Suggested Audio Candy
Bernard Herrmann “Psycho”
I’m all shopped out. Retail therapy turned out to be less than therapeutic and the baying crowds did a bang-up job of diminishing my already dwindling spirits. It has been twenty-four hours since I evacuated said mall and I have considered my next action long and hard. The saying goes “safety in numbers” but this is absolute poppycock as far as I’m concerned. Thus I have taken it upon myself to retreat from the ruckus and find a quaint little place to lay my weary head for the night. There is no stress, drama or light snacking to be found here, just quietude, hot running water and plentiful towels. I’m anticipating a much less than eventful short stay in the Bates Motel.
I consider myself rather fortunate to have been gifted this second shot as things were getting remarkably out-of-hand back at the mall. This place is the polar opposite, it looks like business has seen a considerable downturn as the car park is totally bereft of vehicles. The only apparent danger would be death by boredom but, considering I regard myself as self-sufficient, there’s no need for me to write my eulogy just yet. My intention is clear-cut; make small-talk with the desk clerk, collect my linen, run a piping hot shower and then grab a handful of Z’s. I’ll head off at first light naturally as I still have many more miles to clock before I reach my ultimate destination.
First impressions of this establishment are mixed to say the least. It’s secluded for sure and will undoubtedly offer the peace I require to refuel my engines but I can’t help but feel a little uneasy about the creepy little house positioned on the brow of the hill. At first glance it would appear totally uninhabited but closer inspection has revealed upstairs occupancy. Granted, the figure I discern rocking back and forth in what appears to be the attic is no spring chicken, either that, or the years have been less than kind. Yet I feel a persistent chill down the back of my spine which wasn’t there before as I swear that the old dear is looking directly at me and she doesn’t look entirely overjoyed at my presence.
I could have carried on along the interstate and eventually I would have happened along a travel lodge, potentially more comfortable, but lacking even the vaguest semblance of charm. I’ll always be drawn towards a place with character as opposed to a clinical new build but, moreover, I don’t intend to line the man’s pockets any further than is absolutely necessary. I’ll still be buying my Caramel Frappuccino from Starbucks as I don’t intend on cutting off my nose to spite my face but the moment I find an adequate replacement will be the last red cent they see of Keeper’s. Always root for the underdog, my father taught me that little nugget although I’m sure Bonus Brain would try to take credit as he’s bad to the bone that one.
He did chip in with one of his own wisdom biscuits upon my arrival uncannily enough. “Turn about-face, return to your rented automobile, start her up, rev that engine and bolt faster than OJ Simpson at a crime scene. Oh and don’t waste your time looking back either.” That’s it, all he could offer was a sketchy rant which he couldn’t even back up with a reason, or at least, didn’t share. I took what he said on board as he may be a pessimistic ass grab but he has also been on the money more times than I care to mention. But I’m too tired to haul my travel bag back to the car now and will not be making any rash decisions based on a simple hunch. He can pretty much poke it.
What a find Bates Motel was. I’m glad I chose to ignore his bitter pleas as the desk clerk was an absolute gentleman and made me feel right at home. Warm milk and home-baked cookies on a tray at main reception, need I elaborate more? Okay well try this on for size, Norman I think his name was, what a star. This lanky mommy’s boy may seem a little peculiar on first sighting but he was utterly congenial, couldn’t help more and even showed me his taxidermy collection. Clearly a keen ornithologist, he has quite the collection of birds in his nest and evidently a lot of care and attention has gone into crafting this bird house to his soul. Good luck to him I say, some collect stamps, others enemies, old Norm wears his feathers on the inside and who can argue against that?
He kindly offered me Room number one, apparently the water runs tepid and it’s positioned back-to-back with his own room just in case I wake up parched or suffer any night terrors in this less familiar locale. I have always taken considerable comfort in strangers, sometimes too much perspective can be a bad thing when emotions become involved and lines are far more easily blurred. Norman isn’t the kind of guy I’d go on a three-day bender with and he won’t be getting a mid-dusk spooning either but his generosity speaks volumes and my allotted room, whilst admittedly hardly the Ritz, has a bed in the corner with fresh linen and right now that’s pork and beans to me. What a stroke of luck, they’re showing The Birds on the horror channel in fifteen minutes, I’m sure Norm would love the Intel. I’ll just take a quick shower first as the last time I even contemplated washing was way back at the Overlook Hotel and I didn’t trust their bath water.
I’m not one to judge another but maybe all the jelly sandwiches aren’t in the hamper after all. The shower was glorious and I should feel refreshed and rejuvenated but something transpired which has left me somewhat perturbed. Just as I began lathering my nether regions I began to hear faint grunting over the sound of the jets. I turned it off and the audio subsided but every time I fired back up the ominous accompaniment reconvened. I pondered momentarily but then remembered Norm informing me that the rooms all have symmetrical layout and thus I put two and two together as you do in such situations. He was choking his chicken in there, partaking in a little self-defilation in his own cubicle, probably with one hand against the shower glass and a well-lubricated digit inside his rectal trench.
Quite the dark horse it appeared, I would say he didn’t look like the type but, in truth, he looked exactly like the type. The thing is, when all is said and done, he had been stuck at main reception all day and night with nobody to relieve him and precious little to keep himself entertained. If he chose to fire off a few rounds from his spam musket then who was I to deny that? Admittedly I may not be as fast to accept a glass of pasteurized lactose from him come the morning but what he got up to in his own chamber was up to him. Then I caught a glimpse of something from the corner of my peripheral vision which concerned me more as it was encroaching on my personal space. You see, plumbing may not be Norman’s specialty but he really should have fixed that small round hole which had bore through the entire cavity of the back wall.
This, in itself, was disparaging enough but the thing which really incited the alarm bells was the discolored member protruding through, glaring at me with its singular eye. Again I gave Norm the benefit of the doubt as the shower creme dispenser was empty my side and sharing is caring but this was stretching the sentiment. I could have ignored it but it’s a little off-putting when it keeps sliding in and out of sight. I could have grabbed it like Balbricker and identified it later by its pigmentation but, considering it was only the two of us here, that would only ever be a case of my word against his. I don’t play that game. So I did what any man would do in said scenario and gently prodded it back through the fissure. I wouldn’t cause a fuss, would stay until daybreak as pledged and wouldn’t breathe word of this indiscretion to another soul.
I toweled myself dry, settled down to sleep and put the whole episode behind me but, just as I was drifting into a deep slumber, I was awoken by what sounded like an altercation happening right outside my door. One voice was clearly Norman’s but the other was far less well-natured. “You’ve got a whore in there haven’t you? I can smell her ovaries. Get that bitch out of here at once Norman. How dare you defy your dear old mother in this way.” She had him ruffled. “I haven’t mother. It’s just me. I’ll bake you up some fresh macaroons and bring them to you mother.” Poor douche, she really had him strangulated in her apron strings, he didn’t stand a fucking chance. I like to think of myself as empathetic but, come on Norm, grow a backbone. You’re far too tall to operate without one.
I could hear him waddle off under a thunder-cloud, muttering to himself as he waded the hall in no more than two strides of his gangly pins. I waited until he was outside and then tailed him, staying way back in the shadows out of morbid curiosity. He bounded up the stairs to the house on the hill and made his way inside where the hollering recommenced. “That slut has to go Norman” she barked and he was instantly on the back foot. “But mother, I’m not lying to you. That voice you heard was another man.” It went deathly silent for a few drawn-out moments before she continued. “Well why didn’t you just say Norman? Be a doll and come fix your old mother up will you. Then you can bring him up to meet me. My colostomy bag will need emptying and you’ll have to take my dentures out of vinegar. Oh and keep the lighting mysterious dear”.
This presents something of a quandary to me. One side of my brain is reminding me that I haven’t enjoyed the touch of another in some time now and I need to break my duck before I start to lose my final few marbles. The other side just happens to have a bolt-on, namely Bonus Brain, who keeps bringing logic and practicality into it. “Listen to me very carefully, I will only be saying this once. That meat…it’s putrid. If you go in expecting Mom of Stifler then you’ll be shit out of chips my friend. She’s worm food, I can smell the decomposition from here. If you go inside now then you’re going to regret it and I, for one, will not be held accountable. Seriously, if you are the Brutal Word Wrangler as you claim to be, you’d be better off tossing Norman off through the partition.”
Bonus Brain may think he has the measure of me but he couldn’t be farther from accurate. You see, he may account for 75% brain matter right now but he hasn’t bargained on Bonus Balls which feed the need with every glancing consideration. “I’m sorry Bonus Brain, I respect your opinion really I do but it just sounds a little too much like sour grapes for my liking”. That should tell him, he needs to be taken down a notch before mutiny occurs. “You really are corn beef in a tin aren’t you, your density astonishes me. Why do you think I pay you no mind? Do you think I have time to spell every last thing out? No I do not, I’m three seasons behind on TJ Hooker as it is and still I need to answer your inane questions when you have no intention of taking my advice anyway. You’re plankton. Just fucking plankton”.
Now that was just uncalled for and I will not roll over to such fragrant overuse of the word plankton. All his insolence has done has fueled my erection further and I’m fully intent now on boning myself a granny. I step inside and make my way over to the stairwell. Nice decor if a little antiquated but home improvements are not at the top of my priorities any more. This ends now, with coitus uninterruptus, love-making the likes of which transcend age. The sacred union of two, the overdue unbuttoning of my tunic. I mount the stairs and make it half way to the summit but stop dead in my tracks as she vocalizes once more and to my absolute horror. “I’m telling you Norman it’s never been the same since my prolapse. Actually it was you that ruined me. How could you Norman, how could you ruin your own dear mother? Tuck it all in as best you can and try and make it look nice will you?”
“But mother there’s so much of it, I’m not sure where to start. There may be enough for two vaginas here.” That’s it, I’m out. I come good on my threat and scurry back to the car, fumbling my keys as I hear that screeching voice one last time. “Get him Norman. Bring him back. Don’t let him get away. I’ve taken a fistful of Viagra and you’re next in line if you mess this up. Time for some momma loving.” I shudder, shut myself in, sink the locks and prepare to end my short stay at the Bates Motel. I won’t give Bonus Brain the satisfaction of knowing that he told me so. I made the judgement call on my own for reasons nothing to do with any poison dripped in my ear by he. I’m desperate but not that fucking desperate.
Truly, Really, Clearly, Sincerely,
Keeper of the Crimson Quill
Copyright: Crimson Quill: Savage Vault Enterprises 2014