Finding Your Way

Everything about this room was creepy, from the moment you walked in. The door was a pale forest green, that once could have welcomed a happy couple to a night get away from the kids. Now paint is chipping off, and you can see before the pale grimy forest green was a mud-colored brown, that almost said go away, as if the door knew something unfortunate would happen. The doorknob itself was a rusted, brassy orange which made you not want to touch it. There was a tiny hole in the door at about eye level where there should have been a peephole, but it was missing. The first thing you notice that there is not one single window. Zero natural light is let in. Only the dim flicker of the low hanging light from a light bulb that was outdated. Next to the door is an over-used, worn out, antique dresser that was missing a drawer. The dresser is covered in a thin layer of dust, enough to make the deep mahogany have a slight grey tent to it. On the dresser sat a portable radio. No television, not even a lamp, coffee maker, or some other appliance. Just the portable radio that was maybe six inches wide and a foot long. The radio was stuck on one station, 102.4, which was just the sound of static, with the slight undertone of the “Top Hits of the 80s, 90s and Today.”

Above the useless dresser was the dingy yellow wallpaper that wrapped around the room. However, perfectly centered above the dresser were three missing shreds of the wallpaper. It looked like Wolverine had lost his temper and slashed through it, to reveal a much worse baby girl pink colored wall. On the wall opposite to this one, was the same dingy yellow wallpaper, but a picture frame hung. It was the same mahogany color as the dresser, however, inside the frame was nothing. No picture. Not even the glass that is used to hold a picture in place, nor the back that secures both the picture and the glass. No, that was below, on the floor, resting on the carpet. The carpet, it is same pale forrest green color the door is. As you draw closer to the lone picture frame, you can hear the crunch of the carpet below your feet. No one knows how long it’s been since it’s been washed. Years, maybe even decades. It smells. It smells horrid, like a collection of BO, old bleach, and cat pee. You turn to the wall joining the wall with the dresser and the wall with the picture frame. You notice an off-center, full sized bed, missing the bed frame. Go figure.

The only nice thing about the bed is that it is made. The bed has a single pillow covered in a pillowcase that does not match anything in the room. It’s a nice silky red. The type of pillowcase, a middle-aged, upper-class woman would boast about at brunch to her daughters. The once white comforter neatly folded over the bed has the same wolverine shaped slashes. Revealing an ugly tan, puke-colored sheets. On the bed is an old, army green duffel bag, that has grey and navy blue work out clothes sprouting out of it. Some of the clothes are still neatly folding while falling out of the duffel bag, whereas others are outstretched and wrinkly.

Beside the bed are two close to identical bedside tables, each with one drawer and an opening underneath. The right bedside table, had it’s drawer open to reveal an old leather-bound Bible. The Bible had a square cut out of many pages, signifying it was once a hiding spot for something. However, you would think defacing a Bible to hide something isn’t the smartest thing, but whatever. The left bedside table, had an abandoned, makeshift, rag doll, with yellow yarn hair and blue bonnet dress. Next to the left bedside table is a forgotten flip flop, with the ending half of the fading word Florida on it. The forgotten flip flop had to belong to a little girl, probably not much older than twelve. The wall facing the bed had a door almost identical to the door into the room, it was wide open, revealing a much smaller identical army green duffel bag. You realize this must belong to the person who was last checked into the room. Unlike the duffel bag on the bed, it’s not yet un-zipped.

The light to the bathroom is on. It’s an unusually bright, harsh light. The first thing you see is the slightly broken mirror that has a distasteful amount of water spots on it. Below the sink is the brownish-cream colored sink, whose faucet drips at a steady pace. Underneath the sink is an opening where a cabinet might have been once, but it just holds two individually wrapped rolls of toilet paper. Next to the sink is the toilet. It’s not your typical toilet, nope. It’s got a wooden toilet seat. That is the same shade of mahogany as the dresser and the picture frame. But the little lever to flush is a shiny silver. You wonder why this motel would have this single piece newly replaced, it seems like no one has been here for ages.

In front of the toilet is the shower. The shower is one of those stand-alone showers that doesn't have a bathtub attached to it, but this shower doesn’t have a shower curtain. It has the rings on the bar, that would hold up a shower curtain if there was one, but there isn’t. Not a single complimentary shampoo, conditioner or even a bar of the soap that dries out your skin, is in sight.

In between the shower and the toilet is a faded grey towel folded to create a makeshift rug that’s sprouting mushrooms and gross green stuff. Outside of the bathroom, on that same wall is a small mini fridge that is plugged up to the only outlet on that wall. It’s supposed to sleek and a shiny black, but it’s all faded and worn out. There is a brochure of all the lovely features Creeds Motel has to offer. Nothing left in the room seems to make sense. You realize the people that touched the room and left their belongings don’t matter, but you can’t help but think what belonged to who, and who was the last person that checked in.