Status: 134908af;ljsf1340asdfakdhgasdnc

i just woke up and i'm shaking so bad i don't even know if i'll be able to type this, but i need to get it down and out. Montag told me to document this shit, so that's what i'm doing.

another year passed. i don't know why the gaps have been so long, but i've just had to fucking deal with it. i can't hold a job anymore in the real world, let alone a conversation. my mom keeps calling and suggesting, in her sweet little way, that i sound really tired and maybe i should consider talking to someone (aka seeing a shrink). my roommate doesn't even knock on my door anymore to ask if i want dinner. i'm scared to open the blinds.

it's been bad, is what i'm saying.

in the hotel, though, it turns out it's been even worse.

i woke up outside my room again. this time i was just lying on the floor of the stairwell, right next to the door. i don't know if you've ever slept on solid cold concrete, but it's not particularly comfortable. my bat was still gone (boo), but i drug myself to my feet, joints cracking with stiffness, and peaked outside. to my immense relief, i was actually on my floor, so i hurried down to my room.

that's where things pretty immediately took a downslide. i skidded to a halt a few feet away from the door, not quite sure what i was looking at. the light above my room had blown out, casting a section of the hall in half-darkness. that wasn't what startled me, though - it was the black liquid, tarry and metallic, that oozed from under the door. just like room 9382, it sounded like someone or something heavy was slamming against the wall, over and over and over in a steady beat. the door to Montag's room was wide open, the space beyond lost in the same solid darkness that swallowed the broken hallway. even from a distance i could smell it, the cold rot of something forgotten.

what i probably should have done was gone and found help. some commenters have put together that Sinclair is probably staying in room 72, which was only three floors down from here (and then like half an hour's trek through the hallways, but still not that far away). so i could've gone to him for backup, or checked the lounge for Blake, or checked the parking lot to see if my baseball bat was still out there. whatever was happening here, it wasn't something i should face by myself.

but instead of doing any of those probably more reasonable things, i just wrapped one quivering hand around the sand pouch from Montag, took a deep breath through my nose, and reached for the door handle.

it was stuck. not locked, just catching on something, like someone had tucked a chair up under the handle to keep it from turning. but the door sagged inward a little bit at the pressure, and a fresh wave of black ooze slithered out into the hall. i sidestepped it (i happened to like these shoes and didn't want unwashable nightmare gunk on them, thanks) and then hoisted my good leg up and slammed my foot against the door as hard as i could. it groaned. more ooze. i kicked it again, even harder. it burst open.

i don't know if anything could've prepared me for what i was looking at now. my hotel room was gone. the space had condensed itself into a single low-ceilinged box. the walls (if there were any actual walls) were hidden beneath sinuous, pulsing knots of snakes. except it wasn't snakes. i just don't know how else to describe it. there were a thousand squirming lengths of scaly flesh, all twisted over each other and shifting along the walls and ceiling. and they were the color of raw muscle, all red and pale pink and bursts of white. the floor was blank white, but it was covered in sticky trails of black liquid.

Montag was curled on the floor with her back to me, arms folded across her face. a shadow figure loomed above her, stroking the air with fingers that branched and knotted like a tree. there was a lurch in my gut, a sharp recognition, but i didn't understand why.

when the shadow figure saw me in the doorway, it vanished with a crack and a burst of sulfurous, hot air. i gagged but rushed over to Montag and crouched beside her. there was a thick puddle of the black stuff beneath her, and as it soaked into my pants, i was hit with a coppery tang.

blood. it was blood.

i grabbed her shoulder and shook her. the walls slithered and pulsed. the only light came from the hallway; if the door closed i'd be lost in the dark. i shook her again. "come on, dammit, get up!" i spat. i crawled around to her other side and tried to pry her forearms away from her head. her flimsy white shirt was soaked through with the black, so i couldn't tell where she was bleeding from. but i could see the stuttered rise and fall of her chest, and her skin was still warm - burning, in fact.

when i looked at the walls again, there were hundreds of human eyes peering out from between the cracks in the flesh.

"fucking wake up!" i screamed. i slapped her shoulder.

in a jagged lurch of motion she was on her hands and knees. her head snapped toward me, pupils so dilated they almost drowned out her irises. her expression was blank. "Naomi," she rasped, "get away from me."

"no, i have to get you out of here, come on-" i scrambled to my feet and went to grab her around the stomach, to pull her to her feet.

my hands were almost on her when she screamed, so loud that it made my ear drums twinge. all at once i was hit by a solid wave of shadow. it felt like running into a wall, or the dull bite of slamming your nose against something, or the lightning burst of stubbing your toe. point is, it fucking hurt. my breath huffed out of my chest and i collapsed. when i could see again, Montag was standing with her hands pressed over her eyes, her lips peeled back into an animal snarl. she was making this weird huffing noise that might've been panting and might've been sobbing. then she doubled over and retched, a fresh wave of black blood dripping from her mouth.

"Montag," i gasped, most of the sound lost since my chest was still empty. i took a gasping breath and pushed myself up, stars dancing in my vision. "what's-"

"leave," she spat, a metallic scrape rattling under her voice. "you can't help me."

oh, like hell i fucking couldn't. i rolled onto my side. the room was off-center, swaying and rolling like the deck of a ship. or maybe it was just all the blood rushing around in my head. the eyes in the walls blinked at me. i could hear the wet peel of flesh as they closed and opened. something in the walls was shivering, breathing. slithering.

somehow i was back on my feet. it was only a dozen steps to Montag. she was still bent over, hair hanging over her face. she was whimpering now, an animal whine, and tears dripped down her jaw. i took one steps, two, three, four.

the rectangle of light from the hallway dimmed. the shadow figure had reappeared, its head cocked to the side like a curious dog. bad dog, i thought, swaying as i walked. i was halfway there. more than halfway. my head was so foggy.

"i'm going to hurt you," Montag sobbed. "get away from me."

"no." i touched her shoulder. she spasmed and, for a split second, her entire figure seemed to dissolve into a black mass. but i didn't move my hand away, even as the edges of my vision turned white. i stepped up next to her, wound her arm around my shoulders and grabbed her waist. she slumped against me, heavy and sweating with fever.

we had to walk through the door. the shadow figure hadn't moved.

the walls twitched.

i took a step. my body nearly collapsed under the weight of montag's, but somehow i managed to catch myself. we were getting out of here. another step. another.

i was within touching distance of the shadow figure now. its fingers quivered like branches in a breeze. "move," i whispered. a wet trickle of something rolled down my spine. i prayed it was just sweat. the shadow figure stilled, but didn't vanish from the doorway. "i said move, cunt."

maybe it was easily offended by british slang (which i wouldn't blame it for), or maybe i'd just needed to be more forceful, but there was another loud crack and it finally vanished like before. i held my breath against the demon stench and dragged Montag out into the hall. the door slammed shut behind us like it'd been hit by a gust of wind.

as soon as we were back in the light, Montag ripped herself away from me so she could puke blood again. she was milk-pale and looked halfway curdled, what with all the sweat and other ominous bodily fluids she was soaked in. "what the fuck is happening," i asked, as if she was in any condition to tell me. i glanced up and down the hall. it was empty, but that wasn't necessarily a good sign.

"she knows i'm here." which didn't do much except make my heart beat even faster. she wiped her mouth, smearing black shit all over her arm, and managed to almost stand straight. her eyes were still dilated like she'd snorted a dinner plate's worth of cocaine (i have never done coke because i'm 2 kool 4 skool, so if you have and that's a stupid thing to say please inform me in the comments, as that's obviously the most important thing to contemplate here), and they were glazed over with pain. "i need- where's Andromeda?"

"who?"

"Blake."

"uh, i dunno. i could get you to Sinclair faster-"

"oh, good, just let me die then," she muttered, slumping against the wall. she sniffled, and i couldn't tell if she was about to cry or faint.

i didn't really have the patience for either. "look, bitch," i snapped, arms crossed. she did not look, bitch (she was too busy staring at the lights on the ceiling in a daze), but i continued, "i just woke up here after another fucking year to find you having some kind of demon-induced seizure in my room, which has been converted into a shrine of evil worms and eyeballs, which means that i'm indirectly responsible for whatever your deal is. and your room looks like it's been eaten by the pit of hell, so i'm sure as hell not throwing you in there. i probably know what room Sinclair is in, and you guys are supposedly trained for this, so he might have a better idea of what to do to help you. we're going to find him whether you like it or not."

she slid her head over to gaze back down the hall at her open doorway. "my dagger was in there," she said, and then she did start crying.

god, i did not have the strength for this. i heaved her back against my side and started shuffling down the hall. she was a complete dead weight, but did manage to flop her feet in something that vaguely resembled human walking every so often, which did help a bit, if i was being very generous. "can you get the elevator to work?" i panted.

"yes."

we made it to the elevator without any further incident, though my spine felt like it had been permanently compressed and my head was spinning so bad that i was worried we'd both have to crawl there. i let Montag flop in the corner and then turned to the buttons panel. "uhh, wait, fuck, i can't just pick a floor." there was no way i could get both of us down multiple flights of stairs. maybe i could leave her here and run down to find Sinclair, but i was worried something even worse would happen if i let her out of my sight.

"yes you can," she grunted, forehead pressed against the cold metal of the handrail. "just tell it how many floors up or down."

"oh, sure, exactly." so glad everyone else knew how to work this fucking thing! "three floors down, please."

nothing happened. i counted to five, staring a hole into the ceiling as if that might make it work better. "ok, well-" the doors whipped shut and we dropped like a shotgun blast. i fell so hard i fucking bounced. with a pleasant ding, the elevator opened. Montag puked yet again, which i thought was pretty valid since i was about to do a whole lot of that myself, but it was also a sign i needed to get my ass moving before she started horking up organs or something.

i got her into the hallway, shoulders burning, and then gave myself a second to prepare for the trek yet to come. i squeezed my eyes shut. i could do this. and when we got there, Sinclair would be in his room, and he'd know what to do. everything would be okay. this was just a weird, bad dream. whatever happened back there was just a normal fluke of the hotel that i hadn't seen yet. no big deal. all of this would make perfect sense in a little while, once i stopped having a panic attack or whatever. it was fine.

"it's because he finished the story," Montag rasped. "she was waiting for it to be over. she wanted it to play out again, one last time, before she found me."

"what the fuck are you talking about?" i asked, eyes still closed. the yellow light beyond my eyelids shuddered a little bit, and Montag was wriggling against my side, but i willed myself to keep taking calm breaths.

"Silvia." she coughed. "and i think she brought a dragon. don't open your eyes."

"why?" i immediately started to crack an eye open, but she slapped a hand over my face. i tried not to gag over how sticky it was.

"because Rabbithead just appeared about three feet behind us. don't freak out. she won't hurt you. just start walking forward."

ice stabbed through the back of my neck, and my knees went to jelly. by some miracle, i managed to stay standing and keep my hold on Montag. but my lungs were frozen. if i breathed, i'd scream, and if i screamed, i'd drop Montag and start running, and i don't know if i'd stop until i was back out on that road.

"Naomi," she murmured against my neck, "i need you to take a step forward. can you do that for me?" my shoe slid forward quietly across the carpet. i shifted the weight in my hips, took a step. "good. thank you. keep going."

time elongated and contracted like a rubber band. for god knows how long, my entire world was reduced to the drops of sweat rolling down my back, to the burn in my muscles, to the friction of my feet against the floor. i couldn't see her, because i kept my eyes closed, but i could feel her staring at my back, could sense the air shifting as she moved behind us. it was like that static you "hear" when you turn on an old tv; it's silent, but you can almost feel this little tinny buzz reverberating behind your eye sockets.

i couldn't have been going for long, but Montag suddenly blurted, "stop." so i stopped. my ears perked at an odd sound; the shushing mechanical whir of an automatic door. followed by the lapping of water on tile.

"so, i lied about a couple things," Montag said slowly, "first is that you can't tell the elevator to go to a certain floor."

i opened my eyes. in the pool room's glass door, i could see the transparent reflection of Rabbithead behind us. she was a good seven or eight feet back, but it was still way too close for my liking, so i dragged Montag through the entrance. she flumped against the damp floor and the door shut behind us. i whipped around; Rabbithead hadn't moved. hopefully she couldn't activate the motion sensor.

"ok," i said, the thrum of the ocean drowning out the sound of my own heart at last. "what's the other thing?"

"the Ashrose Society isn't real. Blake and Sinclair, they're not... she lied. i came here alone."

"what?" i said it benignly, like she'd just told me the weather forecast and i hadn't heard her well enough. my brain had completely turned itself off, i guess. i was staring at the corpse in the pool. it was hard to tell with the motion of the water, but it looked like its chest was rising and falling.

"i never woke up, Naomi."

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