The Unpleasant Room
I was a writer. My wife was fine. My kid was fine. I had a great life.
"Drink?" Asked the hotel manager at the hotel I was staying at to write about one of their most haunted rooms. (That's what I write about.)
"You are an alcoholic, aren't you? As a writer?" He continued.
"No,' I replied. "Why would you even ask that? Is substance abuse and addiction an ok topic of conversation for you when you first meet someone?'
"I'm sorry, it's just. I know you write."
"Obviously I write. I'm a writer. But I only enjoy the occasional glass of wine with a meal. Maybe once a month."
"I just thought, since your wife and kid died-"
"My wife and kid haven't died. You met them in the lobby literally 5 minutes ago. They come with me on trips while I stay and write in the spooky rooms."
After the awkwardness had passed, I was escorted to the haunted room, number 58008. As I crossed the threshold I noticed the temperature become a little chilly.
"You should kill yourself." Said the room.
"I'm not going to do that." I replied. "What an unpleasant thing to say to someone. You should do better."
"Ok." Said the room.
I sat down to write on my typewriter, patiently awaiting the next spooky thing to happen.
"Hey," said the room. "I think you're gay."
"Excuse me? Are you 5 years old? Do you think my sexuality is any particular thing to try and turn into an insult?"
"I'm sorry."
"It's ok."
"Will you kill yourself now?"
"No I'm not going to kill myself."
"But, your wife and kid, don't you feel guilty?"
"My wife and kid are fine! They're out shopping! And before you ask, I don't drink. Not because I'm an alcoholic writer, I can just take it or leave it."
The room was silent.
"I have to make one guy kill themselves, or the other rooms won't respect me."
"I'm sorry, but that's not my problem."
"You're mean."
"I'm not mean, I'm just not killing myself so you can brag about it with all the other hotel rooms. Do they sound like the kind of rooms you should be hanging out with?"
The room was dead silent the rest of the night, with some occasional sobbing. It was two out of five creepy and super embarrassing. The next day I drove back home and banged my hot wife, stone cold sober.
Credited to koalazeus
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