The Executive Inn…of Death

No kidding. Just ask Cousin Paulie, if you don’t believe me

“No shit, there we were,” is how every embellished Army story starts. In 2007-ish, two Army Officer buddies and I were getting ready to move from our school in Kentucky to our duty assignments. Chris was assigned to Fort Carson, Colorado. Paul was heading home to then Fort Hood, Texas (It’s now called Fort Cavazos) and I was going to stay with him and his family for a day before heading off to Fort Bliss. We had just finished a three month technical course and we were anxious to leave Fort Knox and go off and do all the Army things.

Paul and I decided we would drive together since we were going to the same place. Our route took us through some really…ahem…interesting places. Being a city boy, I was (and will still be) well out of my element. For example, we stopped for gas - yes, this was a timeframe where I drove gas vehicles - at a service station and food stall south of Bowling Green and a biker guy was eating a strange sandwich. It looked kinda gross and as I was paying for my gas, the attendant said matter of factly,

“It’s a mayonnaise sandwich. They’re seventy-nine cents.”

I gagged at that. Anyway, I digress.

We drove as long as we could that first night and at about 11 pm, we found ourselves in Little Rock, AK. We were exhausted and decided to stop for the night. We saw a bright sign just off the highway. It was the Executive Inn. We were only going to be there a few hours, anyway. No problem.

We pulled into the lot and ours were the only vehicles. The place looked deserted and that should’ve raised some red flags. The lights were on and we saw someone at the desk in the lobby. In we went. The receptionist was standing at the desk which was behind a solid foot of hard plexiglas. I looked at Paul with a warning glare. This ain’t good, I remember thinking. We decided we were too strung out to find another place to stay. We decided to sleep a short amount…the bare minimum, and bug out early in the morning.

As we walked toward our room, we heard screaming down one of the hallways. It was distant and we couldn’t tell exactly where it was coming from. It was a piercing shriek. Like someone was being stabbed. As we rounded the last corner before getting to our room, we saw a bloody handprint on the wall in front of us. Following the handprint in an arc heading toward the floor was a streak of blood. I stopped in my tracks. We were not in Kansas anymore.

“What the fuck, Paul,” I remember saying.

We went in our room and sat on the creaky bed in the greasy room. Paul looked at me with a strange expression. Disbelief, maybe? But he wasn’t looking at me. He was looking at the curtains behind me. I swear, I thought I would see a dead body if I turned around. I had to look.

At first, I didn’t see anything but when I looked closer, I saw it. Blood spray all over the curtains. Paul was sitting farther back and he could see the pinkish discoloration on the curtains where I could not.

“Maaaan, fuck! Let’s get out of here,” I said.

But we knew, there was nowhere we could get to easily. Remember, we didn’t have smartphones back then and no way to look stuff up. We didn’t know anyone in Little Rock and knew nothing of the city.

Just then, the tension was broken by a series of distant pops. They were coming from the hallway, not outside. Paul hopped off the bed, crapped the dilapidated wooden chair at the far end of the room and wedged it under the door handle. He then ripped the covers off one of the beds and lay down on the floor.

“We’re out of here. Four hours!”

That was all he said. I thought we were going to die that night. I thought our cars would be stolen out of the deserted parking lot. I thought all kinds of awful things.

The morning came and we departed in great haste. We were alive and amazingly, our cars were unmolested. Thank goodness. I will never stay or even stop in Little Rock again. Never.