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May 3rd, 1993
I was visiting this lovely town in Oregon today. I was stopping here on my way to my grandfather's old house which was just a couple hours drive from here. It was such a quaint little place with such warm people. But you could tell immediately that they all knew something you didn't when you looked them in the eyes.
However, it was getting late... . So I stopped by the little hotel. When I walked inside it was quite lovely. Warm lighting, wondrous decor, quite remarkable for a little town like this. I was greeted by a warm smile from the owner, who quickly got me a room.
That feeling from before came back when she paused as she was handing me the key.
"You'll be on the second floor, go straight to the back, it'll be on your right. There's a door without numbers on it, people have tried before but please don't try to get in." With this she handed me the key. Being to freaked out to ask anything, I walked away quickly.
I walked up the stairs with only one of my suitcases in hand, and when I reached the top I was immediately struck by the sight of the door the woman had mentioned before. It not only had no numbers, but it looked like it had been painted shut.
I stooped down on one knee to peek through the keyhole, wondering what might be inside. It was all dark though, I couldn't see a thing.
I shrugged, figuring she just wanted me to stay out because they were renovating or something and went to my room to go to bed.
The next morning I was extremely cold. I woke up shivering and quickly got dressed, scrambled to get my things so I could leave to my warm car. As I was walking towards the staircase I felt a draft coming from under the door. So once again I stooped down, peeking through the keyhole. It looked like someone had taped over it with red.
I sighed and made my way back downstairs, handing the owner the key. She stopped me before I could get out of there.
"I'm sorry if I frightened you, dear. It's just that the room up there used to be a home to some of our neighbors here. They were strange, their skin was pure white, and their eyes were red."

Damn these sticky keys. I thought, pressing hard as I typed. It was getting so that I had to press each key individually, focusing on it to make the letter appear at all. This was more frustrating than you can imagine. I used to be an excellent touch-typer. Now that was no longer the case.
Something in my room smelt off, but somehow in my depression I couldn't muster the energy to care enough to look for it's source. I'm not sure why I was that posting in message boards at three in the morning still appealed. Habit, I suppose. It wasn't that it really appealed. Nothing really appealed since the depression took hold.
I couldn't even care that I had to pay so much attention to typing. It's not that anyone was really paying attention to my posts in the first place. I wasn't even. No one really thinks about posting "LOL". It's not like anyone actually laughs when they post it.
It was amazing how you could not care, but still think about something. Right now I was thinking about the smell.
It was sweet, heavy, and unpleasant. A thick, heavy smell. Unpleasant, but not like feces. I knew I'd smelled it somewhere before. Maybe it had been in here before. It was behind me, the smell. It was on my bed. I gave up and turned around.
There was a body, lying half-curled in sleep on the cot behind me. I started and fell out of my computer chair. The shock of seeing the body must have dulled the pain of landing, because though I didn't realize it at the time, I felt nothing.
I couldn't see the face from my vantage point on the floor, but I couldn't help but notice the decaying feet, inches from my face, were wrapped in mismatched and dusty socks.
I rose to my stocking feet and watched the angle of the corpse change, slowly. The forehead emerged from behind the shoulder. The eyes appeared, and my stomach tried to drop and empty it's self at the same time.
Of course falling from my computer chair didn't hurt. It's not like my bottom or knees hit the floor, they had been rotting in my bed for at least a week. It didn't surprise me that I didn't notice dying. I didn't notice when I was alive.

It was dark in my room.
That wasn't surprise. My light had burned out a few minutes ago, with that strange bzzt-pop noise that's the lightbulb equivilent of a death rattle. Since it was nearly three, I'd decided it was a sign and felt my way to my bed. I'd change the light bulb in the morning, with the light and go to sleep now.
So I lay in my dark room and tried to sleep. I was pretty wound up, so it wasn't working.
Bzzt-pop.
I sat up in bed. there were no other lights on, how could a ligth bullb burn out? It couldn't. I lay back down, and tried to sleep.
Bzzt-Pop!
I sat up again and stared at my lamp. No.
I lay back down. And the noise came again.
and again.
I put my pillow over my head.
It couldn't be happening and it wasn't.
And I listened to it happen for the rest of the night.