The Comet Motel
The pink-and-red neon shooting-star sign at the Comet Motel flickered and finally died that morning at 5:15 am, and the parking lot went dark. A light went on in room 200, a weak yellow light filtered through a thin green curtain. A shadow of a man passed by the window, pushing a vacuum. It rattled and whined and pumped out a burned metal smell as it passed over a faded yellow carpet. The rest of the room was stripped clean and the mattress was covered with plastic sheeting. The night clerk, a pale, skeletal, bald man with deep-set yellow eyes and long, feathery fingers, was cleaning the room. He saw a tow truck pull into the parking lot on his second pass by the window. He kicked out the power cord and left the room.
The tow truck backed up to a brown and green station wagon parked outside room 100. The night clerk directed him to slow down. Then the tow truck driver jumped down from the truck. He was wearing a black rain-coat. He had tattoos of dragons and stars across his throat. The rest of him was just a shadow of rain.
“Storm’s getting to be a motherfucker,” the driver shouted. “That’s what I’m hearing.”
The driver untied the winch and pulled a couple of axle-hooks off a secured rack. They heard a drum roll of thunder coming from the south.
“You got any around back? This the only one?”
“Yeah.”
“Be lucky to get anything for this piece of shit.”
“There was cash if you want it.”
The driver hooked up the car’s rear axle.
“No thanks. I’m good.”
“You are good.” The night clerk laughed and backed up as the driver flipped the switch and raised the wagon.
“Storm’s gonna get harsh. You better get your windows up.”
“We’ll do just fine.”
Then a terrified 10-year-old boy raised his head in the back seat of the wagon.
“Hold on! Hold on!” The night clerk shouted and the driver stopped raising the wagon.
The night clerk stepped up and opened the back driver’s side door. “What are you doing in there? You fall asleep? You hiding?” The night clerk held out his hand as the boy cowered on the floor behind the driver’s seat. “It’s okay. What’s your name, son?”
“Allan.”
“Give me your hand, Allan. Come on, you get out of there now. Come on, it’s okay.”
The driver slipped under the winch hook and saw the boy through the back window. He grabbed the night clerk and pulled him away from the wagon.
“Why is there a goddamn kid in the car? You told me I wouldn’t have to see this.”
“Maybe he’s a sleepwalker, maybe he got locked out, maybe he astral projected, does it matter?”
They turned back to the wagon as the boy jumped out and ran, screaming for help. His words were swallowed up by the gray sky and the black woods across the highway. The night clerk ran the boy down and dragged him back by the neck, one hand clamped over his mouth.
The truck driver stepped between them and the motel. “Put him in the cab.”
“He ran. He can’t leave now. No room for mercy. You know that.”
“You can’t do this to a little boy.”
“Shit, man, I lost count there’s been so many…”
The night clerk opened room 100 and threw the terrified boy inside. Then he locked the door and held the key out to the driver.
“But if you want to go get him, feel free.”
He stepped aside and gave the driver a clear path to the door. The driver hesitated. He looked at the sky and at the room.
“You said there was cash?”
The night clerk smiled and handed him a wad of crumpled twenty dollar bills. He waved as the tow truck drove away.
