What would it take for you to drop everything in your life and just GO? I don’t mean out of a sense of adventure, I mean because if you don’t go, you’re afraid of what may end up happening to you.
Well I reached my limit a couple weeks ago. Multiple tragedies through out my life built up and whittled my brain down. I became a mean son of a bitch, and with things around me continuing to be garbage, I knew that if I didn’t get out of town, something really bad was going to happen.
My family life is chaotic enough that leaving wasn’t going to be too much of an issue, and my friendships were flimsy enough that a few texts would tie those up with a pretty bow. So, I took three days off of work and did some research. First, I sold everything that I could besides my car, which netted me 14 grand. I then wrote goodbye letters that ranged from apologetic to downright scornful. Finally, on March 13th, after a heart to heart with my surprisingly understanding landlord, I was off.
Before you think I’m a complete idiot, I did have somewhat of a plan. A friend in Utah promised me a spot at the local news site he’s an editor for, and set my start date for April 1st, so I could have my soul searching trip.
A drive from Upstate New York to northern Utah was only a little over a day, so I had done enough research into fun attractions that I could visit along the way, which would end up taking me through nine states!
I’m a sucker for kitschy Americana, so I was in Heaven for the first 7 days. I went to more small town museums, oddity attractions, and unique local landmarks than I could count. Every place I went to, I annoyed the shit out of the proprietors by talking their ear off, asking about local lore. I was completely engrossed in the life of the nomad. I was truly happy for the first time in a long time.
My trip was a dream come true up until I checked into Woodward’s Wild West motel last Thursday.
I wasn’t even meant to be there. It was 9 at night, and I had eaten an omelette that wasn’t agreeing with my stomach, so I decided that I’d stop in northwestern Colorado instead of pushing into Utah. I hadn’t spent nearly as much money as I thought I was going to, so I didn’t have to spring for a shitty motel, but when I got on Maps, my eyes were immediately drawn to Woodward’s.
From the name, pictures, and description, it was clear that the motel was trying its hardest to stick out. From what I saw, the entire interior of both the public areas of the motel and the rooms themselves were decorated to give off a Wild West aesthetic. Again, being a sucker for things like this, I immediately punched in the address and was en route.
Upon arrival, the first thing I noticed was how big this motel was. For such a niche attraction, the motel was larger than some big name motels that I had seen along the way. I also noticed that there was next to nobody else there. A spattering of maybe 7 cars. Most of which were likely workers.
Again, I was in Heaven when I entered the lobby. It was done up to appear as though it was the desert, complete with murals of dunes, a large fake boulder, and a pretty culturally insensitive wax Native American figure standing next to the check-in desk.
The clerk was super nice. Her name was Hannah, and she was dressed up like a southern Belle. I didn’t have the heart to explain why that didn’t make much sense, but she was a sweetheart, so I wasn’t going to bother her. Fifty bucks a night for a room with a king sized bed was such an amazing deal that it made me want to kiss the wax native when the clerk informed me of it!
My second floor room was exactly what had been shown online. Filled with faux 19th century furniture with a pretty decent sized TV on the other side of the room. It wasn’t too big, but it had a bathroom, shower, and bed, which was all I needed. A lot of times, when I’m feeling nauseous (which I still was at that moment), I like to take an incredibly hot shower. So, after putting my bag down, I started stripping and walked right into the bathroom.
However, four irritating minutes later, I was faced with a dilemma. My fucking shower wouldn’t turn on. So, I begrudgingly got dressed, and headed back down to the front desk.
Of course, with my luck, the clerk was no longer at the front desk, nor was she in the office behind it. Also, she was the only damned worker on at that time! So, suddenly regretting my decision to choose the “fun” motel, I went off looking for her. However, just as I was about to enter one of the adjacent hallways, I spotted something. The wax native had been turned ever so slightly to the right, facing straighter than it had before.
The first room I entered was a children’s play area situated next to where the enclosed pool room was. Encircled by plastic cacti was a wooden play set that kids probably climbed all over, getting seriously hurt in the process. I was surprised it existed, as it seemed like a legal nightmare. Perched on top of the set was a taxidermied vulture. This seemed like a rather macabre addition, because the way it was positioned, it was almost like it was just waiting for a kid to fall off the play set and break his neck, so he could later chow down on the child’s body. Looking deep into its glass eyes, I couldn’t help but to be reminded of my grandmother’s eyes. Predatory, hateful, and ready to bulge out of her skull while she lamented how my parents pawned me off on her at age ten.
I moved on and reached a room that was half cafeteria and half bar. This room for whatever reason was pitch black. I turned my phone’s flashlight on, and found one of the room’s switches, but got nothing when I flipped it. I turned around to try to find more switches, and screamed like a little girl as my light passed the bar.
Behind the bar were two figures. The first was a wax 19th century saloon bartender. Complete with bow tie and mutton chops, he was bent over the bar, as if he was waiting to hear some drunkard’s confessions. The second figure was the far more terrifying one. It had the body of a man in cowboy garb, but it was wearing the taxidermied head of a buffalo as a mask. I was confused because, well, it didn’t really belong where it was. The bartender made perfect sense, but that? Why the hell was it behind the bar?
I called out to the clerk a few times, and was about to head into another room, but I froze in my tracks when I heard what sounded like a low grunt coming from the bar area.
Slowly, I turned back toward the bar. The bartender was still the same, though I hadn’t realized earlier how creepy his wolf grin was. But then I got to ‘old buffalo head’, and let out a yelp. The figure was now slightly bent forward, as if it was mimicking the bartender. My mind was screaming at my body to get the hell out of there, but it wasn’t listening. Not until the thing OPENED IT’S MOUTH. I don’t mean like opening a mask’s mouth either. The thing’s full tongue, disgusting saliva, and far too realistic teeth are still seared in my mind. It wasn’t until the buffalo creature straightened up that my body decided that it could move again. I pivoted, and moved like I had never moved before.
As I was about halfway through the play area again, a truly haunting noise filled the entire fucking hotel. It sounded like a man doing his best to imitate what you think a bull or buffalo would sound like. Since that day, I have compared it to the real thing, and I feel like my description is the perfect one for that noise.
I ran through the lobby, and quite literally INTO the front automatic doors. I rammed my shoulder into them with all my might, but I just pitifully bounced off them. I stood up and kicked them as hard as I could, but they still didn’t budge. I got myself ready for a running front kick, but again, I froze in abject terror.
The wax Native was gone. Its platform was empty. I didn’t even have time to process this terrifying reality because I then heard the sounds of heavy shuffling steps marching toward the lobby. But before whoever was making them came into full view. They stopped. Then, ever so slowly, a heavily deformed hand started reaching around the corner of one of the hallways. Whoever was attached to that arm then let out a laugh that sounded like a mall Santa’s howl mixed with an industrial saw hitting metal. That was enough to get me moving again.
When I got back to my floor, it was like the entire motel came unglued. I was hearing voices and strange sounds coming from every which way. A chorus of the damned followed me down the hall as I seamlessly pulled out my room card and unlocked the door.
The second I got into my room and locked the door, the voices stopped. Well, all of them except for one. The unmistakable voice of my grandmother came from the other side of the door.
“Aren’t you tired, boy? You’ve been up for so long, you need to rest your head. The beds here are so incredibly comfortable. Go ahead, try it!” She sneered.
Bile started rising in my throat.
“Your entire life, so many people have tried helping you. You rely on our kindness to stay afloat. Did you really think you could survive on your own?.” Her sour voice was filled with contempt.
I slowly started backing away from the door when whoever was on the other side began slamming into it, they started pounding, almost rhythmically.
I was terrified that the door was going to be smashed through, so I started looking all around the room and my eyes fell on a small chest that was sitting in the corner. I rushed over to it and picked it up. It looked like a novelty, but it sure as hell didn’t weigh like one.
The pounding on the door was getting worse, it was shaking the entire room now.
“Running away from your problems again!? Pathetic little worm. You know what’s going to happen when I get my hands on you again, boy!” My grandmother’s voice was starting to sound much less like her, and more like whatever hellish sound the buffalo creature had made earlier.
With all my might, I heaved the chest at the window, shattering it. I wasted no time after that, I straddled the now-open window sideways, bits of glass ripping into my clothes and skin, and just sorta fell.
As I shambled over to my car, the motel shifted, as if it was literally shaking with rage over the fact that I had gotten away. I wasn’t going to wait any longer to study this phenomenon, I got my ass out of there as soon as possible.
Now, about 6 days later, I have finally moved into my new place in northern Utah. Much bigger than my old apartment, and the rent is literally halved.
I have been playing with the idea of using my story for my first article under my friend’s publication, but I have decided against it. Not because anyone who read it would call me an insane lunatic, but because some things have happened since.
Ever since that day, at least once an hour, I hear that buffalo creature’s howl. Now sure, it is INCREDIBLY distant, but it is always there. Because of how far away these sounds were, I assumed that whatever tried capturing me that night was content with staying away from me, taunting me, trying to drive me insane.
However, last night, that all went out the window.
I was inside a restaurant with my friend. We were discussing what happened at Woodward’s. He personally believed that I had dealt with a form of food poisoning that caused hallucinations. But I know that’s not true. I know what I experienced was not only real, but was going to continue happening.
How do I know this? Because as he was explaining all of this to me, off in the distance inside the restaurant, I had the perfect view of a darkened back hallway, and at the entrance of that hallway, I saw the waxy face of the faux native carefully peeking out from behind one of the walls.