Hostel of Horrors

I look down at my map again to double check the address. Make a left turn here, and then follow the road to the end of the street. I am halfway down the street when the building starts coming into view. I squint to try to get a better look, but the beads of sweat are starting to drip into my eyes. The afternoon sun is intense, and my clothes are so wet that there’s no separation between my skin and the fabric. My pack is feeling heavier by the minute. It shouldn’t be much longer now.

I finally arrive at the building, but it’s hard to distinguish from all the trees and overgrown plants growing around the property. It doesn’t seem like the picture I saw on the website, but those pictures were so small and fuzzy you couldn’t see much. I walk up the cement stairs to the reception desk, and suddenly a strong wind pushes me into the doorway. Feeling startled, I brush back my hair to try to look more composed. As it turns out, there isn’t anyone inside. I peel off my backpack and set it down beside the worn-out chair. Scanning the room, it looks like nobody has stayed here for a long time. Maybe this is the wrong place? I glance down at the reception desk, trying to find something with a name or address listed on it. I notice a business card attached to a side cabinet with scotch tape that’s gone yellow over time. Sure enough, it’s the same information I have on my form.

I decide to walk around the dimly lit common area, looking around corners for any sign of life. Everything sits very still, as if it is frozen in time. I see a television in the distance, which looks surprisingly new, so I search around for a remote to turn it on.

“Can I help…” a deep voice echoes in the distance.

“Aaahh!!!” I whip around so quickly from shock that I almost knock over the TV.

The large, stocky man is standing motionless in the doorway, his eyes piercing back at me.

“I’m here for the room. I mean…um….this is the Darkwoods Hostel, right?” I asked with a quiver in my voice.

“That’s right. You got a booking here?” the man replied in a deep monotone voice.

“Uh….(say no! say no!)…um…I think so.” 

“What’s your name?” he shot back.

“It’s uh…it’s under Sanders. My name is Kate Sanders.” I said, feeling pressure to cooperate with the man.

“Let’s see…Kate Sanders.” 

The man scans down the dog-eared pages of the registration book. There are scribbles and notes beside guest names. Many of the names have giant Xs through them, which seems odd. Under today’s date, only my name is listed. Am I the only person staying here tonight? Before my thoughts carry me further into panic, the sound of birds cackling brings me back to reality.

“Here it is. Kate Sanders for 3 nights. You owe $24.00 plus a key deposit of $10.00. Hope you have cash, ‘cause we don’t take cards here.”

Interesting, the key deposit is almost half the amount for the 3-night room fee. Maybe they’ve had problems with people losing their keys. Anyway the room is cheap, and I’m sure this place isn’t as bad as it seems. First impressions can sometimes be inaccurate, right?

I hand the cash over to the man, who places it into a tin can underneath the desk. There are wads of other bills in the can, so there must be other guests staying here. Just seems strange he doesn’t have a more modern filing system like other hostels.

The man hands me the room key, then asks, “Do you need help with yer bags, or are y’alright there?”

Uh no, I’m ok. Thanks.”

There is no way I am letting that man near by pack. So I heave it onto my shoulders and head toward the room. According to the key I’m in Room 3. Wonder how many rooms they have here? Walking down the hall there are four doors, but I don’t see a Room #3. I then notice a small hallway leading to another section of the building. It is dark except for a small flickering overhead light bulb. The old linoleum floors creak with every step I take, and I’m feeling nervous now. There’s Room 7, Room 5 and Room 2. Where is Room 3?

Then I notice a small door on the right near the end of the hallway. There doesn’t appear to be a number on the door, but I can tell from a faint outline that one used to be affixed to the door. I guess it had fallen off at some point. I turn my key in the lock, and after a few tries I finally open the door.

The first thing I notice is the dirty, musty smell wafting over me as I walk through the doorway. There is a small bed off to the side, just under the large window. The window is open, so at least some fresh air can get into the room. I sit down on the bed to remove my pack, and immediately feel springs poking up into my legs. Unfortunately the springs do little for cushioning, as the bed is flat from generations of use.

I stand up and immediately pull back the sheets, expecting little critters to come scurrying out. After a few months of backpacking I’ve seen a lot of scary beds in seemingly nice looking places. But no critters come out, and the sheets actually look pretty good. Not believing what I saw, I pulled the fitted sheet off from the right corner and scan the mattress. The mattress was certainly old, but there doesn’t seem to be any evidence of bug matter.

I sit back down on the bed and let out a sigh of relief. In front of me is a large wooden cabinet, which looks like it used to be a wardrobe unit. The doors have been taken off and some of the drawers are missing. Dust and spider webs have now made their home in this cabinet, so I decide to keep all my clothes safely in my backpack with the zippers pulled up.

I just realize that the owner didn’t show me where the bathrooms were located. After locking the door I stroll back down the dark hallway and look for signs of a bathroom. They all seem to be regular rooms, so it must be down another hall. I turn the corner and see a set of stairs leading steeply down into a basement area. It’s dark as well except for cracks of light shining between the wood planks. The stairs are worn and thick from dust, and with each step I hold my breath hoping nothing bad would happen. 

I finally reach the bottom, and to my right is the toilet room. There is a sharp pungent odour from chemical cleaner used to cover up bathroom smells, and barely enough toilet paper for one visit. The next room has a small shower stall, but the paint on the walls is peeling off so bad that the metal underneath is showing. I shudder with the thought of being naked in the stall, and run out the door.

I immediately hit a brick wall. Or so I thought was a brick wall. It was the man from the reception desk, standing firmly with a sneer on his face.

“Running away, are we?”

“No, no, no…I just realized I forgot something upstairs.” I replied with a lump in my throat.

I try to sneak past him, but his body takes up the entire width of the hall. Please let me past, please!!! I look for any possible opening to get by, and then suddenly he grabs my arm. I freeze with fear, and look up into his eyes.

“I don’t want no funny businesses in this place, got it? Or there’ll be consequences.” he snarled.

“Y-y-y-yes…of course. I won’t do a thing, I p-p-p-promise.” 

I’ve never stuttered in my life, but at this moment my jaw can’t stop trembling. Snapshots of the scariest horror movies I had ever seen are flashing through my head. Please let me live! I’ll stay in my room and be quiet, I promise!

The man’s overalls are worn and stained, and the shirt underneath is faded from the sun. His hands are gnarled up from years of hard labour, and they grip my arm so severely I’m afraid it will leave bruises. Several of his fingernails are black and purple, and there’s a scar along the indent of his left thumb.

The man must have noticed my look of desperation, and he slowly steps his left foot back to let me walk past. He watches my every move as I slither by with fear. Every muscle is shaking at this point, and I don’t know how I will make it up the stairs without tripping.

I slice down the dark hallway to my room and quickly shut the door. Pulling back the comforter I bound into bed and try to disappear under the covers. I shut my eyes, trying to recall happy memories that will transport me out of here. My breath is short and fast, and my muscles won’t stop trembling. The image of that scary man won’t get out of my head, and the sound of his voice echoes through me. I’ve never felt so scared in my life. Try to relax, try to relax, I keep repeating. It’s all just a bad dream. My muscles gradually start loosening, and my breath gets a little deeper. The intensity of my thoughts became tiring, and I feel a headache coming on. But after a while I slowly drift off to sleep, curled up tight as a ball.

Three hours later I awake with the sound of hammering just outside my window. Still feeling foggy, I push the covers back to get some air. I then realize where I am, and it wasn’t a dream. My muscles still feel cramped, and it’s difficult to move after hours of clenching.

I slowly peer through the crack in the window to see who is hammering. It looks like a man in his 20s, and he’s scruffy like the scary man. He’s hammering planks of wood together, and appears to be making a box.

My body suddenly surges away from the window and my eyes open wide in panic. Is that what I think it is? Is he making a COFFIN? I go back to the window to look again. The box is long and narrow, with a slightly curved end. The young man is hammering the last plank to the box, which appears to be made out of scraps of wood. After he finishes hammering he drags it over to a metal shed and puts it inside. The inside of the shed is too dark to see if there are more of these boxes, but my guess is this isn’t the first time he’s made something like this. The young man comes out of the shed and glances up to see me staring at him. I shudder, then crouch down below the window. Oh crap, he’s gonna be after me too! I consider hiding under the covers again, but I’ll try to be braver this time.

I try to process what I just saw, wondering if I had mistakenly assumed the worst. The box did look coffin-like, however maybe it wasn’t actually a coffin. But what else could it be, and why aren’t there any other guests around? Maybe I should take a walk around the property to investigate. Wait, are you crazy? You might see the scary man again! Do you really want to risk running into him again?

Although I know logically it would be safer to stay in my room, the curious part of me takes control of the situation. So down the hall I go, wandering through the place until I am outside. By the time I reach the backyard area where the young man was making the coffins, there is no one to be found. These people would be experts at hide and seek, or a murder mystery game. Yikes, don’t think of that right now!!

The backyard is full of junk – old signs, rusted cars, appliances that haven’t worked for years and odd sheets of metal lying around. Obviously no one has made an attempt to clean up the junk, as the plant life is curled up around the junk in an effort to keep growing. Generations of mess have built up over the years, but nobody cares.

I then spot the young man, who is whispering to the scary man by a large tree. Scary man yells something back then stomps off. I find an old washer to hide behind, but his quick footsteps are getting closer. Should I sprint back, hoping he won’t catch me? Or should I crouch down small behind this washer? No time to think, hurry up!

My body starts to sprint out of instinct, like an animal running away from its predator. My feet know exactly where to go, before my mind could process obstacles like stairs and tight corners. I’m almost to my room when I realize I left my sweater by the washer. Crap, that was my favourite sweater! For a second I think about going back, but I don’t want to risk it this time. They might put me in the coffin and store me away forever.

When I return safely to my room, I notice the sun is starting to go down. It will be dark soon, and things will seem even scarier. I haven’t eaten any dinner, but hunger is the last thing on my mind. Surviving three nights in this place without getting kidnapped, mamed or something worse become my priority.

I try to take my mind off this horrible situation by reading one of my novels. Although I seem to be reading, my eyes are simply scanning over the same paragraph a hundred times. I can’t focus on anything but the scary man, the coffin, and the hostile discussion those two men had. What are they planning, and does it (gulp!) involve me? What am I going to do? I don’t have a phone to call anyone, and the closest town is an hour’s walk. The buses don’t run on the weekends either. If I try to escape they could easily catch up with me by car, especially since there’s only one road out of here. I’m stuck here, and there’s nothing I can do.

With that thought in mind, my eyes start welling up with fear, and I wish I were back at home with my family. This wasn’t supposed to happen, I do a lot of research on good, safe places to stay. I was sure this place got a high rating on the hostels website, but it clearly should be shut down. My mind is spinning with confusion, and I can’t take the stress much longer.

I then hear a knock on the door. Oh crap, they’re after me! They’re gonna put me in that coffin! I jump off the bed and try to squeeze my body under the bed frame. Maybe they won’t see me under here…be very, very quiet.

The person knocks again, and then slowly turns the doorknob. I can see their dirty, worn shoes come toward me, so I slide further under the bed frame to hide. The shoes walk to the other side of the bed, then a hand lifts up the comforter. When I see the person’s face, it’s clear it doesn’t belong to the scary man or the young man. It is a gentle, grandmotherly face smiling back at me.

“Are you ok, dear? Did the fellas scare you?” the woman said in a soft tone.

I try to speak, but the words won’t come out. My throat is dry from fear, and the rest of my body can’t move.

“Come out from under the bed, dear. It’s ok, I won’t hurt you. My name is Betty.” The woman re-assured me, and reaches her soft hand out to me.

I hesitate, but feel like I can trust her. I stretch out my arm and place my palm in hers. Instantly I feel safe again, even though my body is still shivering. With the woman’s help, I pull myself out from under the bed. When I am able to stand up I see her gentle face again, and she’s wearing a dress with small pink flowers on it. Her eyes sense my tired, stressed body, and she reaches out her arms to hug me. It feels so comforting that I almost start crying again.

“My poor dear, those fellas take things too far. Every year I tell them….”

“What do you mean, take things too far?” I asked forcefully, wanting desperately to know what was going on.

“My dear, what you see is not what you think.” She tried to re-assure me.

The reaction of my blank, confused face prompts her to ask, “Dear, do you know what day it is today?”

“What day it is? What do you mean?”

“Dear, today is October 31.” She said with a smile.

“So? October 31….” I then realized today is actually Halloween.

“The boys like to fix up the place like a haunted house every year, and Sam dresses up in old clothes.”

Is Sam the scary man? Is that who she is talking about?

“Sam is my husband, who checked you in today. I’m so sorry if he scared you today.”

“He sure did! He grabbed my arm when I was down by the washroom, and wouldn’t let me leave! Why would he do something like that for fun?

“Sam does get carried away with the costume, and I’ve tried talking to him about it many times. I’m so sorry, dear.”

“OK, so I assume the coffins being built in the backyard are for Halloween too?”

“Yes, they decorate them with skeletons from the costume shop in town.”

Suddenly it all starts to make sense, except for one thing.

“What were the men fighting about in the backyard?”

“Every year my son Peter tries to make things a little scarier around here for Halloween. This year he wanted to put real pythons into the coffins to scare people. But Sam wouldn’t let him do it, and Peter got upset at him.”

“What??? What kind of….”

“I know dear, they go too far. But now you know what’s going on, and there’s nothing to fear. Come down to the kitchen and I’ll fix you something to eat.”

She takes my hand and leads me down to the kitchen. Halloween decorations are hanging from the ceiling, and a large bowl of candy is sitting by the door. Feeling relieved, I sit down at the kitchen table while Betty pours some hot beef stew into a bowl. My stomach is growling with hunger, so I’m glad to finally be able to eat. With the first spoonful of stew I notice it has a different flavour. The beef has a chicken taste, and I don’t recognize the vegetables.

“What kind of meat is this? I’ve never tasted it before. And the vegetables are different too.” I asked inquisitively.

“Oh, it’s a recipe I’ve used for years. It’s a special kind of meat you can only get around this part of town. We grow the vegetables ourselves, and mix other goodies into it for a unique taste. Do you like it, dear?”

“Yes, it’s pretty good. Can you give me the recipe?”

“No dear, it’s a secret that we’ve kept for years. Finish up, you want to get every morsel eaten up.”

I am almost finished the stew when I start to get a sick feeling in my stomach. Something wasn’t right about this stew. I stopped eating and put my spoon down.

“What’s wrong dear?”

“Betty, what did you say this meat was again?”

“It’s special meat that you only get…”

“What KIND of meat?”

It’s at that moment I realize what I just ate. I storm out of the kitchen and run directly to the shed. I throw open the shed door and stand there in shock.

***

To this day I still feel the shock from that evening, and cannot eat anything related to beef stew. My friends think I made up the story, but they weren’t there that horrific night at the Darkwoods Hostel.