Shifting Shadows

He smiled at the stupidity of the commercials, the falseness of the news and the lies of the sitcoms.

"That's not life!" he muttered

He clicked it off.

And the smile faded into his ever present scowl.

He looked across the hotel room that had become his home for the last two weeks. The king sized bed sat against the wall, neatly made even though it sat on its edge, sheet pressed firmly against the wall.

The deep shag carpet left woolen under his leathery soles, while its dark redden hue looked similar to dried blood. A speck or two of shadowy grey drifted amongst the maroon, like thin clouds on a moonless night.

The sleeper sofa and dramatically designed cloth chair fit too perfectly into the spacious suite. Their browns, umbers and grays blended into the over powering carpet. The bed's over sheet came from the same box.

The bay window was open on both sides and the plain gray curtains revealed the slight spring breeze that drifted silently through the screens and around his sockless ankles.

The horrific odor finally came drifting to him from the darkened and silent bathroom. The fake wooden door was closed and locked but the stench came forth regardless.

He scowled even harder, teeth grinding, when his brain deciphered the smell of freshly severed arteries, flesh and veins. He sighed. "How long will this go on?" he thought. A relentless voice in the back of his subconscious reminded him "forever".

The door knocked. He leapt to his naked feet like an Olympic gymnast, darting eyes, pounding heart, his adrenalin had no mercy on his aging form.

"Who dare?" he challenged nervously.

"It's the bellboy sir. I have your dry cleaning from this morning, sir," came the answer.

He relaxed. Easing his breath back to normal.

He tensed again. What is it the cops, finally fingered him after 16 years and 112 murders, trying to catch him off guard?

"Just a minute" he yelled, clothing himself with a complementary terry cloth robe.

He closed one eye and peeked through the peephole, keeping his body to one side of the doorway in case they decided to shoot their way in.

The bellhop was alone and looking bored, holding his suit and underclothes in a clear plastic bag on a black plastic hanger.

He looked to the extent of the peephole's vision. No one else.

He opened the door. The bellhop instantly straightened and smiled. "Another idiot" he thought. Should kill him too. Who would miss another hotel bellhop in this city??

He handed the boy a Jackson, grabbed his clothes and slammed the door before he could slaughter the youthful bellhop.

The young one in the hallway shrugged and pocketed the twenty and headed to the elevators.

He quickly clothed himself, plucked his briefcase from the greedy carpet and opened the door.

From the side of his right eye he noticed the blood pool innocently flowing from under the bathroom door.

The thing in his mind was hungry. "One more look...." it whispered. He shut the hall door, set the briefcase down into the redden carpet and closed his eyes.

His figure shimmered, wavering from unseen forces and then was smoke. Incorporeal, he floated through the bathroom door. From in the room was a hideous laugh of a demonic beast.

Minutes later he emerged from the bathroom and solidified and redressed.

Smiling at the simplicity, he picked up the briefcase and left.