Stuff of Nightmares: A Collection of Short Horror Stories

All My Sins

All the Sins (Nyhterides Writing Prompt)

**Multiple trigger warnings**

I found a CD-ROM with the word 'evidence' written on it with black sharpie in a second-hand store. Curiosity got the better of me. I brought it home and played it. A woman's voice whispered through the static but I could not see her face. "You will always be fond of me. I represent to you all the sins you never had the courage to commit."

The next day I woke up in a dingy motel room, many miles from home. When I looked outside I saw two signs: one read 'Stardust Motel – Vacancy' and the other read 'Marfa, TX – Don't walk west'. There was nothing, no one else around.

****

I groaned, rubbing my head. I felt like I had downed at least ten shots too many last night and my brain rammed against my head like some obscene drumming.  My mouth was dry, nausea swirled in my throat. I took in my surroundings, squinting in the faint sunlight.  Where the hell was I?

The place was simply furnished, like some Western TV series set, forgotten in time. The wooden floorboards creaked when I swung my legs over my bed and stood up. I almost puked from the sudden movement. The room spun. When it stopped at last, I gingerly straightened up. Above me, a cobweb-ridden fan stood covered in thick dust. The ceiling panels were poorly installed, misaligned and with small gaping holes between each square, through which there was just pitch blackness. The window shutters were open and through dusty windows there was an endless stretch of desert.

"What the hell is this place?" I said aloud. Only silence greeted me in return. I was still dressed in yesterday's clothes: baggy jeans and a dirty t-shirt. I picked up my backpack, which felt light, and swung it over my shoulder before kicking the door open. It swung with a squeak, not even locked.  This place must be a resting spot in-between cities.  The air was stagnant, heavy to inhale and definitely no good for my sinuses. A setting sun loitered above the hilltops in the distance, its gaze tinged a light brown. To the left, to the right, straight ahead – all just blended into an endless stretch of sand and wilted plant life. Two cars parked in the carpark just outside the lop-sided modified wooden hut that was the motel. No, I told a lie. One car was parked, a dusty old fiesta with scraped paint all along its bumper. The other was a rusted tin that once upon a time resembled a car. The windows were covered in such a thick layer of grime and sand it was hard to see if there was anyone else staying there.

I trudged along the veranda towards the reception, only distinguishable from the rest of the building by a blown 'Reception' sign that I supposed must be neon-coloured if its bulbs weren't long dead. I swung the mosquito net door open before attempting to push the inner door ajar. Locked. I doubted a place like this had any valuables to hide. I fumbled the key from above the doorframe and unlocked it, swinging it open. An empty, tiny wooden room greeted me. Keys sat in their respective hooks in a clear plastic box hung on the wall beside a shut door. I leaned over the counter, squinting: one key was missing – my room, I supposed. My fingers left marks on the dusty wooden table top. Silence hung heavy in the air, interrupted by the occasional whistle of air escaping in and out of the hut through its many gaps. It really resembled a Western set. I half expected  a gruff-voiced cowboy to cock a shotgun into the back of my head and grumble at me to get the hell off his land.

I knocked on the door behind the counter. When there was no answer, I pushed it open with trepidation. It gave the same squeak as my room door. Setting sunlight streamed through the cobwebbed windows, landing on this ancient desktop in the corner. It still had the huge cube body and glass front for a monitor, heavy enough to kill someone, and a rock of a body.

I pressed the power button on the computer body and was surprised it turned on. With such an out-of-date thing, I half-expected it to start smoking and explode into flames. The icon for Windows 95 came on. As it hummed and whirred, I stuck my hands in my pockets and glanced around. The rest of the room hosted little tools dangling on the wall and collapsed piles of books. Judging by the mix of dust and sand on the floor and the inch-thick grime everywhere, this place hadn't seen a human in years. The phone sitting beside the bookshelf was dead. When I rummaged in my backpack for my mobile – not there, of course – my hand brushed across something flat and hard. The CD-Rom.

Fishing it out, I squinted at it in the increasing darkness. 'Evidence' was written across it in black felt-tip. I shrugged to myself. Maybe I could entertain myself tonight before I go out tomorrow. The CD-Rom wasn't encrypted.  The windows box that popped up showed a series of videos, labelled only as 'File_1' down to 'File_5'.

I clicked on 'File_1'.

I recognised the room that showed up in the video still.  The layout was a little different: there were two small bedside tables and a cushy chair sat in the corner beside the wardrobe, but it almost mimicked my room in this motel. It was a bird's eye view. There was no sound.

A pair of young people lay in bed, spooning and talking to each other. They giggled and touched each other. Eventually it turned into sex, and then they fell asleep.  Nothing interesting there. 'File_2' was the same, but of a different couple in a similarly-decorated room. It struck me there that this guy was a voyeur. He found excitement in watching people being intimate. Live porn. I could see the appeal: the excitement of people being blissfully unaware of his presence and being in the front seat, allowed to view it all alone. It was a peculiarly satisfying source of control.

'File_3' was of a middle-aged couple arguing. They were getting heated, waving their arms about, screaming in each other's faces. The woman grabbed a bedside lamp and hurled it at her husband. It grazed past his face before smashing against the wall. The man's face darkened and leapt at her, hands wrapping around her throat. They must have made a ruckus, but nobody came crashing through the door. The woman clawed at him, screaming, her face purpling until it went blue. Her scratches weakened before she went limp.

The man continued squeezing her neck. Without warning, he let go and she flopped onto the ground, still. He seemed to be in shock, frozen and staring down at her. Then without a backward glance he dashed outside, disappearing out of the camera's range. Domestic dispute spiralled out of hand. Not unheard of and probably more common than was reported. The video stopped after that.

I proceeded to the next one, 'File_4', almost dreading what I would find.

A young girl pulling the hand of a much older man. The same guy as in the previous file, I thought – same profile and walk, but he had grown stubble and had a haircut, almost as if he were trying to change his look. The camera didn't capture his face. He must be a regular customer. She was dressed perhaps more revealingly than appropriate and was trying very hard to act older than she looked. The older man didn't seem to mind. They had their hands all over each other.

I braced myself for another porn fest, but the girl pulled away. This took both me and that guy in the video by surprise. He grabbed her wrist and tugged her back to the bed. She struggled, to no avail; he must weigh at least three times more than her. She screamed, but like the third video, nobody came to her rescue. The man tore the rest of her clothes off and raped her. It made my stomach churn, seeing her fear and desperation.

And then he strangled her, just like he'd strangled his wife in the previous file. My mouth turned sour when he threw the body aside like she was a doll. The casual manner in which he shook out his shoulders made me think this wasn't his second kill. The video then stopped.

I sat back, staring blankly at the glass computer screen. It was a frozen frame of him standing over the tiny, dead girl. The sun was almost gone from the horizon; the room sat in almost pure darkness, lit only by the pathetic old monitor. There was one file left. I didn't know if I should click on it. The first two videos had started mundanely enough, but the last two were horrifying, downright criminal.  How twisted would 'File_5' be?

My hand had moved of its own accord. The final file played. It was only about four seconds long. The man from file three and four returned, glancing fervently over his shoulder as if concerned he would be seen. Unlikely, I thought, thinking of this godforsaken place. He stepped forward and peered upwards, as if searching for something. His face filled the camera and a grin spread across his face, but it wasn't the fact that he knew where the camera was that chilled me to the very core.

It was because that was my face.

Word count: 1495