My Hotel Peculiar
The sound of the woman’s scream followed me down the tunnel. Terrified, I ran to the corner, making the turn and throwing myself against the wall.
Why did the woman scream like that? So high and sharp?
I’d never heard a person make that sound before.
My heart beat so hard, my whole body shook against the stone behind me.
I didn’t know what to do, so I told myself to go back upstairs, to climb into bed and pull the covers over my head. If my father were to catch me down there, while he was . . .
While he was what? What was happening?
These were the questions holding me in place.
Then I heard my father’s voice again. This time, he sounded calm.
Maybe they were playing a game? My family does like games.
I waited a little longer, listening for the rise and fall of my father’s deep tone. In between, I listened for the woman, but she never spoke. Not that I could hear.
Feeling bolder, I sneaked closer, careful not to make a sound.
I walked slowly, trying to be quiet. A good thing, too, because when I got near, I saw the door wasn’t locked. It wasn’t even closed.
The door stood ajar, just a crack. Small enough to keep me hidden.
Wide enough to peek through.
When I looked, my body went cold. I didn’t understand what I was seeing.
The woman was strapped to a wooden table, her sparkly shoes and dress in a pile on the floor.
“Please,” she said in English. “Please, I want to go back up.”
But my father ignored her. He put a knife to her neck before dragging it down the inside of her arm.
When he reached the tender skin inside her elbow, he made a sharp motion.
The woman screamed, louder this time. He took away the knife and put his mouth on her skin instead. Then he slipped his hand inside her underwear.
I held my breath, staring, strange feelings warming my stomach.
My father made a grunting noise, like an animal.
I watched for another minute or two, watched as he put the knife to another part of her body. Then to her bra strap.
Watched as he sliced at both.
When I grew light-headed, I knew I had to leave. I couldn’t get caught down here. Not now.
I ran most of the way through the catacombs and back up the stairs. I took the servant stairway all the way up to my bedroom, stopping only to pick up the snack I’d wrapped in a napkin.
Once inside, I washed my feet, filthy from the steps and the dirt of the catacombs. Then I crawled into bed and pulled the covers up high.
My heart raced for several minutes, and my breaths felt cool and tingly in my chest.
Eventually, I settled down and closed my eyes.
But it was hours and hours before I slept.