Dreamer's Vacation

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Mystery and Crime  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: January 08, 2018

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Submitted: January 08, 2018

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“A vacation for dreamers, sounds idyllic doesn’t it? There is something people forget sometimes, that nightmares are dreams too and who doesn’t love a good horror?” The bitter man, scarred from cheek to chin, muttered cynically over a cup of cold coffee. To whom this man spoke was not clear, possibly just speaking to hear the words drip from his mouth, but speak he did.

“It was meant to be a good trip, a freeing trip, one so I and all the others would be able to find who we were actually meant to be. We had all signed up for a retreat to find our inner spirit, at least that’s what that stupid brochere said. I suppose that is one way to describe what we found at that motel. Horror beyond what any of us could comprehend at that point in our lives. I swear the oldest of us couldn’t have been older than twenty seven, still babies to the horror of this world.”

The coffee swishes before the stranger takes a drink, not seeming to care that all the heat had long since left it.

“It started out fine, we got to know each other, spent time in nature, but that second day, some of us didn’t make it down for the morning hike, or lunch. So we decided to see if everything was okay, maybe they had gotten sick. Then we found them... two chained to their beds, faces frozen in shocked terror while hunting knives stuck out of their chests. The other one, missing, but signs of a fight could be seen all around the room, a nightstand was even tipped over,” he pauses, staring at a faded poster on the wall across from him for a moment, adrift in the memories of times past.

“Panic is what one would think would take over, making us get the hell out of there, but that didn’t happen. We were...calm almost, like we were in the eye of the storm. Then the fog rolled in and we passed out. Looking back it obviously wasn’t a fog but something to make us sleep so the rest of the plan could be put into place.”

The man sighs, pushing the glass from hand to hand, the coffee shifting precariously in the cup.

“In the kitchen we found bags for each of us, filled with supplies we would need to survive, or at least try to anyway. Survival of the fittest and all that bullshit. There were also notes, well the same note just written out multiple times, plastered all over the walls, begging, forcing us to read the grueling words, ‘Three down, how many more to go? ‘ Now isn’t that a haunting thing to read? One of the girls, Victoria, decided to open up the bag and look beyond the first level that was in the bag. She found a knife, the same type of knife that was sticking out the bodies of the people we found.”

The man, absently rubbing the stubble along his chin, sips the coffee, possibly hoping to ease the tightness in his throat.

“This dredged up the question none of us wanted to ask. Was it possible that the missing girl was hunting us? How long would it take for others to turn on each other? On me? People snapped, some crying, others yelling to the air, asking what the crazy idea was, and then one decided he couldn’t handle it. Before anyone could process what was truly happening he had ripped open his throat using the knife provided. Blood spurted for a second, even as the body fell to the ground. A voice sounded from all around us stating that there were four down. One man, the eldest of us all, tried to take charge, gathering people around him, asking them to help try to get out of the hotel. After all, we didn’t know for sure that we were trapped. We weren’t. We were able to get out, but we couldn’t leave. The cars we brought all had their tires slashed. It could have been possible to use them for shelter, keep away from the one hunting us. Many decided to take that option, others decided to stay in their rooms that were larger and allowed them better mobility. In our bags was food, hunting knives, rope, a blanket, and a bottle of water. It was enough to allow someone who truly wanted to to leave shelter and get help. That’s what I decided to do.”

He downs the coffee, not even wincing at the bitter, sludgy taste of the frigid coffee.

“I walked to a town a few hours away by car, it took a few days for me to navigate the land and figure out my way back to the town on foot. Help arrived quickly after that and I insisted on going back. Foolish me, I wanted to know what had become of the others. The place was a massacre and I had barely stepped out of the car before I was attacked by a raving girl, Victoria. Her knife was drawn and she was yelling about betrayal, her knife ripping through my face like it was ragged cloth. Gave me this scar. Then she was gone, dead, a bullet straight through the skull from one of the officers I had ridden with.”

The man stands, placing money on the counter to pay for the coffee and the food he had consumed earlier in the evening.

“That trip went down in infamy as they never did figure out who set everyone up, who wanted to see everyone killed….”

He trails off and walks through the door, leaving the roadside dinner as if he was never there, leaving behind just one sentence to finish his tale.

“For who would believe the sadistic mastermind behind it all, was also a victim.”

 


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