ROOM 968: YOUR TROUBLES MELT AWAY
Published on March 4th, 2020 on r/NoSleep and r/HotelNonDormiunt as part of the Hotel Non Dormiunt story event.
You just have to relax, Denny.
The space will be good for us. Good for the family.
Let's just take a break, okay? You need some time alone.
I promise it will be good for us.
She's right. I know she's right. She said I shouldn't worry, and at this point the whiskey agrees with me. My eyes swing up from my glass and fixate on one of the cushioned chairs in the room. I've been talking to this empty seat, almost imagining that Jen is there. She can't respond, but she listens. That's all I need right now. It's the least she can do for getting me put up in this dusty hotel.
"Sorry, Jen. You'd probably kill me if you were here. Not supposed to drink anymore, I know... but, how else do you expect me to relax, eh?" I take another burning sip from the glass. Smokey. Woody. Apples, maybe? It's cheap but, interesting enough. Gets the job done.
Where was I? Where AM I? I blink, head's swimming. Right, right, I'm in a hotel. Hotel Non Dormiunt. I told Jen I'd be okay with a Holiday Inn or some shit like that but, she found this one. She said it seemed rustic. Homey. She always was one for the good American independent business owners. Even if the business was awful, she preferred giving them her dollars instead of big Walley World.
The name was something that sounded strange, uncomfortable, and unnervingly old (much like the very room I was staying in).
Hotel Non Dormiunt. The place that would essentially be my new home until Jen decided whether or not home was next to me or five thousand miles away with a new man named Terrance or something. Whatever was good for the family, right Jen? Right.
I sip from my glass of happy juice again, but only cold ice meets my lips. I glance over to the bottle of whiskey, but it's empty. Figures. I should have brought two bottles. I need more in me. I need to feel less. Maybe I can persuade the bartender to let me drag a bottle back up here with me? Worth a shot at least... or maybe two.
I stumble into the hall, hoping to hell I can still remember where the elevator is. This hotel is like a maze and I don't think a drunk rat like me would make it back to his room before starving to death. I could either go left or right. I choose right, and fortunately that's... right. God, I'm not funny. Moron.
I take the elevator downstairs and follow the sign pointing to the bar, which takes me down a hall that looks uncomfortably similar to the hallway from The Shining where Jack Nicholson walked in the 80s. The floor has a similar square carpet pattern, beautiful but old chandeliers dot the ceiling and illuminate the pockets in the wall where mirrors sit. I dare not look at them; I don't want to see what I am right now. I came here to get away from that.
The bar room itself is a lot smaller than the one in The Shining, which is good. Less stumbling for me. I don't see anyone at the bar, but I'm hopeful by the time I sit they'll have come out the back. I find a comfortable stool at the bar and take a seat. Still no one here, to my dismay. No problem, I'll just wait.
So, I wait. Five minutes pass. I look around the bar, which is small and not lit very well. Ten minutes pass. I look to the back of the bar where the bottles of happy juice lie. Rows upon rows of lovely things! All the best rum, whiskey, absinthe, wine, and... other things. Jars of pickles, different fruits, leaves. Is... is that a jar of eyeballs in the back? No, no. Must be the alcohol that's in me already. Must be a trick of the light... but what is... is that just a jar of bits of meat? Fifteen minutes have passed. I don't really wanna look at this wall of bottles anymore. I'm about to call out. "Anyone he-"
"Can I help you, sir?" A slightly muffled and deep voice asks. I jump slightly in surprise, as a man stands at the bar, as if he's always been here and I just never noticed him. A tall man with wrinkled gray eyes, silky black hair, a doctor's face mask, and a well kept bartender's uniform. He's looking right into my eyes... no, he's looking beyond that. He's looking into something far deeper. Something I don't think even I could see if I was able to slide my eyes down my throat and watch them travel through my digestive tract. I need to get out of here.
"Oh uh... I was hoping I could buy a bottle of whiskey to take back up to my room with me?"
"I'm not really supposed to let these bottles leave the room, sir," he says curtly with his hands behind his back.
"I understand, but I was hoping maybe you could make an exception for me? I'm here to relax and forget about my life for a little while. It's hard to do that in a place that's not private, if you know what I mean."
"You're staying here to relax, huh?"
"Yeah... I didn't really pick the place. I would have probably picked something different but, my wife is the one who picked this place out. No offense, this place ain't exactly luxury."
"None taken, sir."
An awkward silence occupies the air for bit. The bartender's eyes still look right into me, unwavering and uncompromising. He has not blinked once, I don't think. It's at this point I figure my quest to get a bottle to take up with me is going to end in failure. I start to get up when he suddenly speaks again.
"Hey. Tell you what, I'll let you take something up."
"Oh shit, really? Thank you so much, I'll even pay you extra for this-"
"On two conditions. The first being that this is a one off; I won't be doing this for you again."
"Roger. What's the other thing?"
"I want you to try this along with the whiskey," he says as he procures a tiny bottle with a mysterious blue liquid inside. "Just mix some of it in a glass with your whiskey and enjoy." I take the small bottle and look at it closely. There's a masking tape label on it that reads 'Ease' in Sharpie.
"What is it?"
"It's a special cocktail I've been working on, and I've been very much hoping to get a second opinion on it. It's something that's meant to really soothe the mind and body."
"Ah... okay. So if I promise to take this and let you know how I like it tomorrow, you'll let me buy some booze to take up?"
"I will. In fact, I'll even give you the whiskey for free."
I probably should have asked what was in the mysterious bottle, but the words 'free whiskey' threw all of my caution to the wind. I didn't really care. It was basically Christmas morning for me. I didn't even say anything, I just nodded and he already had a bottle on the counter ready for me to take. Somehow he even knew the kind I wanted without me having to ask, as if he read it right in my heart while he was staring at me. I think I love him.
I'm back in my hotel room. I never thought I'd be so happy to be in this disgusting relic from the 60s with its vomit green carpet, wooden walls, and outdated furniture. I've been given the miracle of free booze, and I'm ready to celebrate it no matter the conditions. I get a fresh glass from the kitchenette cupboard and drop a few ice cubes inside it. Clink clink. I pour the whiskey atop the ice, savoring that beautiful and lightly translucent orange nectar as it fills the glass. I almost chug the glass immediately, but I stop myself. I may be a deadbeat drunk with an anger problem, but I'm nothing if not loyal. I'd uphold my end of the bargain with the bartender.
I take the 'Ease' bottle out of my pocket. I hold it up to the light thinking I'd see through the liquid, but instead I see it's incredibly viscous. A little light comes through, but it's clearly got a thick syrupy consistency. That's concerning. Something instinctual is telling me that consuming this stuff is an awful idea... but, s'est la vie I guess? I twist the cap off the bottle and try to get a whiff of the stuff. It smells... like nothing, actually. Huh.
I shrug and tilt the bottle over my glass. The blue stuff inside the bottle slowly dribbles out in thick globs and touches the whiskey with a light plopping sound. The beautiful amber of the whiskey corrupts into a muddy brown, though it fortunately doesn't seem to have thickened in the presence of the thick blue syrup. Should still be drinkable. If not, I have a whole bottle. Would be a shame to waste a glass though. I give another whiff, seeing if maybe a scent appears once it's mixed. It smells... of nothing. Not even whiskey. That's kind of depressing, yet impressive.
I take my glass to the sofa along with the bottle. There's still a noticeable ass impression on the seat where I was about an hour ago. Fits me like a glove as I sit down. I rock the glass gently in my hand, the ice clinking on the sides. I look back to where Imaginary Jen was sitting. I can see her in my mind's eye. She's shaking her head. She still can't speak, but she doesn't need to. I know what I'm doing, and I know what she'll be doing. I don't care anymore, all that matters is the drink.
"Cheers, Jen, you holier-than-thou cunt." I drink from the glass. My tongue is prepared to feel the burn and yet... the burn doesn't come. My tongue is met with a flavor I can only describe as 'calm'. It goes down smoother than anything I've ever drank in my life, and the warmth I usually feel in my body when I drink has an even stronger and more pleasant feeling than usual. This is the good shit. Really good shit. I can't stop myself from downing the whole glass in one protracted drink. The tension I've had for years just starts to vanish as if it was never there at all. Years and years of trying to maintain a marriage between two people who didn't belong together, the pain from working my balls off to keep us fed and sheltered, the guilt of being the shittiest drunk father I can imagine, all of this just vanishes in an instant. Nothing hurts anymore. Nothing's upsetting. The knots in my shoulders loosen. Everything is fine. Everything.
I put down my empty glass and lean back into the seat. I've never had anything that wonderful in my entire life. That bartender is a miracle worker! Fuck, if he sold this shit he'd be a millionaire.
Huh... my mouth is starting to feel numb. My throat too. Did that have novocaine in it or something? Whatever. It feels weird but feels fine. My jaw is starting to relax too, I'm starting to find it hard to close my mouth. Even harder to keep my head upright. Whatever. Who cares? It's all okay. My troubles are all melting away. There's a weird sensation blooming in my hands. I can't move my head anymore to look, but that's okay. My eyes can still move. I look to my hands and find that my skin is looking noticeably looser. It looks like melting plastic. It's wrapping around the bones in my fingers as the majority of it is being pulled down by gravity. It's not just at my hands, either; I can see it in my arms too. The skin and the meat underneath used to be kind of solid, but now it's turning into a kind of syrup just like the 'Ease'. Huh. I should probably be more worried but... it's fine. Everything is okay. The bones peak through my liquid skin as it falls off along with the blood that used to course through my body. My caucasion skin forms a pink soup as it mixes with the blood and soaks into the sofa and the floor beneath me.
I feel things I've never noticed before. I can feel the shape of my heart now. I can smell that iron, fat, and waste that's composed my body. I can feel my spongey lungs soak up the fluid of my meat, shortly before becoming fluid itself. The tension that held every part of my organ system together has vanished. It doesn't need to stay together. It doesn't need to be rigid at all. It just goes where gravity takes it. It feels wonderful. True relaxation.
I don't struggle or scream, because everything is okay. Even as I feel my clothes become wet as my liquid skin, fat, and viscera soaks through it. I don't complain as I feel my jaw drop from my head and watch as my eyes sink into the back of my skull and get coated in the liquefied soup that my brain used to be. I feel so much lighter, like I suddenly weigh nothing. My skeleton collapses as the muscle and sinew lose their structure and become liquid as well. My socks fall into my shoes as they have nothing to hold on to and my shoes fill with fluid as if I dunked them in a river. I drain slowly out of the fabric and further into the carpet. My skull drops behind the sofa and my eyes pop out of the skull. My vision spins in wildly different directions as my eyes roll across the gross carpet. I feel like the fabric of the carpet should sting my eyes, but it doesn't. Nothing about this experience hurts. I've become a puddle of liquefied man, and yet there's no pain. Nothing is wrong at all. I feel better than I have in my entire life.
I'm completely and utterly at ease.
A few blissful hours later, the bartender came into the room. I thought I'd locked the door, but I guess he had a key. He knew what was gonna happen, I bet. Clever man. I still love him for how he's made me feel. I can't really see him now, but I hear his voice. It has a cadence to it that makes me think he's smiling wide.
"Wow... it's worked even better than I'd hoped. Your name is... Dennis, correct?" He asks me.
I try responding, but obviously with my vocal chords and tongue turned to fluid, I can't really make any other sound other than a bubbly blurble. Kind of amazing I can still kinda control them even in this state, though. He didn't seem to mind though, in fact I think he still understood me perfectly.
"Right, you prefer to be called Denny. I feel like I do not need to ask, but for the sake of formality I need to ask how the 'Ease' worked for you?"
"Blurg blarble glub glub."
"Excellent, you say? Good. Good. Well, I'm sure you don't mind, but I have another favor to ask of you."
"Blerp glubble gah?"
"Well, this state is essentially permanent for you. You obviously won't be going back to your wife in this state."
"Glar goom ble blem blah?"
"I know you didn't mention her, but... I'm sure you've gathered this isn't a normal hotel and nor am I simply a bartender. I won't bore you with the details."
"Gluh glshee. Blerb bla blem?"
"I was hoping I could collect you into a jar. I wanted to keep you on my bar shelf in case anyone else comes by in need of some relaxation. Your testemonial would be greatly appreciated!"
"Shyure!"
"Oooh, almost a proper word that time! Excellent. Excellent."
I'm not sure what he used to extract me from the carpet; probably some kind of carpet scrubber or syringe thing, but before long he had me sitting in a comfy jar right behind him. I don't know how long it's been now, but for as long as I can now remember I've been sitting in this jar, blurbling away whenever he tells someone about 'Ease'. I think we have to work on our sales pitch though, people keep running away when I try to tell them how wonderful it is.
Oh well. I don't really care.
Everything is okay.
“Room 968: Your Troubles Melt Away” copyright 2020 by Stephen Faett.