• The dark trees and other cars flashed by us, not bothering to even turn off the “brights” setting on their headlights. I didn’t like the blinding lights from every car that passed by, but it was the only thing that was keeping me awake, so I was grateful. Unfortunately, Mom wasn’t doing so well; she was falling asleep at the wheel.
    Mom had gotten a job in New York City, much to my dismay, so now we were moving from our pleasant, small town in Colorado, to the dreaded Big Apple. We had been traveling by car for five days, now, instead of flying on an airplane like any normal person!
    We decided to stop at the nearest inn we saw. We got off at the next exit when we saw a sign saying rest stop ahead. We followed the signs to an old, dilapidated hotel, with a flickering sign that said City Lights Bed and Breakfast. The “h” in Lights was sputtering and both “Bs” were out altogether. I groaned.
    “Mom, are you seriously going to make me stay here tonight?”
    “Honey, I’m sure it’s better than it looks! Don’t worry!” she tried to reassure me. It didn’t work. I groaned again and followed her reluctantly into the ominous, dimly lit inn.
    “Are there any rooms available?” Mom asked the fat clerk behind the drab, gray counter, shifting from side to side. The only light in the lobby came from a single, dull lamp in a corner, surrounded by filthy flies. I wrinkled my nose. The clerk sighed and beckoned us to follow him with one of his sausage-fingers.
    Our room was small and dreary. The walls were a blank, lifeless white, turned slightly yellow with age. There was one bed, one couch, one closet, and a bathroom with no sink, but with a hand-sanitizer. I almost gagged.
    “See, Honey. I told you it wouldn’t be so bad,” Mom said, setting her bag down on one side of the bed. I raised an eyebrow. “Now, I’ll be right back. I just need to use the bathroom.”
    I looked out of the tiny, fogged up window. In the faint distance, I could see New York coming alive in the night, one light after another coming on, like fireflies. The stolid, soft light of the room flickered precariously.
    “This hotel is pretty crappy,” my mother admitted. “I’ll go get our bags.”
    The second she left the room, a phone rang. I searched around for it for a minute, and then found it, a white, dull looking thing, like everything else here. It was sitting on the bedside table. I answered. “Hello?”
    Drip. Drip. Drip.
    “Umm… is anyone there?” I tried again.
    Drip. Drip. Drip.
    “Who’s there?” I persisted. Was this some practical joke?
    Drip. Drip…
    “Look, I’m counting to three, and then I’m hanging up.”
    “H-h…” came a faint, child’s voice from the other end.
    “Yes?”
    “H-help me…”
    “A-Are you okay? Where are you?” I started getting frantic. I clutched the phone to my ear with both hands.
    “Help me, please!” The little girl was yelling now. “Please!” Then there was the soft dripping again.
    And then silence.
    I jumped when Mom opened the door. “I got one of your bags. I hope it’s the one with the clothes in it.” When she saw my face, she dropped the bags. The phone was still pressed to my ear, and I was surprised to realize that there were tears in my eyes.
    “A little girl called. All she said was ‘help me.’” I said. “I-I didn’t know what to do!” A new wave of tears overflowed.
    “Oh, honey, it’s okay!” Mom comforted, hugging me tightly. “You must be tired. The phone line isn’t even connected!” she added, laughing a bit.
    “What?”
    “The phone line isn’t connected,” she repeated.
    Then the phone rang.
    ___
    We both ran to it at once. She let me answer it, but she sat down on the bed, seeming worried. I let it ring for a minute, looking around the back of the bedside table, and sure enough, there was a phone outlet, but the phone chord wasn’t attached.
    I hastily answered after the third ring, afraid that I might not get it in time. “Hello?”
    Drip. Drip. Drip.
    “H-Hello?”
    Drip… “Help me.”
    “I-I don’t know what to…” I trailed off, getting desperate.
    “Y-You’re the o-only one. Help me.”
    “I don’t…”
    Drip. BEEEEEEEEEEEEP. She had hung up.
    “She hung up,” I said.
    “Oh, Honey, it’s alright!” Mom said, cheering me up just a bit. “I’ll go see if I can talk to the manager about the phone. Why don’t you take a nice bath!” she suggested, leaving me once again.
    I entered the bathroom cautiouslySure enough, there was a clean-enough looking bathtub, so I was willing enough to get in. What do you know, I thought to myself. The water’s heated!
    I sank gratefully into the warm bathwater. A few minutes later, I heard the door to the apartment open. “Mom?” I called.
    No reply.
    The door to the bathroom opened.
    “Mom?”
    Drip. Drip.
    I was suddenly reminded of the phone call. “Mom?” I called again. I drop of water fell, hitting the surface of the bathwater and causing it to ripple. I looked down at where the drop had hit. But it wasn’t water. Was it wine? What could have made such a thick, red drop, dyeing the whole water a faint red? I spoke the question aloud.
    “Blood,” the little girl said. The same little girl that had been on the phone. I recognized her voice perfectly. “You were the only one that could help me. Why didn’t you?” She stood over me, blood dripping down her face and arms, into the water of the bathtub. She smiled and held a knife high above her head.

    My mother went back upstairs, and the fat clerk went happily back to reading the newspaper. A few minutes later, when a faint scream could be heard from our room, he paused, but then continued to read, dismissing it as the wind, or a tire screeching on the black road.