Amber Rivers

Numb. That’s how Kevin Corbett felt. He was stuck in his head. Thinking about the next paragraph. Writer’s block was a curse. A long lasting one that could only be cured if even a word would pop out of his dark brown spiky hair.

His mocha eyes were tired. Worn from looking at the screen of his laptop. He sighed. Wondering if this was all worth it. Publishing horror stories had been a dream for him that was still out of reach. He never stopped submitting his stories to the website that he was able to find on the search engine. Hoping that the company would accept one of his stories. But no matter what, it seemed like they weren’t giving him a chance.

Horror was the only topic he could really get into. He had attempted other genres but they never felt right. He slammed his fist against the desk. Overwhelmed with frustration and grief. He shut his laptop closed before heading downstairs. He poured himself a glass of whiskey in the kitchen. Drinking it slowly to enjoy what he could.

He looked back at old memories of his childhood town. Amber Rivers. A place where he had no friends and terrible parents. Yet, he enjoyed the scenery there. It was inspiring. He almost missed the place. Maybe that’s where he needed to go to get his imagination train starting again? It wasn’t such a far distance to drive there. Just a couple of hours.

He decided to take a chance and pack his bags. After breakfast, he got in his car. Driving to a town that he wondered had changed or stayed the same. The road soon became lonely. Nothing but the desert was around. His grip on the steering wheel tightened. Unsure of the road he was taking. Something bugged him. He wished he knew what it was.

A large rusty sign read out, ‘Amber Rivers.’ Some of the letters had faded but were still visible enough. He found himself taken aback by the state of the town. It looked as though no one had lived there for years. The buildings appeared abandoned. Covered in dirt, dust, cobwebs, and whatever unusual stains were there. He swore he saw bloody spots on various places. He parked at the lot of a motel. He stepped out of the car and looked around.

Despite being the only one there, he felt like someone or something else was with him. Maybe even multiples of something else. As if a thousand eyes were on him. He threw his jean jacket on. Mustering the courage to go into the motel, he tapped on the bell at the front desk. The ringing echoed. Revealing how silent it was. “Hello? Is anyone here?” No response came. He tapped the bell again. “Um excuse me? Can I check in?”

Having waited long enough, he took a key for ‘Room 2.’ He gathered his luggage from the car and set them on the bed of his room. The room had two beds, a lamp, two drawers, a TV, a closet, a bathroom, a phone, and a window. He placed his clothes in the closet. Hanging them there. He read through the menu that was on top of the TV. “I guess I should see if there’s any food left.”

Downstairs, the kitchen was behind the front desk. Its entrance was that of two big doors. He gently pushed a door. Stepping into the dimly lit area where there were overfilling boiling pots and rotting foods like vegetables, fruits, and meat. He ran to the stoves. Switching them off before a potential fire could occur. He sighed out of relief. He whipped his head to the sound of something falling.

A can rolled by. He followed where it had come from. A closed freezer. He made his way over to it. His shaky hand reached out to the handle. He held his breath before opening the door. He gasped at the sight of hanging skinned eyeless bodies. He covered his mouth. Doing his best not to smell the reeking scent of the aged corpses. He hightailed it out of the kitchen. Vomiting as soon as he left.

He wiped the excess bits of vomit with his sleeve. “I-I have to call someone! I have to get help!” He grabbed the phone from the front desk. Dialing for police. The other side of the call immediately hit a constant echoing note. Never changing or picking up any call. He slammed the phone back on its holder. “Damn it!”

He froze at the breaking of glass and metal coming from outside. He poked his head out of the doorway. Seeing nothing but his now crushed car. The windows were broken, the metal was bent at all sides, and the tires were stripped of their air. Making the vehicle unreliable. “What the hell?! Who could have done this?”

There was an echo of teeth chattering. It was far but close enough that he ran back into the motel. Heading to his room where he locked the door and pushed a drawer against it. Keeping whatever it was outside from getting in. The door began to shake as the teeth chattering grew louder. He looked around for any place to hide.

The door was kicked in. Breaking the drawer and bits of wood from the door itself. He kept a hand over his mouth. Under the bed, he watched skinned legs and arms moving about. Looking for whatever it wanted. He recognized its appearance and wondered if the bodies he had found at the motel’s kitchen were the same ones that were in his room. Somehow fused together. He could only assume that there were three heads.

He shut his eyes at its wheezing and high pitch screams. It sounded frustrated or held an expression of eternal pain. A Skinned Crawler or Skinned Crawlers. With quick speed, it left the room. Getting further away. Leaving the motel. Bloody foot and hand prints marked its presence.

Never letting anyone forget.