It Came To Kill Me

American Gothic | Soft/Quiet | Use the thought "It came to kill me"

         It came to kill me. I just know it. At first I thought I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. But now I know. It wouldn’t have mattered where I stopped for the night. This thing would have found me regardless. The first incident, with the fire coming out of nowhere was one hell of a close call. I am lucky to have survived, considering at least 40 of the other guests got caught up in the flames, reduced to ashes just like the timbers of the old mansion. Now I am beginning to wish I could have died right then and there. At this rate I will suffer a psychotic breakdown and spend the rest of my natural life locked in a room with pillowed walls.
         The second hotel was worse. What in the world had possessed that man, causing him to walk the halls, breaking down doors and pumping slugs into every guest? A fucking Jehovah’s Witness roaming the country, spreading the gospel with no prior criminal record does not just go on a killing rampage with a stolen weapon. If I hadn’t been down in the parking lot having a smoke I would have been one of the lucky 16. My own luck will run out sooner or later. And if this thing really is after me, then all of these other guests are just innocent bystanders. Killing myself may actually save more lives.
         The third hotel, what happened there? Oh yeah, The top floor of the west wing had decided to call it quits. All of that wood and brick cascading down to the ground floor, trapping another 20 or so beneath the rubble. If the bathroom faucet hadn’t been dripping. . .if those sounds hadn’t echoed throughout my room preventing me from sleeping. . .well I wouldn’t have been moved to the opposite side of the hotel just moments before the accident.
         For the love of god is there not a normal chain hotel in this state? Give me a nice motel 8 or a Hilton for fuck’s sake. These creepy old mansions just beg for supernatural disasters. Who am I kidding. This thing came to kill me. ME. Yet all it has managed to do is leave a trail of death and despair while nudging me closer and closer to the brink of insanity. Fuck it. It’s time to stop for the evening. If I drive another mile I’m likely to pass out and veer straight off the side of this mountain. That wouldn’t be all bad, this thing will get me eventually. At least by driving off the road I can take matters into my own hands. Screw that, I’m not ready to die. I’ll take my chances again with another hotel. Maybe tonight I will sleep right through whatever hell hole it has prepared for me. And in the morning I will never wake up.

______________________

         As I drive away from the hotel the next morning it seems as if the spell has finally been broken. No fires, no possessed gunmen, no crumbling buildings. What a relief. Except not. This man on the radio is talking about 8 people found hanging from the rafters of the great room at the hotel I just left. How the hell did I escape that one? If IT was there for me I should be hanging right beside the others. But I slept soundly the entire night. God dammit, flat tire. After pulling to the side of the road and opening the trunk I see it. A large wooden spool of nylon rope. HAHAHA oh yeah. It didn’t come to kill me. I came to kill them. I’d better remember that before I lose my mind.