on the shelf behind him but it wasn't on all the way and it tumbled to the ground and she heard it shatter. His back was on the bed, his cock was pointing upright, and she was burying it in her warm mouth. A few more strokes would be enough, she knew, and she released him. Her hand wrapped around his length, holding it upright, and she straddled his cock, plunging it into her warmth. She loved this position; she was in total control over her own pleasure. His length engulfed her and she moaned loudly into the quiet room. Slowly she descended and then lifted her quivering pussy again, her muscles clenching themselves around his pulsating length. She pitched forward and rubbed her smooth hands over his hard chest, his tight abs. Her breasts were dangling over his face like sweet forbidden fruit, and he took one in his mouth. His tongue flicked her nipple. She moaned loudly.

She rode him harder, feeling his firmness deep within her. The room was dark; no light was penetrating through the blinds from outside. The wind was whipping against the window panes, rattling them; faintly she heard the sound of rain. The wind gust made her think of her father's handkerchief again, lying somewhere in the deep recesses of this Inn. Suddenly, without knowing why, the Brooklyn Dodgers ball cap came to her mind again, then the head it was attached to. She could see his grin and hear his scratchy voice, calling for her. She had no idea why she would think of Carl. He was a simple man, a pyro probably, living in Maryland, with parental problems. Why would she see him in visions and mirrors? Why would he chase her in the corn field? The wind rocked outside, slamming against the walls, she felt his length impaling her, but her thoughts went to his lighter, the story of his parents, and that look in his eye.

She still wanted out of here. She knew that with every fiber of her being. This inn was bad. They should pack their stuff and get the hell out, run away as fast as they can. Something bad was coming, she didn't know how she knew that but she did. Michael grunted, her straddling still forcefully pushing it in and out of her, and he erupted, his come shooting out, flooding her inner walls. He moaned and screamed and leaned forward to wrap his arms around her, pulling her tightly. Her thoughts were cut off by his kiss.

"I love you, Sarah." he said.

They kissed and lay down together, their bodies spooning. Michael was asleep within minutes. Fragments of Carl's face, her father's voice, and the wind whipping outside were all she could think of. She knew sleep would be difficult in coming.

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She had been dozing but not sleeping. She had strange visions. A handkerchief was dipped in apple cider and carried by a man with a Dodger cap. It wasn't Carl but her father and he had no teeth. Then she was running along a quiet country road, it was dark, and her feet were pounding against the pavement. She could sense something or someone following her. She ran harder, blood pounding in her ears, and he came closer, she felt his finger tips on her back, and then his hand was on her shoulder, and she was thrown backwards into him, and for a split second she smelled his foul stench. Then, she was in a cardboard box, or was that where she was? The smell of cardboard was unmistakable but what would she be doing in there? The walls and flaps were closed and there was total darkness. She pushed up against the top and the flaps bulged outward. Moon light peeked through the opening. She could see his toothless grin staring down at her, his hat was covering the top of his face, the large white B on his hat spinning slowly. He mouthed something, Get out.

She opened her eyes and nearly cried out, she was sweating. Outside, she could hear the rain and wind pounding and slapping against the walls and windows. Maybe the cardboard box was the house and she was trapped within it. Who or what was putting these visions in her head? She knew now there would be no way they could leave now, the weather was too severe.

What made her get out of bed wasn't her visions, or the wind, or Michael's snores, but a noise, swish - boom, coming from the hallway. Swish -- boom. Over and over again, like someone walking while dragging a useless leg. Swish -- boom. It was monotonous and distracting. She climbed out of Michael's arms and fetched her dress from earlier. She slipped it over her naked body. She crept to the door and unlocked it, leaning her head into the dark hallway. Orange lights had been strung along the ceiling line and were glowing. She glanced around, searching for the source of the noise, but only managed to find an older couple who was walking away from her room and down the hall. The lady was wearing a beautiful dress with a black mask, and the gentleman was wearing a 1930's gangster style suit. At the sound of the door squeaking, the lady turned and stared at her.

"Hello? Are you planning on coming to the party?"

"Party?" the air had a hazy quality and her head was foggy, as if in a dream. She couldn't be dreaming though, the air felt muggy, and the smell of cigarettes and cigars was too strong for a dream. Still, everything seemed very dream-like, slow. "What party?"

"Why, the party at this very inn, dear! Please, won't you join us?"

She was so tired but her visions had scared her. Maybe some time out would do her good. "Yes, sure I would love to."

"I have an extra mask if you need one! My name is Margaret and this here is Bruce. We're the Haskins! It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Sarah. Sarah Billings."

"Well, Sarah, I'm just delighted. Come, let's go and join the festivities."

The mask fit snugly, the elastic strap was stretched tightly around her head and the black roughness felt scruffy on her face. They arrived at the double doors from their hallway and made a grand entrance into the party room. The room was full of party-goers, many of whom had clearly been drinking, a lot. The room was loud. Bruce handed her a cup of something and she smelled it. Gin. She took a sip. Margaret led her over to a group of people who were standing around talking and she introduced them.

"Someone will walk on the moon, you'll see!" a lady in a poodle skirt said.

"Oh, Joanna, you're dreaming, you silly thing." The lady wearing a witch's costume turned towards her, "Hey, Sarah! It's my pleasure to meet you!"

Billy, the short man on the end was staring at her suspiciously. "Are you from here?" he asked.

"No, I live in Pennsylvania. I'm just visiting this lovely town with my boyfriend for the weekend. We came for the festival." Sarah said.

"Oh, no, I mean, are you from here? I've never seen you before."

"What do you mean, from here? I'm not understanding you."

A lady dressed in a devil's costume was standing next to Billy, her arm in his. "Don't torture the poor girl, Billy. Leave her be. Of course she's from here. You can't possibly know everybody every time."

"I don't think she is." Billy said matter-of-factly.

"Hello, Sarah, was it? I'm Judy. You'll have to forgive my husband here. He doesn't know what he's talking about. One too many cocktails, if you know what I mean."

"Yes, I believe I do know what you mean. Lovely party here."

Billy leaned in and whispered in her ear, "Sarah, there are forces here that you cannot possibly understand. I don't know how you got here but my advice is to leave, now."

"Honey" Judy pulled her husband back and smiled weakly at her.

She didn't know what to do. Billy was talking nonsense. Or was he? She needed to understand more and she turned to ask him. Everyone in the room gasped. The party's attention was now focused on the three band members walking back towards the stage. They sat down behind their instruments and started to play. The song was old, like all the others she had heard today. Was this an old folk's home? The band was singing about a heart beating forever and ever but the song was plotting and slow and boring. Everyone else was singing. She heard Judy turn to Billy, "I just love this song!"

There was a clock on the wall. 11:32pm. She took a long, deep sip of her gin, feeling the liquid spill down her throat. It gave off a nice gentle burn. The alcohol went straight to her head, the wine from earlier had clearly worn off, and she laughed a little at how silly she had been all day. Ghosts? Strange people in the mirror? These things were impossible. These were nice people, out for a great time on Halloween night, and this Inn was lovely. Her eyes looked around the room and saw no ball caps, no toothless people, no creepy mirrors with people hiding in them, and no one was walking through walls. Besides Billy's odd comment, things seemed more normal than they had since she arrived. The lead singer was telling everyone about a sweetheart, when the explosion happened. She was blown across the room and smashed into the wall and crumpled to the ground. Her world went black.

Her toes wouldn't move. That was the first thought she had after 5 minutes(?), 10 minutes(?), an hour(?) of lying here. Nothing was clear. She thought about Michael, back in the room; she was hoping he heard the explosion and was coming for her. She concentrated hard on getting her toes to work and finally, after some effort they wiggled. Her legs started responding to commands and she finally sat up, opened her eyes, and couldn't believe what she was seeing.

The room was littered with maimed bodies, she noticed pieces of arms and legs scattered. Smoke was thick in the room; the visibility close to nothing. She needed to find Michael and she stood up. Her legs were a little wobbly but otherwise she seemed okay. With her arms in front she plotted forward, slowly, being careful not to trip. Her foot stepped over what remained of Billy, his face distorted and partially missing. Slowly, she continued and made it out of the party room and into the hall. Smoke swirled in the hallway and fire licked along the ground in patches. She avoided them, the heat from the flames was heavy and acrid, and within a few minutes, she arrived at her room. The door was open. As she walked inside the first thing she noticed was the smell. Old, rot. On the bed, Carl was thrusting a knife into Michael's stomach; blood was pouring out of the fresh wound and lying in a large pool that had coagulated on the bed. Carl turned and faced her. He smiled. She saw the window, over Carl's head, and thought about trying to leap through it. Would it shatter, allowing her to break free and into the rainy night? Could she just drive, get the help she needed? Or, was this a dream and maybe she would wake up any minute? Carl pulled the knife from Michael's lifeless corpse and jumped off the bed. She had no time to think and turned and fled the room.