My head was pounding. Thump, thump it went over and over again. Too much booze the night before. First time in Vegas, what can I say? I tried to fall back asleep. I was having a dream with that pretty bartender who kept the rum and cokes coming last night after my run at the Blackjack table.
The thumping wouldn't stop. It was a repetitive marching drum which was out of rhythm. I squeezed the pillow around my head starting to regret those last two rum and cokes. Definitely regretted the shot of tequila.
Suddenly it dawned on me, the thumping had gotten softer. I sat up in bed and realized that in addition to my head someone was pounding on my door. "Go away!" I yelled. Lousy drunks, I thought.
When I went to lay back down I noticed my hands had a sticky residue on them. I strained my bleary eyes to see that it was blood. I jumped out of the covers frantically. There was blood all over me but in my panic I couldn't make out a wound. I threw the bed covers off and my heart jumped into my throat as my breath froze in place. In the bed were animal corpses. Mangled bones and fur in a pool of murky red sludge.
Before my mind could even form the first question the sound of wood splintering slammed into my ears. I whipped around to see the blade of an ax sticking through my door. I began to dramatically regret staying in this shit hole of a motel instead of springing for a room on the strip.
Self-preservation must have taken over. I remembered the alcohol I had purchased sitting on the desk. It was for just in case I met some people who wanted to continue the party in my room. It was Vegas after all. The Malibu rum was too hard to shatter but the Disaronno was perfect. As the ax came down on the door again, I grabbed for the bottle and smashed it on the desk. The third ax blow came and created a hole big enough for a head to fit through. But it was also big enough for my arm and my newly constructed weapon.
I summoned every last ounce of courage and like some kind of cheesy action hero I let out a bravado yell and charged the door. I shoved the jagged remains of the bottle through the hole. I didn't feel resistance or the warmth of blood. Instead I heard someone shout profanity and then a different voice scream, "Cut! Cut! Everyone cut!"
I stumbled back confused as the door opened. A guy with a walkie and a clipboard stood there wearing a scowl. "Whoa, who the fuck are you?" He brought the walkie to his mouth. "We got some nut with a broken bottle in here! Who locked down the set? I'm gonna have their ass!"
He stormed off and a woman also with a clipboard and walkie replaced him. She shouted in her walkie, "Can I get a check on the damn room number?"
"What's going on?" I asked wearily.
The woman shot dagger eyes at me. "That's what I'd like to know. What are you doing on the set of It's Revenge?"
My eyes fluttered in exasperation as I tried to comprehend the situation. "Set of It's Revenge," I muttered.
"Yea, the first installment of the Stephen King Verse," she answered like I was the moron.
I rolled my eyes, snatched my bag and the bottle of rum and began walking back to the strip. This was why I dropped out of film school and took up card counting, I thought as I opened the rum and took a swig.
