Friday Scary Story, April 24, 2015

Alaska.  Known for it's beauty.

I wanted to experience it.  I wanted to prove I could travel alone. Take care of myself.

It was a mistake.

Two hundred and sixty miles North of Anchorage, I needed gas.  I was tired, and I needed a hot shower.

Mobile homes, a gas station, and a shot up "Motel" sign.  It seemed good enough.

When the kid at the front desk told me there were no rooms available, I was offended.  There were no cars, other than mine.  I forced the situation.  He gave in.  

I got a room.  It looks like no one has been in here for years.  There are dead bugs all over.

I should of left sooner.
 
I tried, but the kid said he couldn't help me any more.  Then he looked over my shoulder, and stopped talking.

I turned around.  Across the room, there were five people sitting at a bar.  They were staring at me.  I felt fear.  One got up and slowly walked past me.  He stared hard into my eyes, smiled, then spit.  He spit out a fingernail. An entire fingernail.


The kid won't look at me any more.


I'm back in my room, hiding.  My car is gone, they've moved it.  

Outside my window, I can see them.  They are skinning and carving up animals.  I see the pieces.  They are in a pile.

There are feet.

Severed human feet.