XII. The Hotel Maravilloso: Creek
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The casino was housed at the center of the hotel, thus there were no windows to the outside world—no light breaking into the abyss. It was pitch black, and Creek was keenly aware that the place felt like a black hole had swallowed him up. He grabbed a flashlight from his pack and focused the narrow beam in front of him, sweeping it occasionally to get a grander view of the massive space. There were gaming consoles and tables as far as he could see. The beam of his flashlight spread, like dissipating fog, before it reached the other side of the room, so he didn’t know exactly how big the casino was, but it was far larger than he’d anticipated.
Creek made his way along the outside edge of the room, navigating between slot machines and blackjack tables, instinctively keeping quiet and trying to listen to his surroundings. His flashlight kept illuminating tumblers, half-drunk, with alcohol still in them and stacks of casino chips atop vacant card tables. Down every aisle he shined his light, Creek saw overturned chairs and spilled buckets of tokens and quarters. When the shock of what he was seeing began culminating into thoughts within his mind is when it happened:
All the lights in the casino flickered.
It was less than a second. If Creek had been blinking, he probably would have missed it. Then, again—another flicker of the lights. This time light lingered longer. And something moved toward Creek. It was nothing that he could see, but, rather, he felt it. As the lights continued to flicker, Creek froze and slowly pressed his back up against a huge slot machine on an aisle endcap. When the lights came back on, he looked up and noticed a looming, cartoonish figure with a wide grin gazing down at him. He almost recoiled but quickly realized it was a themed game kiosk he was leaning against, and the figure was the game’s title character. “The Sandman’s Desert Dream” read the sign above the game in big plastic 3-D letters that were painted gold. And that was all Creek could see before the lights went out again, save for the large white grin of The Sandman, which seemed to fade into the darkness a bit slower than the rest of the casino.
Creek peered around “The Sandman’s Desert Dream” into a long empty aisle bordered by slot machines on either side. The lights flickered again quickly, and this time they did not come back on. Total darkness washed over Creek once more, until the slot machines at the far end of the aisle came on one by one, on each side, and in unison. Creek wasn’t sure what caught his attention first, the flashing neon pinks, blues, and greens of the machines themselves or their high-pitched musical bell tones clinging and clanging. The sound was unsettling and boisterous. Creek stayed still, eyes locked on the aisle as he noticed a figure in a suit and tie emerge between the flashing glows of slot machine lights.
The figure was motionless. Then, as Creek watched, it glided toward him with its feet still planted on the ground. As it moved down the aisle, the slot machines nearby roared to life, adding confusion to the noise, and Creek felt fear rising in his gut. He flipped the safety off his gun. As the figure approached the end of the aisle where he hid, Creek could see the gaunt details of its face. It was the face of a man with sunken cheeks that carried a dull-blue pallor, like he hadn’t taken a breath in ages. His lips were almost purple. The eyes were closed, and hands crossed over his belly, as if he were positioned in a casket. He was wearing a black suit with a white collared shirt, black tie, and shiny black shoes. As the figure glided closer, Creek could see that the man’s face was covered in sweat, and the smell of decay became more overwhelming with each passing moment. The figure drew closer—30 feet, 20 feet, 10 feet—while Creek remained frozen in place, unable to look away. Just before the figure reached him, just before Creek could no longer tell if the smell of death was coming from the man or himself, the lights in the whole casino came on. The raucous song of the slot machines and the figure were gone in an instant.
The thunderous cry of Jake’s shotgun rang out and the light cut out again in the casino, shaking Creek from his daze. He clicked his flashlight on and bolted in the direction of the noise. As Creek exited the casino, he could hear shouts coming from east wing where Jake had gone to investigate. Creek sprinted toward the voices, gun at the ready, and stopped short of turning the corner at the hallway where the commotion was. He could hear the words being exchanged:
“I already told you. You just don’t want to believe me.”
“No! Give me a good answer or I’ll make it so you won’t answer anyone ever again!”
Creek could hear the distress in Jake’s voice. He drew his gun and rounded the corner. To Creek’s surprise, he could see Stumpy in the doorway with gun drawn on someone he couldn’t see.
Stumpy spoke, “Since you seem so keen on giving people choices today, I’ll give you one—either put that gun down and let my friend be, or I will put you and it down together.”
From those words, Creek deduced that Stumpy had his gun trained on Jake. He rounded the corner quietly, slipping down the hallway, utilizing the doorway Stumpy was half standing in to keep him out of Stumpy’s peripheral vision.
“I guess you’re gonna have to shoot me, old man,” Jake snapped, “Cuz I’m not letting him out of my sight until I know what’s going on. We should never have trusted you!”
“Jake, listen. I’m not sure what you think is happening here, but I can promise you it’s not whatever you’re thinking,” Stumpy eased in, trying to kill the tension.
Creek snuck up directly behind Stumpy and, putting the barrel of his .22 flush against the old man’s temple, wrapped his free arm around the man’s neck, “What I’m thinking is that it looks to me like you’re pointing a gun at my friend,” Creek said with a harsh whisper. “Drop it, Stumpy.”
Stumpy dropped his .45.
“Now, slide it with your foot all the way to the end of that wall, away from everyone.
Stumpy obliged.
Creek forced Stumpy further into the room so he could get a better look at the situation, and he could finally see who was on the other end of Jake’s shotgun.
“Who do we have here?” Creek asked.
“Creek,” said Jake, “Meet Ernesto.”