11:34

11:34
Takes place in the same world as "The Key"
Written by James Cannon

         The afternoon air was warm and relaxing. The sky was an orange hue slowly fading into a deep bluish purple. Charles starred at the sky, and then quickly shifted his view back to the road before him. He had been traveling for well over twenty-four hours. He had left for Maine the previous morning with his small rented trailer full of his and his wife's furniture.
         He hated moving. It was expensive, time consuming, and stressful. But most of all, it took him away from his precious paint brushes. He loved his work more than anything, including his wife, and everyone knew it. He loved the way the brush stroked the paper and the way it sounded when he rinsed his brushes in a can of scentless paint thinner.
         He had been a struggling artist since he was still in high school, selling his art to papers, teachers, friends, and even parents of friends. The love of art is what kept him going, it was his fuel in life.
         The road ahead of him seemed to go on forever and it was starting to pass into his second night on the road. He decided that he would pull off at the next motel he saw.
         That opportunity came only a few minutes later. It was a crudely painted sign that read: 1100 Motel.
         As he drove down the deserted road he only hoped that the motel was still in operation. As an artist, he knew that the reliability of an establishment wasn't worth its weight in riches if it was not a big name such as Hilton, Holiday Inn, or Motel Six. He had never heard the name of this Motel. Eleven Hundred Motel. He found himself repeating it over and over in his head as if he were in a trance.
         He rounded a bend in the road and saw the brightly lit motel. The building was simple and Charles used basic math to count about fifty rooms. The parking lot was practically empty which didn't surprise him and for some reason the Motel gave Charles an elegant impression. What scared him most about the place is that it probably made the most money when high school seniors came here on prom night. It seemed almost like a prostitution of some kind. That was the thing he didn't like about motels.
         He gave up the thought, whether because he was too tired or he felt a supernatural pull away from it he wasn't sure, and pulled into a parking space close to the front office. He stepped out of the car into the southern humidity and, almost instantly, began to sweat. His loose flannel shirt hung over his shoulders, gently swaying in it breeze. Under the long sleeve shirt he was wearing a black band-t that just touched the trim of his tight jeans.
         He walked up the small path to the office and walked in. It was hot, as if someone had the heat on. There was a small bald man with glasses sitting behind the counter reading a thick paper-back novel. Charles looked at him and said "Excuse me sir,"
         The little man looked up at him then held up a thin and crooked finger. Charles could see his eyes quickly scanning a paragraph, looking for a place to stop.
         Charles waited patiently, but then the man finished the column and eagerly turned the page. "Excuse me, sir?" The man only glanced up at him this time and continued his reading. Charles became enraged and slammed him fist on the counter. "I want a damned room!"
         The man calmly put a bookmark in place where he was reading and set the book on a small table next to him. He stood and walked up to the counter opposite Charles, which did surprise him. Charles never got a calm response from someone he had just lost his temper with, and it frightened him that this small man had not even flinched.
         "Please sign here, sir." He put a bony finger down next to a room number. "I believe that, in this case, room number eleven thirty-four will suit your needs."
         Charles did nothing but sign his name next to the man's finger. Room 1134. He handed the man back his pen, and he handed Charles an odd looking skeleton key. It was decorated with demonic looking creatures with wings, giant spiders killing people in rose red webs, and depictions of angels being slain by horned demons. He shivered, nodded to the desk clerk, and walked out the door.
         When Charles turned and looked back into the office, he saw the small man back in his book, and he sighed with relief.
         The signs around the oddly structured grounds were pointing in random directions with numbers that didn't follow any correlation. After a long search he found room 1134. The door was composed of a heavy and thick maple. There were three strong bands of semi-rusted steel crossing the door. The handle was ivory.
         He slid the key into its archaic lock. It looked as if it hadn't been used in years. He turned it and found that his observation had been correct. It was hard to turn, but he had a superfluity of finger strength from his many years of painting to get the job done. As the lock clacked and cranked, Charles stepped away from the door. 'Why is it making so much noise?' he thought, 'How tightly locked is this door?'
         The noise finally stopped and he cautiously pushed the door open. Inside was as cold as ice and as dark as a moonless night. He closed the door behind him and felt for a light switch. The door made its ruckus again and by the time he found the switch he realized that he had left the key in the hole outside. When he went to retrieve it, he saw that there was not a lock inside. Not only that, but there wasn't even a knob. He felt around the door in a panic. There was no way out.
         He scurried into the bathroom, noting the time displayed on the digital alarm clock as he passed it. 11:34. He flipped the switch and moved to the small window. He pulled at if vigorously but only got it open a few inches. He peeked through the small opening. All he saw was a thick plank of wood. The window had been boarded from the other side.
         He breathed deeply and examined his surroundings. There was a bathtub with a closed shower curtain, a sink, a toilet, and a grimy mirror. He walked back into the main room and looked around. A TV occupied a corner. There was a bed across from that and next to the bed there was a night stand, probably with a bible in its drawer. Something he had never been too keen on.
         He walked over to the bed and threw back the sheets. He was horrified at what he saw. The sheets beneath the crimson comforter were smeared with red blood and browning guts. Charles made out a bloody face imprint on the pillow. He reared back in disgust and ran to the bathroom to vomit.
         He got to the toilet and fell to his knees. He hastily opened it and puked into it, all the while wanting to back away. The toilet was filled with little red squirming creatures. As soon as he was finished he stood and examined them from a distance. They were aborted fetuses. Hundreds of them. Charles felt like vomiting again, but had nothing left to give. He pulled down the shower curtain and spread it over the toilet.
         He couldn't help but glance into the tub. It was filled with black water, and he found himself oddly relieved. He sprinted from the bathroom and slammed the front door as hard as he could with both fists. "Someone help me! Please!" He screamed.
         After a few minutes of pounding he fell to his knees and rested his head against the knobbles door. He only wept for a few moments, then stood and turned on the TV. There was no cable. It was just a black screen with a whit line running down the center. "Just fuckin great," he said "I'm actually goanna read the bible..."
         He turned from the television and sat on the edge of the bed closest to the night stand. He stared at it for a few moments, then lunged at it and opened the drawer. Inside there was no religious book, but a set of old barber blades. All of them were shined to perfection with not one spot of rust on them. He slid the drawer closed and put his head in his hands in confusion.
         What was happening? He thought the question a hundred times in his head. Then he heard a sloshing sound coming from the bathroom. A smell like a thousand rotting corpses reached his nose and made his mouth fill with bile. He quickly put a hand over his face and stood. He slowly moved sideways and caught a glimpse of some deep maroon-colored creature in the mirror. He moved back to the bed and quietly sat down wide eyed. He looked at the clock out of habit and was shocked that it still said 11:34.
         He shifted his gaze back to the bathroom and jumped. A thing with the body of a well built man stood in the doorway. Staring at him. It had two large arching wings and its face was like a bull dog with huge fangs and razor sharp teeth. The thing took a step toward him and said something in a tongue that burned Charles's ears. He twitched and repeated himself, this time with more anger in his tone.
         "I can't understand you! Please stop talking like that! It hurts!" Charles yelled.
         The thing just smiled and said, in perfect English, "You speak in the voice of my slaves! By what unfortunate circumstance have you landed yourself here?" His tone seemed to sooth Charles's ears, to make them run with warm water. The things eyes flashed crimson, and then returned to normal.
         "I... I needed a room... I'm moving to Maine... Um... with my wife."
         The creature cocked his head to the side. "Wife? Where is she?"
         "She is already there, I sent her on a plane and I took our car with a trailer full of furniture."
         "Interesting."
         Charles put a hand on his ear and felt something wet. He looked at his fingers and saw blood. His ears were bleeding. He panicked and ran to the nightstand. He pulled the largest of the blades out, tipping over the alarm clock. He looked at the inverted numbers and saw four letters. hE:ll. He held the blade up at the creature.
         "You dare deceive Belial?" the creature smiled with a twist of his wrist.
         Charles quickly turned the blade and dug it deep into his own throat. He ripped it away and a trail of blood followed in an arch. He fell on his side, face first onto the clean white pillow.
         Gasping deeply he dropped the skeleton key back on the counter and looked the tenant in his eyes. "No thanks... I'll get another room... somewhere else." As he turned from the counter his eyes flashed crimson, and then returned to normal.