Evil Jester Digest, Vol.1 by Peter Giglio (Editor)

main floor and shambled behind the counter. He turned to the pigeonholes without looking at Harry and Laura.
    “Can you help us here?” Harry said with some impatience.
    No answer as the man studied the hanging key tabs.
    “Is there a telephone we can use?”
    The man selected a key and dropped it on the counter.
    “No, we don’t want a room. We need a telephone. Our car broke down and I need to call for a tow.”
    “No phone. Out of order.” The man’s voice was a hoarse whisper. He slapped the counter with a heavy-veined hand and pushed the key toward Harry. With his free hand he pointed toward the stairway. “Second floor.”
    “I told you we don’t want a room. What the hell is going on here?”
    Laura touched her husband’s arm. “Don’t argue with him. Maybe he means the phone is upstairs.”
    Harry looked down at the key tab. The number was 206. “This better not be some kind of a reality TV show.”
    The unsmiling clerk looked at him from deeply shadowed eyes. He pointed again to the stairs.
    “All right.” Harry snatched up the key. “But this foolishness had better stop or somebody around here is going to get sued. Big time.”
    He led the way carefully up the dirty and uneven staircase to the second floor. The hallway was narrow, floorboards creaked under the worn carpet. Some of the room doors gaped open, others hung drunkenly on their hinges. As far as Harry could tell, none of the rooms were occupied. No one walked the hall. The smell was ancient cigar smoke, urine, dust, and rot.
    “Not quite five star,” he said, trying a smile.
    Laura did not return the smile. “I want to get away from here.”
    “If you have a suggestion, let’s hear it.”
    She sucked in her lower lip and looked as though she might cry. Harry put an arm around her shoulder and pulled her against him.
    “It’ll be all right, babe. We’ll put up with this while we have to, then we’ll get the hell out and laugh all the way home.”
    She did not look convinced.
    He found a door that seemed to be intact with a tarnished metal 206 screwed to the panel. He tried the knob and found it locked. The key grated and scraped and finally caught and rolled back the bolt. The hinges croaked as he pulled the door open.
    The room was no better than he expected. A sagging bed was covered with a stained brown blanket. A cracked mirror hung over a bureau scalloped with cigarette burns. There was one table, one chair, one standing lamp, none of which would have been accepted by the Salvation Army. A dusty window overlooked the street below. No telephone.
    “Harry, what have we got into?”
    Distracted, he shook his head and crossed the threadbare rug to the window. He rubbed a patch of the pane free of grime and looked out. Through the curtain of dust that still hung in the air he saw a small silent group of people gathering down in front of the hotel. There were a couple of women and eight or ten men. Their clothes were all wrong. They hung awkwardly on the bodies. The style was from another decade. The people had a uniformly unhealthy look and moved with a shambling gait, arms hanging loose at their sides. While he could not see their faces clearly, there was a cold, deadly menace about them.
    “We’ve got to get out of here,” he said.
    “That’s what I’ve been saying. There must be a working telephone somewhere.”
    Harry crossed to the door, grabbed the knob and swore as the door refused to budge. He pulled with no effect then pushed again, harder. He banged on the panel with his fist. He kicked at the wooden base.
    “We’re locked in.”
    “You have the key.”
    “There’s no keyhole on this side.”
    “Harry, I’m scared.”
    “That does not help,” he said, spacing his words.
    “Who are these people? What do they want with us?”
    “God knows. But I don’t think it’s good.”
    Laura chewed her lip and looked as though she might cry.
    Harry patted her shoulder awkwardly. “I don’t know what’s going on