-New York, Present Time-
“Hotel Insomni? Seriously?” Shaw scoffed at the ridiculous building in front of her.
“Come on Sameen, it’s not that bad. Just three nights.” Root defended with an exaggerated pout evident on her face. Sameen sighed and went along to carry their luggages in.
The hotel was empty, it was spacious but barren. The chandelier hung high from the cathedral ceiling as they stood near the entrance, it was luxurious. The decorations and furnishings were old fashioned, but there were no other people in the lobby. Shaw didn’t care as long as there was a bed for her, Root on the other hand seemed proud and content.
“I told you it wasn’t all bad.” Root said, smirking, smug and overjoyed.
“Retro, Root? Not bad…” Root took the praise to heart. Her ego increased as her smile widened, looking down at Shaw.
Root was tall. Sameen gets annoyed every time she had to look up at her when she speaks. Even without the heels she was wearing now, Root could still tower over her. Sam and her were two completely different people. Root’s wavy, hazel hair would contrast to Sameen’s darker, straight hair. Her tall, willowy figure and pale skin compared to Sam’s short, muscular body and dark skin.
They sauntered towards the empty reception, and rung the bell. Once, twice, three times.
A short woman then walked out the room in the back, “I heard you the first time.” she muttered, “You want a room?”
Root went ahead through the process, as Sameen stood silent next to her. She looked behind the counter to see an old key rack, there were exactly 100 keys hanging, 100 rooms empty. They seemed untouched, all lined up perfectly. They all looked pristine, if not for the dust that coated each and everyone of them. Except for key 97, there was a deep cut through the wood, marking the room number. When Root was finally done with her payment, suspicion grew within Sam, but she shook it off when Root faced her with a bright smile on her face.
“Done?” Shaw asked, smiling a bit at her partner’s excitement.
“Done.” She squealed giddily. Her smile brightened and her eyes gleamed, as the woman handed her our key. Sameen watched as the key chain dangled out of Root’s grip. Room 96. Uneasiness shook her nerves as she stared back at Key 97 behind the counter. Her intense gaze did not go unnoticed, the woman followed her gaze to the key and her features hardened.
“Also,” she hissed, gripping at Root’s wrists, dropping the keys and staring straight into her eyes with frozen expressions, “no refunds.”
Root jerked her hand away from the lady’s grasp and started rubbing at her wrists. She looked at her with a confused expression and picked up the keys. Room 96.
When they got to their room, Sameen automatically dived onto the bed, sighing contently as she makes a snow-angel. Root smiled at her as she placed their luggages down. Sam blinked at the ceiling as she plays with her ring, slowly dozing off. She twisted the ring on her finger, took it off for a few seconds, and slid it back onto her finger and felt the cool steel that hit her skin. December 11th, 1995, her mother died. This was her mother’s ring. The only memories left of the woman who raised her, there were no pictures, no videos, no relatives. Just a ring. A ring to remind her that maybe she could’ve learned to care. She was only three years old then, she didn’t know that woman long enough to love her, she might've cared for her, but not love, never love. That might've seemed harsh but that was her reasoning. She just wasn’t wired the same way other kids were. She was grateful though. Grateful that this woman didn’t leave her when her dad did, for giving her the gift of life. That should be enough right? No. She was grateful, but not enough to love, not enough to cry at her funeral.
Sameen Shaw was diagnosed with Axis II Personality Disorder when she was little. She is what people would call a sociopath. Her dad left, she felt nothing. Her mom died, she felt sorry. But never sad, never scared. She felt like the key to Room 97. Different and broken, trying so hard not to stand out, to stay normal. It’s not like she doesn’t have any feelings, it’s just that she has very little of them. I don’t do feelings. Except for anger, I can do angry but that’s just about it. She’d say she’s unable to “care” or feel any remorse. But Root would constantly reassure her that she does care. She would keep reminding her until one day she unknowingly became the reminder that Shaw does care for someone in the world. Root was her ‘because’.
Sleep almost took her away when she a heard a loud noise through the wall.
Thump. The racket from next door got louder and the noise became rhythmic. Two beats per second, loud and clear. It sounded like someone was punching at the wall, or slamming their forehead against, it sounded violent. Root’s tolerance level was understanding but Shaw’s was extremely short. She’s had enough.
“That’s it.” She got out up abruptly and made a direct bee-line to the door.
“Sam, wait.” Root got off of her bed and followed her next door. When Shaw was just about to pound on the door, Root grabbed her wrists.
“I said, wait. I’ll do it.” She reasoned in a soft tone. When the thumping continued, she sighed. Positioning herself in front of the door, straightening her jacket. She knocked.
“Excuse me? Would you mind keeping it down.” The thumping continued nevertheless.
“Oh for god’s sake. Move.” Shaw with her teeth baring, pounded on the door. “Oi! Keep it down will ya!” The thumping then stopped.
Later on when it was the dead of night, and Sameen was sound asleep. Root was restless. She hugged her knees, curled up in the corner of the bed. 3:00 am. She was tired, her eyelids were heavy. She couldn’t sleep, her mind wouldn’t let her. She looked over at Sameen, of how peaceful and relaxed she looked in her slumber, almost innocent. Almost. The screams of misery from the room next door brought her out of her daze. This went on for a few hours, she even went over to see if everything was ok, even called the front desk. Nobody answered. She was surprised that Sam was still dead asleep, but then again she was always the heavy sleeper. But little did she know that Shaw was in a parallel universe from her. Where Root can’t sleep, Sameen couldn’t wake up.
This is a dream, she knows that. This isn’t real, she knows that too. But she’s there, everything was so vivid, that it was as if she was there. She felt everything, as if her senses had heightened, she felt every heartbeat, every breath. She felt as the gas that emerged from the air vent as they escaped into the hallway. The gas fog appeared on their left, as they ran to the right. Running for their lives. Passing rooms with screams and anguished cried sounding from the inside. As they finally got to the elevator. Root pressed the button going down, repeatedly as if it would hurry up the machinery. Shaw looked behind her and saw the fog getting closer. People in hospital gowns emerged from the rooms and into the smoke. Dead and limbless as they sauntered, zombie-like to them. As they got closer, the crimson in their eyes was clear and evident. The scarlet that filled their sclera matched the red, bloody bruises and cuts on their arms. The elevator opened, with a ding, as Root hurriedly pulled Sameen in. “They” started to charge at them, just as they elevator door slid shut. Their bloody eyes were engraved in her brain. The sanguine in their eyes spoke out to her in tongues, why were they red? Red haunted her dreams and awoke her demons. She knew that this was a dream, but she can’t wake up, she can’t move, she’s stuck. She started sweating and crying and shaking, and she screamed. She woke up to the morning light and an empty room.
Just outside the door, stood Root with two coffees in hand. Black for Sameen and a latte for me. She stared at the room next door. Something about it felt wrong, the ambiance felt deadly and off. She bit her bottom lip that was just recently applied with lipgloss as she stared intently at the door to her right. Room 97. The feeling of uneasiness and paranoia has set inside her as she worried her bottom lip. She was so deep in thought that by the time she tasted iron on her lips, instead of the cherry brand, her lips started to bleed. She brought herself back from her train of thought and wiped the crimson off her lips. The coffees are getting cold. She steadied herself and went into her room. She was surprised to be greeted by an up and ready Sameen.
“You’re up,” she concludes in her usual sweet, saccharine tone, “I bought us coffee. Ready to see New York City?”
The day went on as they finally got home, tired and sleepy. Sameen went straight to bed, not even bothering to change. Root, however like yesterday night, couldn’t sleep. As tired as she was, she was restless. The racket then resumed from last night. She sat in the corner, contemplating on whether or not she should wake Sameen up. She wouldn’t want to be the one to pull Sam from her slumber just because of some paranoia that has found its place in her. Plus, Sameen is extra grumpy when someone wakes her. But the thumping from next door got even louder. Then there was a scream. A long, screeching, scream. It was deafening, so loud it made her ears bled. She rolled off of bed, cuffing her ears, and scurried over to Sam’s bed. How is she still sleeping?
“Wake up! Sam, wake up!” Root screamed, kneeling beside Sam’s bedside. She shook her, hard and violent, she didn’t want to but she had to. She won’t wake up. Root panicked and her eyes were glassy, tears threatening to leave her eyes. Why won’t she wake up?
“Sameen!” Her voice broke. Now straddling Shaw, shaking her awake. Sameen finally opened her eyelids, she felt light-headed and nauseated, as if she was drugged. Then it hit her, the penetrating shrill from Room 97. Root went next door, as Sam grabbed the room phone. Next to the cord was a camcorder. Whose is this? The cries then stopped. Root returned, and in the light, she saw just how disheveled she looked. She had bags under her eyes, and there was a faint red surrounding her dilated pupils. She looked tired. She turned the camcorder on and a video played. A middle-aged man appeared on the screen, looking even more tired than Root, he looked exhausted. His hair was messy and the red in his eyes was clear. He looked as if he was on the brink of insanity, like the “things” in her nightmare. He then began, with a raspy voice:
“This is night five. Five nights without sleep, five nights next to…”
He looked nervous and terrified as he look behind him at his wall. He then glared back at the camera with blank expressions. She could hear the screaming behind his walls, a familiar screeching from seconds ago. He didn’t say, but she knew what he meant. Room 97.
“I finally figured it out. Project Insomnia. I might sound crazy but listen, Project Insomnia was an experiment held back in the 1900s. After World War II, they experimented on death-row prisoners, right here in this ‘hotel’. This room used to be an airtight chamber and they’d dose them with an experimental stimulant gas to test the effects of prolonged sleep deprivation. They had been promised their freedom if they could go entirely without sleep for 30 days. Paranoia would set in on the 10th day. 20 days until insanity and madness consumes them. They’d become insane and psychotic, screaming for hours on end, hitting their heads on the walls. They’d languish in their cells for weeks. Most didn’t last until the 20th day before they gave in, and the gas no longer took its effect. But subject 97… room 97, stayed awake for longer than that. Subject 97 stayed. ‘It’ never left. The gas kept it awake for decades. The gas, it’s in the hotel, in the vents. It’s in the air. So as long as you stay here, you either can’t sleep, or worse, you can’t wake up. It’s called the ‘Sleeping Beauty Effect’, another side effect of this gas stimulant. I’m going over there right now. But if you see this, leave. Right now. If you see this, just run.”
Static took over the screen. Shaw looked over to see Root, tensed and frozen. She then got up abruptly and shoved some clothes back into their bags.
“Hotel Insomni…” She could hear Root mutter, as she put on her jacket and grabbed Sam’s wrists, yanking her up from the bed.
“Root… wait.” She breathed, stopping her friend. Root looked weary but determined.
“What’s there to wait for?! You heard the screaming, the thumping. We are in Room 96. I can’t sleep, you can’t wake up. Hotel Insomni, I should’ve known. I thought it would be nice and fun, but I dragged us both into a freak show! We are leaving.” Just like that, Root was gone. The fun, perky, witty, person she knew was replaced by a more worried, paranoid, and protective girl. Root have never dealt with stress well. She’d tense up and block the fears away, as if her system was running entirely on adrenaline. Her reassuring smile was gone, replaced by thin lines. Her eyes grew cold and hard, determined. Root grabbed their bags and pulled Sam out the door.
Just as they got out into the hallway, she could see the door to Room 97 opened, just a crack. She shook her hands from Root’s tight grip and headed towards the door.
“Sam. No-” She hissed in a hushed whisper. But she was too late, Shaw peeked into the room. She saw nothing but darkness, but as she opened the door out more, letting the light in, she could see a surgical bed with restraints on the sides. She saw IV bags on the floor, as she stepped into the darkness. Something smelled rotten, a putrid and decaying odour that filled the air. Suddenly something grabbed her arms.
It was Root.
“What. Are you doing?” She hissed. She yanked her arm out of her friend’s grasp as she continued further into the depths of the room. Her voice hitched when she thought she heard a shuffling. Then she saw it. Red. In the dark corner, was a pair of red, haunting eyes. It glowed in a way where it was unearthly. The door slammed shut behind her. Leaving her trapped in the darkness. The pair of crimson eyes disappeared. Seconds later, her ears deafened when she heard screaming right next to her. Somewhere from the darkness, out the door, she heard her partner.
“Sameen--” Root’s muffled scream was the last thing she heard over the penetrating shrill.