I'm So Happy You're Staying With Us

When Roger gets to a hotel, he likes to unpack right away and iron his shirts so that he's ready for his client meetings. Roger was finishing his last shirt, arranging the sleeve on the hotel's ironing board and bringing the iron down with a satisfying hiss, when the hotel phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Hello Mr. Gordon. It's the 150th anniversary of the Hotel Campion and I'm so happy you'll be staying with us. If there's anything you need, please let me know. My name is Alphonse."

Roger Gordon was not used to this. Usually, on a road trip, he would stay at a modest hotel. But for this trip, he found the Hotel Campion, a venerable old hotel, at a price that was only slightly more expensive than the nearby Holiday Inn, which was four miles away.

"Well, thank you Alphonse. That's very nice of you. I am look...oh damn!" Roger had left the iron on his shirt sleeve and it was now smoking. He lifted the iron to find his shirt was scorched, in the familiar torpedo shape of the iron.

"Mr. Gordon?"

"Yes, yes, I'm here. I've burned my shirt. I was ironing and..." He paused.

"Oh that's unfortunate. I feel terrible that I distracted you. Please let us replace your shirt. If you'll just give me your size."

"No, no. That won't be necessary. I always pack an extra."

"That's very wise, Mr. Gordon. But I would like to make up for the shirt. There's a menu from our restaurant on your dresser. Please pick out anything you like and I'll have room service bring it up."

Roger started to object again, but he was hungry. He found the menu, ordered a house salad and the salmon, and hung up with Alphonse. He picked up the shirt, he could smell the burnt cotton, and put it in the trashcan.

Roger laid down on the bed. It felt magical, soft, comfortable, like velvet. He sank into the mattress and, within a minute, he was in a very deep sleep.

He jumped up to the sound of someone knocking on the hotel room door.

"Just a minute." He croaked, looking for his glasses. He couldn't find them, so he carefully made his way to the hotel room door, unlatched the lock, and opened it.

There was a room service cart in front of his door. There were plates covered with silver domes, a water pitcher, and a glass. There was also a wine bucket with a bottle of chardonnay cooling in ice water.

Otherwise, the hallway was empty. Roger took out his wallet to get a tip.

"Hello? I'm here. Room 1124." He took out a five dollar bill. He noticed a corner of the bill was torn off.

"Hello? Room service? I'm here. Roger Gordon?"

No reply.

Roger shrugged, put the five back in his wallet, and moved the cart and the wine bucket back into his room. His door clicked shut behind him. He looked around again for his glasses, but could not find them. His stomach growled at the scent of the fish. He lifted the dome and decided he would find his glasses after he ate.

The salmon was perfect. Just barely done so that it was moist and flavorful. The buttery chardonnay warmed him. He emptied the last of the wine bottle into the glass, looked in his suitcase for his client files, and took them to the night table next to the bed.

He sat the wine glass on the night table next to the files and felt around the bed for his glasses. They weren't in the bed.

He got down onto the floor and lifted the sheet, the base of the bed was flush with the floor, but his glasses weren't there. Roger frowned.

He looked around the base of the bed and beside the night table, but his glasses were nowhere to be found. He felt a slight aching in his head. The hotel room phone rang again.

"Mr. Gordon. It's Alphonse. Did you enjoy your meal?"

"Yes. The meal was fine." There was a pause.

"Is everything all right, Mr. Gordon?"

"Yes, yes, I just can't seem to find my glasses. I fell asleep and I can't find them."

"Perhaps reach under the headboard? They might have slipped under there."

"Ok Alphonse. I will. Thank you."

"You're very welcome Mr. Gordon. If there's anything else you need. Anything at all, please let me know."

Roger hung up. He ran his hand under the headboard. He felt his glasses between the wall and the mattress. He pulled them out and put them back on.

"How did they...?" Roger wondered, but his head throbbed, and dislodged the thought. He yawned, looked at the client files, took off his glasses, placed them purposefully onto the night table, and laid back on the soft pillows.

The phone rang and startled him awake. He started to reach for his glasses, but realized his arm was under the headboard, between the mattress and the wall.

He grunted and pulled it out, reached for his glasses, and knocked the wine glass over. It shattered on the floor.

"Damnit!" Roger swung his legs onto the floor and looked at the night table. His glasses weren't there.

"Probably on the floor." He thought, and made his way to the dresser, answering the phone.

"Hello?"

"Mr. Gordon. It's Alphonse. Just checking to make sure you found your glasses."

"Yes, Alphonse. I found my glasses." Roger looked over at the night table, saw the broken glass on the floor, but did not see his glasses.

"Alphonse. I've broken a glass in my room. Can you have someone come up to clean up the glass please? I'm very sorry."

"Oh it's no trouble at all Mr. Gordon. I'll send someone up right away." Roger hung up and walked over to the night table, careful to avoid the broken glass. He did not see his glasses. He looked at the headboard.

He distinctly remembered putting his glasses on the night table. But they weren't there and they weren't on the floor. He stared at the headboard.

"This is ridiculous." He thought, and got on the bed, ran his hand under the headboard, down between the wall and the mattress.

Once again, he felt his glasses.

"That's bullshit." Roger said out loud. He pulled them out from between the mattress and the wall. He had a full-on headache now. He put his glasses onto the night table and laid back on the bed, rubbing his head and waiting for someone to come up and take care of the glass on the floor. He closed his eyes, but then opened them again and looked at his glasses on the night table.

Roger closed his eyes again.

Someone was pulling on his arm and leg. Pulling him downward, into what felt like velvet.

The phone rang.

Roger woke up. His left arm and left leg were under the headboard, between the mattress and the wall.

"What the hell?" He blurted. He pulled his arm and leg out. The phone continued to ring. He got up, looked at the night table. His glasses were right where he left them. He put them on.

He looked down at the floor near the nightstand. No broken glass.

Roger was confused and his brain was fuzzy. The phone rang again. He shook his head and answered it.

"Alphonse?"

"Yes, Mr. Gordon. This is your 3:30 wake up call."

"What?"

"You requested a 3:30 a.m. wake up call Mr. Gordon. You told the bellman that you needed to get up early to review some client files."

"Wait. What bellman?"

"His name is Gregory, sir. He came to your room last night and cleaned up the glass. He said that you let him in, handed him five dollars, and got right back into bed. You told him you needed the wake up call and then you fell back asleep. He cleaned up the glass and left."

Roger didn't remember any of this happening.

"I don't rememb...I..."

"Did you need anything else, Mr. Gordon?"

"No...I just...no, Alphonse. Thank you." Roger hung up. His head was pounding now. He reached down and unplugged the phone cord, breaking off the tip of the cord.

"No more phone calls tonight, Alphonse." He thought, moving back to the bed. There was no way he was looking at client files. He laid back down and closed his eyes.

He was being pulled down again. He felt the familiar velvet around him, over his legs, then his arms. He wanted to wake up. He wanted the hotel phone to ring. He wanted Alphonse to check on him.

The velvet moved up to his neck.

"Wake up Roger!" His unconscious mind cried out. The velvet moved up over his mouth, then over his nose. He tried to draw in breath, but couldn't.

"Please...Alphonse." Roger heard his mind plead.

Then he heard Alphonse's voice, but his tone was different. It didn't bring Roger comfort. It brought terror.

"Mr. Gordon. I'm so happy you'll be..." Then Alphonse's voice became strained and he growled...

"staying with us."

Alan Villery was exhausted after a long flight. He swiped the key card in front of the sensor on the door of room 1124 and the green light glowed. He turned the door handle and let himself in.

He wheeled his suitcase into the room and the door clicked shut behind him. He put his suitcase next to the dresser and slipped off his shoes. He sat on the bed and rubbed his eyes.

The hotel phone rang.

Alan sighed and got up, walked over to the dresser, and answered the phone.

"Hello?"

Then Alan looked down at the floor as he listened halfheartedly. He saw the end of the phone wire lying, unplugged, the tip of the plug torn off.

"Hello Mr. Villery. It's the 150th anniversary of the Hotel Campion and I'm so happy you'll be staying with us."

Alan frowned and tried to shake off his fatigue as he looked at the unplugged wire. He reached down and lifted it up. It ran back to the back of the phone, but the other end wasn't plugged in, yet, there was a man speaking to him on the other end of the line.

"Sorry," Alan said, staring, perplexed, at the broken phone cord. "What were you saying?"

"Oh," the man continued, "I was just saying that it's the Hotel Campion's 150th anniversary and if there's anything you need, anything at all, please let me know."

As he stared at the unplugged phone, he faintly heard the man on the other end of the phone.

So if you need anything, Mr. Villery, anthing at all, my name....

is Roger."