Mary awoke with a start. Breathing heavily, frightened by what she had just seem, she realized that she was still in her hotel room. Everything that she had seen, everything that happened, it had all been a dream, a nightmare. She breathed a sigh of relief and rubbed her eyes with the heel of her hands. Sweat dripped off of her brow and, looking toward the window, she realized that it was day. She turned the clock to face her. It read 10:36. If she was going to make it to her job interview she had to leave now. She hopped out of the bed and started to pack up her things. Rushing through her hotel room she threw some fancy looking clothes on.
When she had finished packing up she ran out of the door closing is with her foot, carried her things to her car. She dumped her belongings into the backseat of her car and started for the front office of the hotel.
Mary entered the front office, and noticed that there was no one behind the desk. She walked over to the desk and rang the bell. No one came to the desk. Waiting impatiently to pay her bill, Mary started tapping her fingers repeatedly on the desk. She looked at the name placard on the desk. It read Mr. Johansson, and underneath that, Owner.
She started to zone-out, and a strong, old hand came down on top of hers. Started, Mary jumped backwards.
“It’s alright miss, don’t be startled,” said the man behind the desk. He was an older man, by the looks of it in his 70’s. His eyes were sweet and inviting, but his smile was sinister. He wore a blue flannel shirt and blue jeans. Over his left breast was a name-tag that read Mr. Johansson. “What can I do for you?”
Mary’s heart slowed to a normal pace and she stepped forward, placing her hands on the desk. “I need to pay for my stay,” she replied.
The man smiled at her once again, baring his yellowish, rotting teeth. He turned around and looked through a stack of papers he had on a shelf behind his desk. After shuffling through the papers for some time he removed one of them. “One night correct miss?”
“Yes,” Mary said in reply. She laid out her credit card on the desktop. Mr. Johansson took it in his shaking hand and swiped it. He handed the card back to her and she slipped it back into her purse. “Thanks,” Mary said, turning quickly and running out of the door. Once outside she made the final dash to her car and opened the driver’s door. She climbed in and put the key in the ignition, starting the car.

As she pulled out of the hotel parking lot, she looked in her rearview mirror. Mr. Johansson, the hotel manager, had walked out of the office and was standing in the doorway. Mary felt a tingle down her spine, the hair on the back of her neck standing up. She looked away from the mirror, her eyes adjusting to the road. She took the closest freeway on-ramp and started heading toward Des Moines. She looked at her wrist watch, 11:05. If she didn’t hurry she would be late for her job interview.
This was her big chance, her chance to get a start at what she wanted to do with her life. She was going to a big business to interview for a job as secretary for the CEO of the company. The business had approved all of her majors, all of her skill, and Mary was one of very few people they would be considering for the job. Her interview was at 11:30, and if she didn’t hurry up she would be late.
Racing down the freeway, she noticed a large laminated sign reading Freeway Closed. Mary slammed her hands into the steering wheel, cursing her luck. She pulled up next to a police car that was parked on the side of the freeway. She parked her car and turned off the engine, stepping out of the door. Mary stepped around the car, and waved at the officer, who stepped out of his patrol car.
“What can I help you with ma’am?” He asked. Mary looked at is chevron, noticing that his name was Officer Baker.
“Officer Baker,” she started, “I was wondering if there were any detours around the freeway that go to Des Moines?”
Officer Baker thought for a moment, and then replied, “There is one, but you have to go back a ways.”
“That’s fine officer.”
“What you want to do is head south,” Officer Baker began. “Take the first off ramp and keep following the road until you get to, I think its Baverson Avenue. Anyways, take a right and go straight until you see a dirt road off to your right. Turn there and keep going until you hit the first concrete road you see. Take a left and keep going and you will end up in Des Moines.”
“Thanks you so much officer,” Mary said. He nodded and stepped back into his car.
Mary ran around the front of her car and jumped into the driver’s seat. Turning on her car, she turned around and followed Officer Baker’s instructions. First off-ramp and a right on Baverson Avenue. Right on the dirt road and a left after that. The looked at her watch, 11:26. She was going to be late. Mary looked up from her watch, cursing her luck once again and settled her eyes on the road; and that’s when the corn fields came into view.

Mary was driving down the same road, no other cars in sight, surrounded by corn fields. Something seemed oddly familiar to her, like some sort of déjà vu. She had been here before, in this vortex, this never ending road engulfed in corn fields.
Startled with how realistic to her nightmares, Mary decided to push the gas a little harder. The realism that the road had, the realism of the corn, everything reminded her of her dreams. “Music,” she thought. Music would always take her mind off of anything she was worrying about. She reached over and turned on the car radio. The classical station came on, just like in her dream. Frightened now, Mary turned off the radio and stepped on the gas pedal. Something wasn’t right with her car, however, and she only slowed down.
Smoke billowed out from under the hood of the car. Mary pulled over and turned off her car. “No one wants me to get to this interview,” Mary thought out loud. She unbuckled her seatbelt and climbed out of her car. She stepped to the front of her car and opened the hood. Smoke billowed out and she turned away, coughing, and something caught her eye. She looked more carefully and realized that what had caught her eye were skid marks leading into the corn field she had parked next to, a dead corn field.
“This cannot be happening,” Mary said. “This cannot be happening.” She walked over to the skid marks, following them down the road and into the corn field. Tire marks were gouged into the soft ground of the field, smashed corn protruded from the tracks, and at the end of the destruction was a car. A black car, but not your normal black, more of a charcoal, burnt black. Mary, intrigued now, took a step toward the car. One step into the muddy tire tracks, filled with crushed, rotting corn. As Mary neared the car, she noticed that the car was somewhat sunken into the ground, surrounded by mud. The windows were blackened, and the edges of the doors were charred black. Mary pressed her face against the blackened glass, peering into the blackness of the car. Nothing but utter blackness. Mary reached for the door handle, pulling to open the door. It wouldn’t budge. She pulled on the door again, using all of her weight, and the door flew open, Mary flying backwards, landing in the muddy slush. Soaking wet and covered in mud, Mary climbed to her feet and looked into the backseat of the car. Mary gasped, her jaw dropping at what was in the car. The blackened body of a man. The charred face had a screaming expression. The man’s eyes, still open, were staring right at Mary. It was almost as if the body was still alive. Unable to take her eyes off of the body, Mary stumbled backwards, slipping and falling into the mud. Her dress clothes smeared with mud and rotting corn, Mary starting crawling through the slush toward the road. Finding a support, she climbed to her feet and stumbled onto the road, and started for her car.
There was a police officer standing at the front of her car, looking at a piece of paper, writing her a ticket. Unable to speak, Mary stumbled forward, catching the officer’s attention. He looked and her and ran forward as Mary started to fall to the ground. Mary recognized him, Officer Baker. Running forward, he caught Mary just before she hit the ground. Turning and looking into the corn field, Mary pointed to the destruction behind the burned out car. Officer Baker looked where she was pointing, and then back at her. His mouth moved but Mary only heard a muffled voice. He laid Mary on her side and headed for the entrance into the corn field. She heard the muffled foot-falls in the mud and radio static. Officer Baker rounded the entrance back onto the road and jogged to where Mary lay. Kneeling down beside her he said something, once again, inaudible to Mary. He got up and ran for his patrol car, throwing open the driver’s door and getting on the radio. All Mary heard was muffled voices and static. Starting to feel lightheaded, blackness closing in around her, Mary looked toward the entrance to where the car lay. Everything was blackening, and that’s when Mary started to hear the sirens. And then everything went black, and there was no more sound.

Mary awoke in the back of an ambulance, the doors open, no one beside her. She rubbed her forehead, feeling a massive bump from where she had fallen. She climbed out of the ambulance and looked around. She was still at the corn field where she had fainted at, but there was a crime scene investigation going on around her. Stumbling toward her car, Mary caught the attention of Officer Baker, who was filling out a report in his patrol car.
“Ma’am,” he said jogging toward her. “Are you alright, ma’am?”
“Yes, I’m fine,” Mary said. Officer Baker looked like he was about to say something, but didn’t, as another officer walked up behind Mary.
“Ma’am,” said the officer. “I would like to ask you a few questions.” Mary nodded and followed the officer back to the ambulance, where he sat down on the back end of the tail. He looked at his notepad and raised his eyes to her face. He patted the edge of the ambulance next to him, motioning for her to sit down. Mary obeyed, only out of politeness. She looked at her watch again, 12:17. She was very late, she thought as she sat down. She read the officer’s name tag, Barry.
“I’m Chief Barry, ma’am,” he said. “So, what exactly were you doing, out here ma’am?”
“The free-way was closed,” Mary began, “so I took directions from Officer Baker on how to get to Des Moines. I have a job interview that I am almost an hour late to so if I could get going that would be great.”
“I’m afraid we can’t let you go ma’am,” said Chief Barry. “You discovered a crime scene, you are our main witness.”
“With all due respect,” Mary challenged, “I need to get this job. I understand that you need me to testify. What if I gave you my number?”
“Ma’am that won’t be possible,” he responded. “We have a place for you to stay, back the road quite a ways. The police department will pay for your stay; I can assure you of that. We need to hear you testimony, both in interrogation and in the court room.”
Mary looked at her watch again, 12:20. There was no way she was going to get the job now. Mary looked into the corn field; a forensic team now searched the car, putting the body on a stretcher. She looked back at Chief Barry, rubbed her eyes and face with her hands and sighed. “I guess I have no choice.” A man with a white forensic suit came over to the ambulance.
“Sir,” he began, “you may want to look at this.”
“Just tell me what it is Barrymore.”
“There isn’t just a burned car wreck in the corn field, sir,” said the man. “It’s a damn bone-yard.”
“What do you mean a bone-yard?”
“We count at least ten to fifteen other bodies, sir,” the man continued. “They were all buried in the mud.”
“Well miss,” said Chief Barry, looking down at his notepad and slapping his thigh. “Looks like you’ve found the biggest crime scene in twelve years.”
Mary looked at the ground, feeling her face turning red. She looked back up at the chief, “So where am I staying?”

Chief Barry pulled into the parking lot of a small hotel along the side of the road, not too far away from where Mary had discovered the crime scene. Mary pulled into the parking lot behind him. She parked her car, cautiously looking at the dark rooms. She remembered this place, from somewhere, but she couldn’t remember where. Her mind was racing. She had discovered a major crime scene, a field of death. She climbed out of her car, and walked over to Chief Barry.
He put his hand on her shoulder, “Come on in with me,” he said. “I’ll book you a room for the next couple nights. He pressed on and opened the door to the lobby for her. She walked into the room. It was a small room, not much bigger than the average sitting room. It reminded her of a lodge that she and her parents had stayed at during the winters when she was a little girl. A nice, warm fire, plush chairs and a couch, and what appeared to be an elk head mounted above the mantle-piece. Mary felt very calm, as though she knew the place, like she had been here before. Chief Barry walked up to the reception desk and tapped the small bell on sitting on the desk.
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” floated a raspy, old voice from the back room. An old man stepped out of an adjacent room, stumbling down a small rise between the floors. He looked at Chief Barry, and then at Mary. His eyes looked into hers for what seemed like hours. His eyes staring at her, and he barred his yellow, rotting teeth.
“Mr. Johansson,” said Chief Barry, “This is Mary. She is in need of a place to spend the next couple of days.” Mr. Johansson was nodding his head, still staring at Mary. “Of course, the police department will be paying for her stay.”
Mr. Johansson took his eyes off of Mary to answer Chief Barry. “Why of course John. I would be glad to house a beautiful, young woman like her.” He looked at Mary again, this time flashing an evil grin. Mr. Johansson turned to the wall behind his and grabbed a key-ring off of a nail that had been driven into the wall. He turned again, placing the key into Chief Barry’s hand.
“Thank you Mr. Johansson,” said Chief Barry. John turned and walked Mary out of the office. “If you have any troubles, you call me all right,” he said, handing her a piece of paper with his number on it. “Here is your room,” he said, stopping outside of the door to room number 13. He slid the key into the lock and turned it, opening the door. He opened the door gently, revealing a void of blackness. Mary walked into the room, and turned on the lights. It was a nice room, although it appeared that it hadn’t been used in a long time. There was dust covering the small table sitting next to the bed, which was neatly made and clean, except for the dust. Mary looked around the room, standing just inside the doorway. John cleared his throat. “I will be calling the room to let you know when we will need to bring you in for an interview.” Mary turned slowly, looking him in the eye. She was tired, and John knew it. “I will let you get some rest ma’am. Call me if you have any trouble.” With that, John left the room, closing the door behind him.
Mary set down her suitcase and walked over to the bed and sat down. A thick film of dust rose out of the cover and floated around her. She just sat there, unable to move, unable to care about anything right now. Mary sat in total silence for a long time. She laid down on her side, staring at the wall in front of her. Her mind was racing. She had discovered at least sixteen bodies, sixteen murdered people. Mary was now stuck in this small town, unable to leave for the time being. She had missed her one opportunity to get the job that she had always wanted. She definitely wasn’t going to be hired now.
From her purse she heard her cell phone start to buzz. Mary got up from the bed and walked over to where her purse lay on the ground. She flipped open her phone; a text message from the agency where she was going for her interview. Mary; We are sorry that we missed you earlier today, but we want to offer you another chance for the job. Come in tomorrow and we will give you an interview.
Mary was thrilled that she still had a chance to get the job, but she didn’t know if John would let her go to the interview. Mary walked over to the bedside table where she put the card with his number on it. Picking it up, she dialed his number; 243-7875. The phone rang for a long time, and finally John answered.
“Chief Barry,” he said. “How can I help you?”
“John, it’s Mary,” she replied. “I need to go into Des Moines tomorrow for a job interview. Is that at all possible?”
John sat in silence for a while, obviously in deep thought. “I guess,” he said with a heavy sigh. “But I want to go with you just in case.”
“That’s fine,” Mary replied, relieved that she could go. “I’m going to go rest. I will talk to you in the morning and let you know when I am leaving.”

Mary hung up the phone and set it down on the bedside table. She sat down on the dusty bed again, dust filling the air around her. She laid down on her side, her head on one of the pillows, and slowly slipped into a deep sleep.

Mary was in a dark hallway. There was only one door, and it was at the other end of the hall. One light, hanging from the ceiling, lighted the hall. Mary walked toward the door cautiously. The light flickered, sending shadows across the walls and floor. She made it to the door, and slowly reached for the handle. She grasped the knob, the cold brass sending shivers down her arms and through her body. Turning the handle, she pushed open the door, walking into a larger, darker hallway. Mary walked into the room, leaving the door open behind her so that the light would come in.
A strong breeze hit Mary from the front, blowing her hair in her face, and closing the door behind her with a loud bang. She turned quickly, running back to the door. She grabbed the knob, pulling with all of her strength. The door was latched shut, not budging at all. A loud sound came from behind her, and she turned to see what it was. Gigantic lights, hanging from the ceiling turned on, one by one, beginning at the far end of the hall. She looked around in the dim light, and realized that that hall was much larger than she had originally thought. The ceilings were at least thirty-feet tall; the hall was two stories high. The hall was at least one hundred feet long. Mary looked around, amazed that all of this could be real, and then it hit her. The hall wasn’t just a hall; it was a prison. Prison cells lined the walls, on both sides. Mary ran over to the nearest cell and peered inside. With the little light that she had, she could see a body lying on a small cot in the corner of the room. She moved to her right, moving down the line of cells. More cots, some with, some without bodies on them. Some cells were empty; some had bodies lying on the floor. None of the corpses moved.
Mary reached the end of the first side of cells, and still not one live person. She turned around, peering up to the second story. A dark figure was staring down at her. The figure leaned against the railing, peering over the side of the balcony down at her. Then it turned and walked away. Mary followed the figure, and saw a staircase leading up to the second story. She ran for the stairs, keeping her eye on the figure. The figure turned to look at her, watching her climb the stairs.

Mary reached the second story, and looked the figure in the face. It was just a shadow, a black figure. Whatever it was, it did not care that Mary was following it. It turned and kept walking to the end of the balcony. A door, illuminated around the edges, appeared in the wall. The figure opened the door and seemed to float into the room; Mary followed, cautiously.
The room was small and very bright on the inside. Mary stepped into the room, looking around at the walls. The walls were white, illuminated by the flood light that had been set on the ground at the far end of the room. Mary looked at the flood light and, out of the corner of her eye, noticed something off to her left. She turned and saw another dark figure, this one much more real looking than the other, hanging against the wall. The figure’s back was to Mary. Its head hung down, and blood dripped from its back and onto the ground.
Mary took a step toward the figure, and it slowly started turning around. Mary was astonished by what she saw. She fell backwards, stumbling to catch herself, gasping at what she had just seen. Unable to take her eyes off of the body, she noticed that it was hanging by a meat hook that had been driven into the ceiling. Mary looked into the face of the body, hyperventilating at what she saw. It was herself.

Mary awoke, once again, with a start. She felt as though she couldn’t breathe. Sweat dripped off of her brow and she wiped it with the back of her hand. She looked around her room, spying a small clock next to her; 1:46. It was still night out. She laid back, sitting up in the bed. A faint light from the corner of the room caught her eye. Mary looked over, noticing what looked like the faint outline of a door.
Her heart pounding, Mary got up from the bed and walked over to the light. She tip-toed across the room, approaching the area of the wall where the light came from. She walked across the room, hitting a creaky spot in the cold, wooden floor. Mary stopped dead in her tracks and looked down at her feet, poised on her toes. She cursed herself silently and slowly raised her head to look at the wall. The light was now gone. She relaxed her body, standing on her whole foot now, and walked over to the wall.
There were no cracks in the wall where light could have been coming from, or none that she could see. Rubbing the wall with her hands, Mary searched for cuts in the wall, but to no avail. All that she found was the rough, stucco wall. She stepped back, rubbing her forehead in wonder. What could that have been, she thought. You know what it was? It was just some car’s headlights coming through the window, that’s all. She rationalized her thoughts while walking back to the bed and laid down. Mary rolled onto her side, and peered through the blinds that covered her window. The parking lot seemed to be empty, and there were no car engines that she could hear.
“It must have passed already,” she said aloud. “Probably just left the hotel for some odd reason.” Mary rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling and, after lying awake for some time, drifted back into her sleep.

Mary awoke the next morning to the sound of the hotel room phone ringing. She got up lazily and walked over to the phone.
“Hello,” Mary said into the phone.
“Mary, it’s Chief Barry,” John said over the phone. “What time did you want to leave for your interview?”
“Oh, um.” She had forgotten about the interview until just now. “How about in one hour?”
“That’s fine,” said Chief Barry. “I will be at the hotel to pick you up.”
Mary hung up the phone and looked at the clock, 9:11. She rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands and walked to her suitcase, which she had lazily thrown to the ground by the side of the bed. She picked it up and threw it onto the bed, another layer of dust rising up out of the covers. She coughed, waving her hand around her face to clear the dust. She unzipped her suitcase, throwing open the top, and pulled out fresh clothes.

After showering and cleaning up for her interview, Mary left the room, locking the door with her key, and waited outside of the room for Chief Barry. It was now 10:00, and Mary was starting to pace. The open hallways of the hotel allowed her to see the parking lot and hear the cars passing by on the road. Mary was pacing out in front of her room for five minutes now, and still no Chief Barry. She turned again, moving back and forth in front of her room.
“Do you need some help, ma’am?” said a raspy voice from behind her. She turned quickly to see who it was. Mr. Johansson stood behind her, hunched over a broomstick. “Are you waiting for someone?”
“I’m just waiting for Chief Barry,” she responded. “I have an interview and he was going to take me to it.”
Mr. Johansson stared at Mary from his broomstick perch. Hearing a car engine, he turned around. “Here he is now,” he said to Mary, turning to face her, a grin on his face. Mary shuddered. The grin seemed harmless, but his yellow, rotting teeth made her feel sick. She ran to Chief Barry’s car, waiting for him to stop and then hopped into the passenger seat. It was a patrol car, not like she had expected anything else from the police chief, but it was very crowded in the cab. A shotgun was perched in between the seats and a police-band radio sat in front of the dashboard, crackling with static. Chief Barry reached over and turned the volume on the radio down to zero. Mary watched him do so, following his hand as it moved back to the steering wheel.
“Let’s get going,” she said, trying to hide the fear in her voice. Chief Barry nodded, putting the car in gear, and pulling out of the parking lot. The two drove down the highway toward Des Moines for half an hour in silence. Chief Barry, glancing at Mary every so often, noticed that she was staring at the road in front of them.
“Everything alright, ma’am?” he asked. Mary, turned and looked at him, preoccupied with her thoughts, then back at the road. She nodded her head.
“I’m just anxious to get to the interview that’s all,” she replied. Mary turned and rested her head against the passenger window. She stared off into the distance.
They drove on for around another half hour before they got to the highway exit. Chief Barry drove off the exit, looking at the roadside sign stating, Des Moines: 3 miles. Chief Barry pulled up in front of 666 Walnut Street, the office of Aaron D. Bernard. Chief Barry put the car in park and turned off the engine. Mary got out and walked around the front of the car, toward the building entrance. Chief Barry rolled down his window.
“Give me a call when you’re finished here,” he said. Mary turned and nodded her head, acknowledging his comment and kept on walking. Chief Barry started the car and pulled away from the curb as Mary walked into the office of Aaron Bernard.

Mary opened the door to the building and walked inside. The receptionist looked up at her from over her glasses. She lowered her eyes back to the computer screen, which was partially reflected off of her glasses, and kept working. Mary walked up to the desk, putting her hands on the top. The receptionist looked up at Mary again, taking her hand off of the keyboard and resting them in her lap.
“How may I help you, ma’am,” she said.
“I’m here for a job interview,” Mary responded. The lady looked back at the computer screen.
“You must be Mary,” she said. “Mr. Bernard is ready to interview you now, but let me check and make sure. You can sit down in one of those chairs while you wait.” The lady stood up, pointed to the chairs in the waiting area, and walked out from behind the desk and headed down the hallway. Mary turned around and walked to the first chair, sitting down in it. Twiddling her thumbs, she looked downward at the small coffee table in front of her. Something on the table caught her eye, the local newspaper. Mary leaned closer, looking harder at the small text of the newsprint. It was an article about the field that she had found the previous day. What caught her off guard was that her name was in the article. She picked up a corner of the newspaper and stared at her name, unaware of what was going on around her, tuning out all things. As she stared at the article she heard a whining, high-pitched sound. She read the heading of the article; Field Of Death Found By Tourist. Mary Sellgo, a tourist, made an amazing discovery yesterday, helping police find the bodies of twenty missing people.
“Mary,” said a voice snapping her out of her trance. Mary looked up to the face of the receptionist. “Mr. Bernard is ready for the interview.”

Mary stood up, dropping the paper back onto the table and followed the receptionist back to Mr. Bernard’s office. Mary entered the room, the receptionist closing the door behind her. The office was small, with a large desk, a bookshelf, and a dresser. A fish-tank sat on top of the dresser. Behind the desk was a small computer table and a man – presumably Mr. Bernard – sitting in a chair and staring at the computer screen. Mary leaned around the chair to see the computer screen. It was an internet article about the field that she had found. The man in the chair spun around, his hands folded in his lap, his head tilted slightly to his right.
“Mrs. Sellgo,” he said. “Please sit down and we can begin our interview.” He motioned to a small chair in front of his desk. She sat down quietly, folding her legs. “Mrs. Sellgo,” he began. “You must know who I am, but in case you don’t, I am Aaron Bernard. Now I want to begin the interview with…wait a minute.” He looked at Mary and then at his computer screen and then back at Mary. “You are the Mary, aren’t you?”
“I don’t know about the Mary, Mr. Bernard,” she said in return, looking down at the ground.
“Nonsense,” he said. He leaned forward, placing his forearms on the desk in front of him, propping himself up. To Mary, he looked like a small child leaning on the glass casing around the ice cream in a convenience store. She suppressed a smile, biting her tongue. “This may seem out of line for me to ask, but where exactly are you staying?”
She looked at him, leaning back in her chair. A feeling of uneasiness fell over her. “It’s a small hotel, just off the road about an hour away from here, why do you ask?”
Aaron leaned back in his chair. “Who is the owner of the hotel,” he asked, quickly adding, “If you don’t mind me asking.”
“An older man,” Mary responded. “His name is Mr. Johansson.”

Aaron slipped his glasses off and rubbed his eyes. “That’s what I feared.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’ve prosecuted him for murder at least eighteen times,” Aaron said. He reached into his desk and pulled out a manila file-folder. He laid it out on the desk and opened it. It contained pictures of Mr. Johansson and papers talking about his many murder accusations. Mary picked up the folder, leafing through the papers. Holy shit, she thought. “These people would stay at his hotel, and then they would disappear. We think it was him but there was no way to prove it. One person did go to the police after staying there. Said that there was a strange light that would appear on the wall in their room. That there was a secret stairway leading into a dungeon underneath the hotel.”
“What happened then?”
“The police went to the hotel and searched the room. They didn’t find a thing. The guy was put in a mental hospital because he wouldn’t stop talking about it. He said that there were people down there; that it was like a prison down there. He broke out of the place three days later and was found dead in front of the hotel the next day. No one was ever found guilty of the murder.”
Mary looked at his face. “How do you know it was a murder?”

“He was shot,” Aaron replied. He clasped his hands on the desktop. “In fact, his torso was nearly severed from the rest of his body. Paramedics actually picked up his body in two pieces. There has been a lot of evidence linking Mr. Johansson to the murders of the people but over and over again the Chief would get him off of the charges. I swear he was bribing the judge but I could never get any evidence to prove it.”
“Who was the Police Chief?”
“Well,” Aaron said, “You might know him as Chief Barry. It almost seemed like they were working together, Barry and Mr. Johansson. Mr. Johansson would always stay and talk with Barry after the court sessions. Barry would drive him back to the hotel where he lived and would check up on him.” He looked down at his hands, which were still clasped on the desktop. “But like I said, we could never find any evidence linking them together.”
“We,” Mary asked. Aaron glanced up at her and then back down at his clasped hands.
“There were more prosecuting lawyers working together to prove Mr. Johansson guilty. After the court ruled not guilty we disbanded, although we all worked here in Des Moines. Within two weeks all but two of the four were dead. Their bodies were all found mutilated. I’m not going to go into detail. The man that you found in the burned car was the other lawyer. I’m the only one left now.” He looked up into Mary’s eyes. She turned away, trying to hide her sorrow for him. But her feeling weren’t just sorrow. She was scared. Not just scared. She was terrified. The palms of her hands were sweating. She wiped them casually of her pant leg. She looked at Aaron’s face; he could tell that she was frightened.
“I understand that you are frightened,” he said. He placed his hands on the desk, palms down. He stood up, using his arms as a brace. He grabbed his glasses off the desktop and put them on. “You got the job, Mrs. Sellgo.” He walked to the door of his office and opened it. “I will walk you out,” Aaron said, motioning with his hand. Mary and Aaron walked out of the office and down the hallway. They reached the waiting-room and Chief Barry was sitting down in one of the chairs.
Aaron stopped dead in his tracks. He looked at Mary. “I will send you an email with your schedule in it.”
Mary looked at him. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Bernard,” she responded. She reached out and shook his hand. She turned to Chief Barry and they walked out of the office building.

Mary was sitting on the bed in her hotel room. She was happy that she got her dream job; but she was terrified at the same time. She was living in a hotel where she – and others – were positive that multiple murders had been committed. She thought about calling the police. Bad idea, she thought. Chief Barry IS the police. She laid down on the bed, drifting away. Her eyelids were heavy with sleep. She shook her head, waking herself up for the time being. How can I sleep knowing that I could be murdered at anytime, she asked herself. Still, her eyelids fell over her eyes, and she drifted to sleep.

Mary was alone in the parking-lot of the hotel. From what she could tell it was around 1 or 2 in the morning. It was eerily quiet. How did I end up out in the parking-lot, she asked herself. She started to walk back to her room. The light was on in the room and she could see shadows dancing on the curtails pulled across the window. What’s going on, she thought. Mary neared the door, taking a step onto the smooth asphalt of the outdoor hallway of the hotel. She stepped into the hallway, immediately jumping backwards. A scream echoed from her room, the shadows dancing across the window again, this time faster than before. A gunshot sounded from the room. A man opened the door and ran out into the parking-lot. Mary had never seen him before. He was bent over slightly, holding his right side. Blood spewed from between his fingers, his white dress-shirt turning red. He was panting, trying to get away from something. Mary tried to run, to help him. She could not. She was glued to the spot where she had landed. The light from the room lit the way for the man as he ran into the parking-lot. He slipped, falling onto his hands and knees. The man seemed possessed to get away. He carried forward on his knees, using one arm to support his upper body while the other held his wound. Mary watched him, helplessly. The light was interrupted by a figure. Mary turned to see who it was.
It was Mr. Johansson; only he was about three or four years younger. He carried a shotgun, a spray of blood shown across his blue bathrobe. He cocked the shotgun, an empty shell falling from the side another quickly taking its place. He walked toward the man menacingly. The man fell onto his side, quickly turning to face Mr. Johansson. As he lay on his back he tried to speak.
“Please,” the man pleaded. “Don’t…don’t kill me, please.”
Mr. Johansson stopped just in front of the man. This was not what he was expecting and Mary could tell it. He was not expecting to be begged for mercy. Mr. Johansson chuckled a little. “What makes you think I give a rat’s ass about you?” He looked down upon the man, who was now in complete darkness. Mary could tell that the man was trying to say something but couldn’t. “What makes you think that I should spare you?” Mary could tell that Mr. Johansson was enjoying the pleading, the begging for life. Mr. Johansson lifted the shotgun to the man’s head.
“No,” he said menacingly. He lowered the shotgun to the man’s torso. “I want you to suffer.” He pulled the trigger, the blast temporarily stunning Mary. She saw the whole thing as if it was in slow-motion. The man lying on the ground let out a horrible scream as he fell back onto the asphalt of the parking-lot. Mr. Johansson turned around, a satisfied smile on his face, and whistled while he walked back to his office.
How could he act like nothing ever happened, Mary thought. She turned her attention back to the man, who was now dead, lying in the middle of the parking-lot. Mary could move now, she could breathe now. She walked slowly to the man in the parking-lot. As she got closer to his nearly severed body, she saw the blood spreading through the cracks in the pavement like ocean water through sand. Blood gurgled from his mouth as he took his last breaths. She knelt down, taking the man’s wallet from beside him. Gary Richardson was his name.

Mary awoke, sweat forming on her brow. Had she just seen the last murder that Mr. Johansson committed? She sat up in the bed, rubbing her eyes with the heels of her hands. She glanced at the clock to her right, 10:59. She looked around the room, noticing something odd. The light from the wall was back. She stood up, walking cautiously to the spot. She felt around the light. There were small cracks, in the shape of a door. Mary, possessed by curiosity, pushed against the wall. It fell in slightly. Mary pushed again, this time with all of her weight. The wall gave way, falling down onto a staircase that led down underneath the hotel. Standing at the top of the stairs, Mary realized what this was. This is what that man, Gary, was talking about.
Mary stepped down into the staircase. There was only one way to go, and that was down. Way down. Small light bulbs, hanging from chains, lit the way. It took her several minutes to reach the bottom of the stairs. She guessed it was at least one-hundred feet underneath the hotel. Smooth pavement, like that of the hallway, led onward, toward a single wooden door. Mary continued cautiously toward the door. She reached it, he hands reached for it, the smooth wood of the door rubbing against her hand. She grasped the handle, pushing against the door. It opened, without challenge, and opened into another smaller hallway. She stepped into it, the door closing behind her.
She turned; there was no trace that the door had ever been there. A single light, hanging from the ceiling, lit the hallway; a single door at the other end. Mary continued onward, feeling another strange déjà vu. When she reached the door, a strangely familiar door knob met her hand. The cold brass sparking what she already knew of the place where she was. Beyond this door, she thought, is a prison filled with corpses.
Mary was strangely compelled to open the door. She did, and was met with the familiar darkness of the prison from her dream. Mary stepped into the darkness slightly, just enough for the door to close behind her.
And exactly like in her dream, flood lights from the prison ceiling started coming on. The light reached her, more eerily than she remembered it from her dream. Corpses were strewn about inside of their cells, covered in spider-webs just like the bars to the cells themselves. She walked down the same side that she had in her dream, seeing everything just as she remembered it. Mary reached the end of the prison. Everything was exactly as it was in her dream. Feeling light-headed, Mary sat down on the cold concrete and leaned against the bars of the cell closest to her. The door creaked open, loudly. Mary fell backwards, catching herself with her arm. The clanging of the bars, the screeching of the old, rusted hinges moved, echoed throughout the prison. Mary, listening carefully, looked around the room. The sound died down, nothing happened. Mary breathed a sigh of relief. Just then a door on the second story of the room opened, letting more eerie light into the prison.
Mr. Johansson climbed out of the door, stepping onto the scaffolding of the walkway. He looked around the prison, searching for where the sound came from. Mary stared up at him, holding her breath, hoping that he wouldn’t see her. Her eyes moved from his searching face down to his hands, in which he help a shotgun, the shotgun that he used to kill Gary Richardson. She gasped, quickly realizing her mistake, and covering her mouth with her hand. It was too late. Mr. Johansson looked down from where he was standing, looking Mary in the eyes. A deep hate invaded his eyes. The feeling of fear shot up Mary’s spine. The feeling invaded her head. But she wasn’t just scared, she was absolutely terrified. Mr. Johansson started for the stairs down to the main floor. Mary’s heart started to race; she looked around the room, looking for an exit.

Mr. Johansson was almost to the stairs leading to the main floor. Mary sat, paralyzed by fear, looking for a way out. She heard the snapping of the shotgun being cocked. Adrenaline raced throughout her body. Her vision started to tunnel. She looked around frantically, spying a small door on the opposite side of the room. She jumped to her feet and raced toward the door. Mr. Johansson’s feet clanged down the stairs. Mary’s heart raced as she grabbed the door knob and twisted it. Another hallway, lit by the same hanging lights as the other hallways. Mary raced down the hall, leaving the door open behind her.
The hallway seemed to run on forever. Mary panted as she ran. She could hear Mr. Johansson behind her, walking down the hall. There is no way out of here, she thought. A door, at the end of the hall, came into sight. Mary sprinted, faster than she ever had in her life.
“Where are you going?” asked Mr. Johansson. “No one leaves this place. You hear me!” He screamed at her, frightening Mary even more. Mary reached the door, slamming against it. It didn’t budge. She turned, just in time to see Mr. Johansson raise the shotgun. He was far away, walking at a brisk pace to catch up with her. She let out a frightening scream. Her hands felt for the doorknob, her eyes unable to leave Mr. Johansson. She gripped it, twisted, and ran into the room, her face hitting something hard and wet. She looked up; a corpse had been hung in front of the door, blood sprayed onto its chest and face. Mr. Johansson let out a laugh, cackling hysterically. Mary let out another horrified scream, running past the body.
Mary ran through the dark room that followed, sliding in the water that lightly coated the floor. She stopped in what seemed to be the middle of the room. She spun around, looking for a place to hide. Her head was spinning, she couldn’t think straight. She spied a small hideaway in the corner of the room. A small air duct; the grating along the outside had been torn off. She ran to it, turning around, debating whether to climb in or not. Mr. Johansson’s shadow started to walk into the darkness of the room. Mary climbing into the duct almost instantly, climbing in so she could see into the room. Mr. Johansson’s feet stepped into the doorway. Mary covered her mouth to hide the sound of her breathing. Mr. Johansson walked into the room, seeming to be astonished that she had escaped him. She could hear his breathing, loudly as he panted. Mary could only see him from the thighs down. His feet splashed in the shallow water that laid on top of the concrete floor as he stalked across the room. Mr. Johansson walked across the room, and turned around.
He scanned the room with his old eyes, squinting through the darkness.
He turned and grabbed a knob on the wall behind him, opening a hidden door. Light streamed into the room. He walked through the door, closing it behind him, darkness invading the room once again.
Mary sat in the air duct for what seemed like forever, waiting to see if Mr. Johansson would come back. She looked at the small watch on her wrist, 11:34. It had been at least half-an-hour. She climbed carefully out of the air duct, falling into the water on the floor. She laid on her side, sobbing. She didn’t want to be here, she didn’t want this, any of this. Her tears fell like rain drops into the water. She sat up, using her hands to prop herself up. She looked at her blood stained palms. Probably from the body, she thought.
Mary stood up, wiping her hands on her pant legs. Now, she thought, how do I get out of here? She looked around the room. She only knew of two doors; the one she came in through, and the one that Mr. Johansson had used to leave. Mary rubbed her eyes with the palms of her hands. She had to make a decision, and fast. In the water, rippled by droplets of water, blood, and tears, Mary stood, contemplating her fate.

Mary stood in the middle of the room, contemplating her way out. Mr. Johansson would expect me to follow him, she thought. Or would he? Would he expect me to go back the way I had come? Mary rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands. A loud crackling static exploded into the room, echoing throughout the underground prison. Mary looked around the room, spying a small speaker wedged against the ceiling of the room.
“I know you’re out there,” said a voice over the speaker. It seemed to be some sort of intercom system. Mr. Johansson’s voice came out of the speakers. “I knew that you were hiding in that air duct. I left you there, and do you know why? Because I like a challenge. I love a hunt. You had better start running Mary, because in fifteen minutes, I’m coming back to that room, and I’m gonna to blow you away. And you know what? I’m goin’ to enjoy it.” The intercom hung up with a diabolical laugh on his end.
Mary, although feeling light headed, spun around toward the door that she entered the room through. She walked slowly to the doorway, placing her hands on either side of the frame. Taking a deep breath, she pushed herself lightly through the doorway and into the hall. The hallway that she entered was not as long as she had previously thought. It was about 100 feet long; the walls were coated with blindingly white paint. Ok Mary, she thought. Just retrace your steps and get back up to your room and call Chief Barry. But Chief Barry is helping him, I can’t call him. Mary continued to slowly walk down the hall, putting her weight on one hand, which was placed on the right wall.
About half way down the hall Mary slipped, falling into the wall with a loud crash. She looked back to the room where she had come from, seeing only darkness in the doorway. A trail of water followed her footsteps out of the room, sliding out where she had just slipped. She placed her hand on the wall that she had fallen against, falling deeper into its place. The section of the wall that she had fallen against had been pushed inside, creating a doorway into another room. Mary slowly got up to her feet, staring into the room that she had just opened. She walked into the room, unaware that the door she had opened was closing behind her. She turned, just as the door closed with a rattling clank.
The room was dark except for a single light that was hanging from the ceiling to her left. The light only illuminated a small circle of the room. Mary walked toward this circle of light, reeling backwards slightly when she realized what was in the middle of the circle. It was a child, around the age of 8, sitting in the fetal position, slightly rocking back and forth. As Mary neared the child she could hear that he was whispering something. It appeared at first to be a nursery rhyme.
”Ring around the rosie, pockets full of posies, ashes, ashes, we all fall down,” said the little boy. Mary stared at the boy, listening to him as he repeated the song for a second time, then a third and a fourth. By the fifth time he repeated it, the ending had changed. “Ring around the rosie, pockets full of posies, ashes, ashes, we all fall dead.” She circled the child, kneeling down to look into his face. He looked up at her, his dirt covered face smeared with tears. His clothes were ripped in several places, some areas stained with blood.
“He’s trying to kill you too,” said the boy, licking his dry lips, “isn’t he?”
Mary reached out, touching the child’s face with one hand, his should with the other. He winced when she reached for his face.
“It’s ok,” Mary said assuring the boy. “What is your name?”
“Tommy.” He looked back at the ground.
“Tommy,” Mary replied. “What are you doing down here?”
“Mommy,” the boy said, still looking at the ground. Mary could tell that he was on the verge of tears.
“Tommy, it’s ok,” Mary said. “I’m going to get you out of here, ok.”
“I can’t leave here,” Tommy replied. “Mommy told me to wait here for her.”
Mary looked up at the light above her. It swung, footsteps being heard from above them. The footsteps of two people. The two stopped, the person in the front turned around, Mary thought, to face the other. Mary could hear voices, very faintly through the floor above her, almost like whispering. Mary got to her feet, trying to get closer to the ceiling so she could hear the voices better. She caught the end of a sentence, and then silence. It sounded like a woman’s voice. Silence invaded the room. A cocking shotgun broke that silence a couple seconds later. She could hear crying; the woman. Mr. Johansson has Tommy’s mother, Mary thought.
“Please don’t kill me,” pleaded the woman through her sobbing breathes.
“No one leaves this place,” Mr. Johansson replied. “No one ever has, and no one ever will.” Mary heard the woman drop to her knees, still sobbing.
“Please,” she screamed. “I have a son.”
“Oh believe me, I know. With any luck he is dead too.”
“Tommy ru-“ a shotgun blast cut off the rest of her sentence. Mary flinched at the sound, a body falling to the ground just above her head. The shotgun cocked again, an empty cartridge falling on the ground. Mr. Johansson walked away slowly, back the way he had come, whistling, just like nothing had ever happened. Mary knelt down next to Tommy, taking his hands in hers.
“We are going to get out of here,” she said. “Ok, Tommy?”
He looked up at her, tears in his eyes. “Ok.”
Mary stood up, pulling Tommy to his feet as well. She walked back toward the door that she had entered through, but Tommy tugged on her hand.
“That door doesn’t open,” he said, pulling her in his direction. “This way. I went exploring when I was waiting for mommy.” He let go of her hand, and ran to the far wall, Mary following close behind him. Tommy reached the wall, placing his hands on it and pushing with all of his strength.
The wall opened just as the other had, into a hallway, lit dimly by, not hanging light bulbs, but candles, mounted on candle-holders that hung on the walls of the hall. The two of them walked into the hall, the door closing behind them, leaving them only with the candlelight. Tommy grabbed Mary by the hand, leading her off, down the hallway.

They turned a corner, seeing a single door at the end of the hall. Tommy ran for the door, still holding Mary’s hand as she ran behind him. Tommy grabbed the handle of the door, turned it and opened the door. Mary gasped. Chief Barry was standing in the doorway. He cocked his shotgun with one hand, flipping the butt of the rifle into his other hand. Mary grabbed Tommy’s hand and turned the other way, sprinting down the hall.
“Where do you think you are going?” asked Barry as he raised the shotgun to his shoulder. Mary and Tommy turned the corner, the blast from the shotgun nearly missing them and striking the wall behind them. “No one leaves this place,” he screamed after them, as he cocked the shotgun. “You hear me! No one!”
Mary raced down the hall, Tommy following close behind. The door that they had come through had been opened and they ran through it. Inside they found that they door leading to the white hallway was also open. They both ran through it, turning to their right in the hall and running toward the prison system. Mary reached the door before Tommy did. She wheeled around, letting Tommy catch up – he ran through the door without her – and she watched as Chief Barry ran out of the door behind them. She turned and followed Tommy into the prison.
She heard the clanging of feet on the grated stair above them. She looked up to see Mr. Johansson jogging above them toward the stairs, a shotgun also in his hands. Mary broke into a full sprint, catching up with Tommy quickly. The door to the hallway up to Room 13 was open and just in front of them. A shotgun blast went off, nearly missing Mary again. She was in front of Tommy now, but just barely, as they both ran through the door to the hall. Another blast, this one hitting the floor right behind Tommy, shrapnel blowing up into his legs. He hit the floor hard. Mr. Johansson and Chief Barry both laughed maniacally. Mary turned, running back to get Tommy. She picked him up in her arms, still running back for the stairs. There were holes in Tommy’s pant legs, holes that followed through into his legs, blood pouring out of them. His blue jeans soon turned a sickening red color which seeped through into her white shirt and stained her arms. Mr. Johansson and Chief Barry entered the hall behind them.
“Tommy,” Mary screamed. “Open the door!”
She held Tommy in her arms just in front of the door – the door to their freedom – but she couldn’t reach the handle. Tommy looked at the door, reaching with the last of his strength to turn the knob. The door swung open, light from the room above streaming down the hall, blinding all four of them temporarily. Mary pushed through the light, jogging up the stairs and into room 13.

It was raining outside. The door to the room was open, Mary ran through carrying Tommy – who was now near death – out into the rain. Chief Barry perused quickly, followed by Mr. Johansson. Mary slipped in the water that coated the parking lot, dropping Tommy on the ground. She turned to face Chief Barry, her sopping wet hair flying into her face, sticking to it as if it was glued. Chief Barry walked toward her, his shotgun in hand. He cocked it, raised it to his should, and then – Bang. Mary flinched, closing her eyes, the blast shaking her body. It was so close to her.
Was she dead? No, she wasn’t. She opened her eyes, seeing Chief Barry fall to the ground in slow motion, blood spewed from his chest, falling onto her like the think rainfall. Mr. Johansson’s eyes were wide open in astonishment. Mary turned to her left, seeing Officer Baker with his pistol drawn, the end smoking from the bullet that he had shot into Barry’s chest. Four other officers came up from behind her, running to Mr. Johansson, who laid his shotgun down on the ground. Mary got to her feet, looking Baker in the eyes. She saw what appeared to be a task force of police patrol cars, ambulances and fire trucks quickly pulling into the parking lot. Paramedics ran forward with a stretcher, picking up Tommy and running him back to their ambulance.
“Are you alright,” Office Baker asked.
“Yeah,” Mary answered. “Thank you.”
She was safe. Everything that Mary had gone through, everything that she had discovered – everything that everyone thought wasn’t real – was now known to exist. This nightmare is over, she thought. She turned to Officer Baker, who was still standing next to her. She threw herself on him, hugging him. He hugged her back.

Mary Sellgo walked into the office of Aaron Bernard. It had been two years since she had suffered the horrible ordeal with Mr. Johansson and his field of death. He had been convicted of manslaughter, and the torture and killing of multiple victims. He was sentenced to life in prison. This was some six months ago. Mary felt safe for the first time in those two years now. She sat behind the secretary’s desk of the office, looking down and spinning her engagement ring on her finger. She was marrying Officer Klyde Baker in two weeks. Aaron walked into the office, seeing her beam with light for the first time since she started working with him. He knew it was because she was safe now, she was happy now. Aaron walked over to Mary, who looked up at him.
“There are no new messages, Mr. Bernard,” she said.
“Mary,” he said. “There is something that you need to know.” She looked up at him with curious eyes. “That boy, Tommy that you found. He’s dead.” “Mary covered her mouth with her hand, tears forming in her eyes. “He was walking across a street downtown. His legs are still messed up from the shrapnel. He stumbled in front of a car. He got hit.” He placed his hand on Mary’s shoulder. “He died instantly, Mary. He didn’t feel a thing.”
Mary looked up at him. “How do you know this?”
“I saw it. I recognized him from the crime report. I talked with the paramedics, that’s why I am so late.” Mary looked down at the top of her desk. “Why don’t you go home, Mary. You need some rest anyways. Take the rest of the day off ok.” He patted her shoulder and walked back to his office. Mary stood and walked out of the office. She got into her car and headed home.