Before we begin:
This all started when, not too long ago, I saw a post on the Creepy Catalog Facebook page that went something to the effect of: “Calling all horror nerds and writers alike…” Since I’m fairly sure I belong to both groups, this post immediately grabbed my attention. It turned out to be a request for hotel-themed horror stories, which I assume had nothing to do with the season premier of a popular TV show. Of course, my imagination jumped right on it. As I told my editor, Michael, I’m the queen of weird shit happening to me in hotels. Unfortunately, by the time I got around to reading Michael’s reply e-mail, I’d missed the deadline by about two hours.
Still, I rarely pass up a writing prompt without saying, “Challenge accepted” (sometimes out loud, sadly), and this was no exception. I already had two of my own hotel-related experiences which, I thought, could be easily turned into stories on such short notice. It was a toss-up between The Old Country Inn, and That Time In Vegas. Obviously, a quick glance at the title will tell you which one I chose. Now, being my usual sleep-deprived, preoccupied self, it took another month for me to actually write the damn thing.
I spent most of that month agonizing over whether I should mention a certain political party which plays an integral part in this story. As you’ll soon see, any terms and names that indicate a party allegiance have been redacted. No statements in this story are meant to advocate or criticize any political party either way.
Now that I think about it, maybe I should have gone with the Vegas one. Oh well – it’s too late now.
It may or may not interest you to know that I lost my innocence in a quaint North Carolina inn on the 5th of November, (yes, Guy Fawkes Day for all you Anglophiles) in the late 2000s – and by innocence, I mean that thing I was raised to believe I shouldn’t give up until my wedding night. It also happened to be an off-year Election Night in the Old North State. My school’s chapter of College X had taken a chartered bus trip halfway across the country, just so we could put on our résumés that we’d volunteered on a major candidate’s campaign. As luck would have it, our guy won. Needless to say, that night we all got stupid drunk.