Trembling With Fear 3-2-25

3:52pm at the Hotel Concitant, by P.N. Harrison

It was 3:52pm when the Hotel Concitant started to turn. Olivia first noticed something wasn’t right when her cleaning cart began to creep across the room. At first, she could only watch as the cart rolled away. After all, she had been doing this job regularly for the better part of a decade, and she had never seen her cart move on its own before. It wasn’t a fast roll, but the movement was unmistakable. 

Her first thought wasn’t that the room was turning. No, it was about rumors and urban legends. Historias de fantasmas. Every hotel she had ever worked at had stories meant to spook the new hires. But, just maybe, the ones about the Hotel Concitant were true. After all, she had the evidence of her senses to rely on this time, and that cart was definitely making its way towards the far wall.

She didn’t notice that the ground under her shoes was shifting until she saw a hotel-branded pen begin to roll off the nightstand’s edge. It wasn’t long after the pen began to roll towards the far wall that the room’s phone began to slide. Behind her, she heard her cart hit the wall. She could feel the pressure in her ankles now, in what was left of her knees. A moment later, the lamp tumbled, top-heavy, to the floor. 

She bent over, placing her hands on the floor for stability. The room felt steep now, treacherous in a way it hadn’t less than a minute before. She tried to dig her nails into the short hotel carpet. Finding no purchase, she reached out and grabbed the bed frame. Even still, she was on unsure footing.

The nightstand was sliding now; it narrowly missed her, and the open drawers scraped down her back. The lamp had slid partway across the room now, its power cord stretched taught. At any moment, the mattresses would begin to slide off the beds, and the frames would start their journeys across the room. And she knew, as she lost her footing, she would follow shortly after.

###

Chest burning, Richard completed another trip across the pool. His laps were important, even when traveling. Especially important, given his diabetes and God knows what other unknown health terrors that lie lurking on the other side of sixty. Just two more laps, and he could dry off and begin to think about exploring the town. He was on vacation, after all.

His course began to drift gently to his left.

It took him a little over 50 seconds to reach the wall of the Olympic-size pool again. A good time for Richard. But something felt off about the way his body met the barrier. He grabbed onto the ledge and raised his goggles to look around. No one else was there. It took him a few moments – longer than he would like – to realize he had approached the wall at an angle. Spatial disorientation, he thought. Another lovely effect of aging. 

It took him nearly a full minute before he saw it: the water on one side of the pool’s wall had noticeably lowered. At first, he thought it must be a leak. That must happen all the time in old pools like this one. But then, he saw the mirrored image; the water on the other side of the pool had risen.

He let go of the ledge and began to drift effortlessly to his right. Before long, he had floated all the way to the side of the pool. The water had risen another two inches, at least. It seemed to be moving faster. He leaned in to take a closer look.

The muffled sound of towels tumbling off a shelf jolted him. He turned just in time to see the shelving – a cheap contraption of interconnecting metal rods – tip over. The water continued to rise, now threatening to begin to spill out of the pool. Not knowing what else to do, he gripped the ledge and pulled himself out. He lay for a moment at the edge of the pool, water surging steadily around him. 

Richard’s rest only lasted a few moments before he began to slide along the tiled floor toward a closed door. His collision with the door burst it open. He smelled the aroma of steam, followed by the sensation of warm stones across his shoulders. He rolled across the stones, only to find his hand inside the sauna’s stove. He howled and tried to clamber to his feet, but he slipped again on the wet floor. Water from the pool surged into the room. 

###

“This is a lovely ballroom,” remarked Allyson as she looked up to the high glass skylight. She had needed this outing with Mitch, but she truly couldn’t think of a goddamn thing to say to him.

Not that she didn’t love him. No. She used to adore him. But the kids were so much. This getaway, she hoped, was just what they needed.

“Yeah, the skylight really makes the room.” Mitch responded, tracing his index finger along the rim of his empty glass.

Almost imperceptibly, wine began to make its way up the edge of Allyson’s glass.

She was the first to notice when the room began to tilt. The wine hadn’t yet made its way halfway the way up the side of her glass when the unused silverware on their table had begun to inch, ever so slightly, across the table.

“Stop bumping the table, Mitch.” 

“I’m…not.” Mitch’s tone was defensive, but discreet. He had noticed the flatware’s journey, too.

They could both feel the pull on their chairs now, gravity’s tug towards the room’s eastern wall. They both rose to their feet as they felt the ground shift. A moment later Allyson swore as her glass overturned, trickling viscous white liquid onto her not-quite-designer dress.

“Shi-…” she began, but the pressure on her heels quieted her.

Mitch slid forward, bumping his thighs against the table and pushing it into Allyson’s hips. She tumbled backwards, falling into a sitting position as utensils began to slide off of neighboring tables.

The couple began to glide, slowly but frantically following the knives and forks and tables as they slipped towards the far wall. The tiled floor offered nothing to grip as their slide intensified. The room was almost fully a-slant now, and they watched as their waiter – a short man with glasses – joined them in their tumble toward the wall. Surprised shouts filled the tall room.

Allyson landed, back first, against the wall, and a moment later the table crashed against her hips, pressing the breath out of her. Twisting awkwardly, Mitch managed to avoid landing on the table and pressing it further into his partner’s body; instead, his shoulder landed against the wall. The clatters and bangs of utensils and tables crashing around the room drowned out the dull thud of his shoulder dislocating.

The restaurant’s staff and its small smattering of other patrons had begun their own impacts by now. Still sliding along the floor in his chair, the lone man at the table next to them slammed into the surface – the back of his head left a crimson dent in the alabaster wallboard. Disoriented, Allyson watched as a waitress tumbled forward, her face and chest impacting onto the wall.

The shouts had long since turned to frantic shrieks. The room continued to turn. Mitch was vaguely aware of the blood beginning to gather in his head. From what seemed like another place, he heard Allyson call for him. Silverware again began to slide, this time making its slow journey towards the room’s glass ceiling. With his one working arm, he reached for something to brace himself with. He didn’t find anything.

It took a few moments for Allyson to understand the implications – the height of the room. Frantically, she clawed against the wall-turned-floor; her nails splintered and filled with drywall. Again, she felt gravity’s pull. On the floor, she spotted a steak knife. She grabbed at the knife, plunged it into the wall, and clung tight to the handle. A few seconds later, the waitress’s limp body struck her head and shoulders. They tumbled together.

They plunged towards the skylight.

###

Olivia moaned and rolled onto her side. Shards of glass and lamp clinked as she pushed the mattress, topped by a shattered presswood nightstand, off of her. Her knee ached, and blood trickled from the shards of TV screen in her hands and forearms.

The panicked screams had stopped, replaced by a cacophony of groans, sobs, and shouts for help. The floor was the floor again. 

It was 3:54pm at the Hotel Concitant.