I’ve been working at the Motel 6 off Cerrillos Road in Santa Fe for ten years. Ten years of scrubbing toilets and changing sheets, listening to the hum of the highway beyond the motel’s glass doors. I knew every crack in the tile, every stain on the carpet. I thought I knew every part of that place.
That is, until the day the floor gave way beneath me.
Pain exploded through my body as I hit the ground, my ankle twisting in a way nature never intended. I bit back a scream, the taste of copper flooding my mouth as I bit my tongue. My flashlight rolled away, casting long, grotesque shadows against the dust-choked air of the underground cavern I’d landed in.
Crawling towards the light, I winced as my hands made contact with the rough ground. The earth was cold and damp, smelling of stale air and a deeper rot I couldn’t place. A network of tunnels stretched out in every direction, the walls lined with strange, luminescent fungi that pulsed with an eerie glow.
As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I noticed the walls were not just dirt and stone. They were… organic, almost alive. My heart pounded in my chest as I realized what they were: the innards of an enormous creature, a leviathan buried beneath the earth.
Before I could process this, figures emerged from the shadows. They were humanoid, but their bodies were twisted and deformed, their skin a patchwork of scars and fresh wounds. Their pupils were dilated, a sign of heroin use, but there was a lucidity in their gaze that belied their addiction.
They grabbed me, their hands cold and clammy, like raw meat left out in the cold. They dragged me through the tunnels with a feverish urgency, ignoring my pleas and cries. We arrived at a chamber that reeked of sewage and decay. In the center, a monstrous statue towered above us, a grotesque idol of a cockroach carved from the very bedrock of the earth.
They threw me in front of the statue, chanting in a guttural language that made my skin crawl. As they chanted, cockroaches skittered out from the cracks in the walls and floor, swarming over me. I felt them crawl into my mouth, felt their bodies writhing against my skin. I tried to scream, but the insects filled my throat, silencing me.
Then, something began to shift. My skin hardened, becoming chitinous and segmented. I reached up, feeling the new carapace that covered my body. It was like I’d been swallowed whole by the very creature they worshipped.
One of the figures approached me, a leash in his hands. He secured it around my neck, his touch as cold as the tunnels themselves. “You are chosen,” he said, his voice echoing against the chamber walls. “You will bring about the end of Hotel Inn. You will fulfill the prophecy.”
I looked at him, the taste of cockroaches still on my tongue, my body trapped in a shell that was not my own. I thought of the motel, of the life I’d known. And then I drew in a breath, my voice a raspy whisper against the echoing chants.
“No.”
He stared at me, his eyes flicking from a sickly yellow to a solid, soulless black. His hand shot out, gripping my transformed arm tightly. I tried to pull away, but my muscles refused to respond. Instead, my arm, acting of its own volition, started to move, the cockroaches underneath my new shell of skin squirming and writhing, their tiny legs scratching against my hardened flesh.
The stench was overwhelming, a horrible, rancid smell that seemed to permeate every inch of the cavern. It filled my nostrils, my mouth, my very being, and I couldn’t hold back any longer. I heaved, my stomach convulsing violently, and vomit splashed onto the face of the being in front of me.
The reaction was immediate. A fist collided with my gut, the force of the blow causing me to stumble. I fell to my knees, the sensation of my own shell crunching and stretching beneath me causing a wave of nausea to surge through me. The rough texture of the cockroach skin under me, the way it felt so alien and unnatural beneath my touch, it was all too much.
Through the haze of pain and disgust, I heard them yell at me. Their voices were guttural, harsh, their words a jumbled cacophony that made no sense. But as they spoke, their voices echoed around me, bouncing off the cavern walls and resonating deep within my mind.
They were giving me an order, a command. And despite everything, despite the revulsion and horror, I found myself obeying. My hand, still moving independently of my will, reached out and flipped a switch on a large, ominous-looking device in the center of the chamber.
Immediately, the room filled with an eerie silence. I could hear my own heartbeat echoing in my ears, the sound of my ragged, uneven breaths. But then, the silence was broken by a deafening BOOM. The ground shook beneath us, dust and debris falling from the ceiling.
The beings’ faces twisted in a mix of surprise and anger, their black eyes narrowing as they turned to look at me. The one holding my leash yanked it hard, pulling me to my feet. He led me through the tunnels, up a ladder, and out through a manhole onto the streets above.
The scene that greeted me was one of chaos. Cars had veered off the road, their drivers staring in shock at the damaged Hotel Inn. Onlookers gathered in the street, their faces a mixture of fear and confusion as they watched the motel crumble.
They led me across the street to a building that had mostly been spared the destruction. It was a Mexican restaurant, Pollo Asado, its garish neon sign flickering in the early evening light. They ushered me inside, ignoring the startled gasps and screams from the restaurant’s patrons.
Inside, the smell of frying oil and spices hit me like a physical blow. It was so familiar, so normal, that for a moment I forgot about the cockroach shell that encased my body. But then I was pushed down into a chair, the cold metal against my insect skin reminding me of my new reality.
A violent argument broke out between the beings and the restaurant staff, their words a blur of Spanish and the beings’ guttural language. It ended abruptly when the police arrived, their sirens cutting through the cacophony.
As the beings were subdued and taken away, the cockroaches that made up my shell began to crawl off me, their tiny legs scratching against my skin. It was excruciating, a sensation so intense that it felt like my entire body was being set aflame. I screamed, the sound ripping through the restaurant and causing everyone to turn and look at me.
And then, darkness.
I woke up in a hospital bed, my body swathed in bandages. My skin was pockmarked with tiny holes, the remnants of my transformation. The doctors didn’t understand what had happened, could offer no explanation for the changes my body had undergone.
But I knew. I knew that I had been chosen for something beyond my comprehension, had been transformed into something I wasn’t meant to be.
And all I could think was: Don’t go under a Motel 6.