Hall of Infinite Doors
"Yes! Hold on! One minute! Don't go away!"
A high male voice calls out to you from behind the door, alternating that message in Spanish. You hear water splashing and a toilet flushing. Realization hits you. Oh. You move out of the hallway and into the cool, white-noise-filled common room, and eventually, muttering a cloud of murmured words to himself, a short, dark-skinned man emerges from the bathroom shaking drops of moisture off his hands, and turns to greet you.
"God, it's good to have some company. Please sit down, my name is Orin, it's nice to meet you." He looks to be in his mid-thirties. He's slightly overweight with a wide, unshaven face and eager eyes, and is developping a bit of a bald spot on the back of his curly black-haired head. As you set your luggage down, a little bewildered, Orin goes on talking, telling you to get comfortable and not to be worried.
"This is not anything suspicious," he tells you, "I have just been in this room for a long time, a week or two weeks perhaps, without anyone with me. The door locked when I came in and I have seen no one. The phone does not work, I was very lonely!"
You ask him where you are, and he shrugs. He tells you the last thing he remembers before opening the door to this room was getting off of a roller coaster in Texas. He tells you that the door to the balcony does not open, and neither does the door to the room; he has tried beating down both to no luck, and appears to be trapped in here, though he doesn't know why or who would do such a thing. He says that every day, if he looks away just for a moment, the bathroom will be restocked and cleaned, the beds made, and the mini-fridge refilled with snack baskets and airline-sized bottles of alcohol. As he speaks, you begin to get a bit of a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach.
Orin shakes his head and sits down on "his" bed. "Please excuse me, it has been a long time since I have had someone to talk to. Please, tell me about yourself, as much as you can."
A high male voice calls out to you from behind the door, alternating that message in Spanish. You hear water splashing and a toilet flushing. Realization hits you. Oh. You move out of the hallway and into the cool, white-noise-filled common room, and eventually, muttering a cloud of murmured words to himself, a short, dark-skinned man emerges from the bathroom shaking drops of moisture off his hands, and turns to greet you.
"God, it's good to have some company. Please sit down, my name is Orin, it's nice to meet you." He looks to be in his mid-thirties. He's slightly overweight with a wide, unshaven face and eager eyes, and is developping a bit of a bald spot on the back of his curly black-haired head. As you set your luggage down, a little bewildered, Orin goes on talking, telling you to get comfortable and not to be worried.
"This is not anything suspicious," he tells you, "I have just been in this room for a long time, a week or two weeks perhaps, without anyone with me. The door locked when I came in and I have seen no one. The phone does not work, I was very lonely!"
You ask him where you are, and he shrugs. He tells you the last thing he remembers before opening the door to this room was getting off of a roller coaster in Texas. He tells you that the door to the balcony does not open, and neither does the door to the room; he has tried beating down both to no luck, and appears to be trapped in here, though he doesn't know why or who would do such a thing. He says that every day, if he looks away just for a moment, the bathroom will be restocked and cleaned, the beds made, and the mini-fridge refilled with snack baskets and airline-sized bottles of alcohol. As he speaks, you begin to get a bit of a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach.
Orin shakes his head and sits down on "his" bed. "Please excuse me, it has been a long time since I have had someone to talk to. Please, tell me about yourself, as much as you can."