Chapter 2: Chapter 1
The headlights of a Volkswagen Beetle glowed alone on the road. The fog enveloping them, obscured the driver's view, and she pushed her bangs out of her face. The curls spring back, fighting with their owner and haphazardly falling all over her face. The light blue car skittered lazily up the road. The bumper was scattered with stickers; a small bear poked its head out through the rearview mirror, a university logo on the handle of the trunk, a "peace" decal flower right above the right taillight, and a rectangular rainbow flag at the very bottom of the car. The canvas of the car was painted with various signatures along the rear doors in all colours. The car seemed weathered; more accurately, well loved. The driver sped past a light orange sign that donned the large white letters; "Welcome to Lyderwood! Don't be in a rush to say goodbye. Enjoy your stay!
The girl let out a sigh, rolling down her windows, allowing the autumn breeze to fill the car. The car approached a rickety building. The once white walls, now a faded grey, showed their age in the plethora of cracks that revealed themselves along the wall's bumpy surface. Vines draped over the roof of the building, intertwining with the small plants pushing out of the cracks in the walls. The neon sign poking through the greenery read "MOTEL: Lyderwood Courtyard."
The driver parked her beetle out front of the building. She got out, fishing through the trunk for a small pink floral suitcase. Entering the motel, she approached the front desk.
"Checking in. Genevieve Montgomery."
"One moment, miss." The petite receptionist turned and began to fiddle with the computer behind her. Genevieve used this opportunity to look around the motel. She knew all about this town. This motel was the only thing keeping it in business. She expected a lot, but not… this.
To the left of the desk sat two couches and an ottoman. One couch, pressed up against the window, was neon orange and inexplicably stained a disconcerting green colour right in the middle. The stain was vibrant and quite large. The other couch, a muted pink, sat opposite from the orange couch and had a print of faded cornucopias of some sort. To the right of that couch was the ottoman made of wicker. Between the two couches lay a satin glass coffee table with a clear star pattern. Genevieve turned her body to rest her back on the counter, scanning the remainder of the lobby. Far in the back was a dining area. She could make out the silverware on the cocktail tables. A small gift shop and toiletries store was to her left. The entire floor was covered in a tacky burnt orange carpet with a leaf pattern trim. It clashed horribly with the orange couch. The motel door opened, and the doorbell rang. In walked two people, a short woman accompanied by a fidgety man. The woman reached up to slap him on the back, grinning widely.
"Now what are you so worried about? Any day now, I promise."
"But…" the man retorted.
"No buts, Oliver. Man up for Christ's sake."
The woman collapsed onto the orange couch, and Oliver joined her.
"All ready, miss." The receptionist chimed. Genevieve turned, startled.
"Thank you," she said, reaching for the keycard in the receptionist's hands.
"Oh look, Ollie. We've got a newbie." Genevieve heard the same voice from behind her. She turned, "Excuse me?"
The woman stood up and walked over to Genevieve. "Name's Irene. That's Oliver. We're Courtyard veterans. I'm sure you know the deal. You're here the same as everyone else, I take it? All the newbies have the sad puppy look when they wander in here first."
Oliver jumped up and grabbed Irene by the shoulders. "Please, don't mind her. She likes to think she's friendly."
"No, it's alright." Genevieve smiled. "What did you mean by 'here the same as everyone else?' Is there a particular reason to be here?"
A puzzled look crossed Irene's face. "For the spot, no? Most people are here for the spot. Few just pass through. Why would anyone come through this shithole?"
"Excuse me!" The receptionist piped up.
"You're excused, babe." Irene threw back. "So, for business or pleasure, newbie?"
Genevieve shuffled, pulling her suitcase closer to her. "Yeah, I'm here because of the spot. How did you know that?"
Irene laughed. "Didn't I mention? Everyone here is. This is the last stop for everyone in Lyderwood. We're all here for the same reason, huh, Ollie?"
Oliver turned beet red, shaking Irene's shoulders. "You can't just say shit like that Irene. Leave her alone."
Irene chuckled again. "I'm just giving the girl an introduction. Nice to meet you. I don't think I caught your name."
Irene brandished her hand.
Genevieve blushed lightly, before forcing a polite smile. "Genevieve. Hard to get a word in edgewise with you, is it?" She reached out to shake Irene's hand. "I'm going to go try and get some sleep now, but it was nice meeting you."
Genevieve moved to leave, but was called by the receptionist.
"Don't worry about Irene, she picks on everyone in here. You'll get used to it very fast. We're like a family here. I'm Chelsea by the way." She smiled, her teeth reflecting the light of the small desk lamp. Her blonde hair fell around her shoulders, a small blue uniform beret resting on the crown of her head. Her doll-like features were inviting. She was easy on the eyes, and her soft voice added to her allure. "Enjoy your stay Genevieve."
Genevieve smiled and walked off to the elevator. Her keycard read 212. "Second floor." She spoke aloud. She pressed the bronze button, and the elevator whirred to life, bringing her a flight down. She counted down the numbers in a low whisper before arriving at her room. Entering, she threw herself onto the bed, letting out a prolonged groan. She lay on her stomach for a minute, then she sat up. Kicking her shoes off her feet, she settled herself into a criss-cross applesauce position, tucking her toes as far under her thighs as they would go. She pulled her hair back with a thin black rubber band into a loose pile atop her head. Then she observed. Genevieve was an observant girl. In her 19 years of life, she found that people don't say what they mean, even if not on purpose. She determined that the best way to know the truth is through observation. Little details about people and places told her everything she needed to know. That was the reason she didn't talk much. She didn't need to, the world spoke in her stead.
The room was a comfortable sized room. It smelled of dampness, slightly of mildew. In the corner was a door, a connector to the room adjacent Genevieve assumed. In front of the door sat a small electric fan, to its left a desk of plywood. It stood on thin legs, looking flimsy, as if one breath could cause it to fall over. A bible rested on its surface, under it, a mini fridge. There was a cushioned arm chair in front of the desk, clearly not designed to go with it, but nonetheless pushed together to make a mismatched set. A small coffee table was to the left of the desk, a coffee maker and assorted coffees and teas on it. The bathroom was close to the door, the light was on and the bathroom fan hummed softly. A full length mirror was positioned directly opposite to Genevieve's bed.
She flopped back, stretching her arms above her on the bed. "I've been in worse places," she thought. "It won't be too bad, spending my last few days here. I've heard it's a cute town." She sat in a daze, staring up at the ceiling, thinking. She closed her eyes and rolled onto her side. She felt the air around her close up, the world giving her a cosy hug. The smell of rain and wet leaves drifted into her room. She heard the radiator behind her bed click on. Hot air filled the room and rain began to patter behind the window. Everything was still, everything was silent. She felt comfortable, at home, in peace. "Maybe this is why the town draws so many people to it," she wondered.. Genevieve didn't even notice herself fall asleep.
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ghostcryptid
ghostcryptid Have some idea about my story? Comment it and let me know. The current direction is very flexible and open to feedback. I apprieciate you guys taking interest in this book.
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