Post by cheryl on Aug 1, 2011 20:31:03 GMT -5
People can talk. People can tell outstanding stories of their respective pasts. Each story told brings with it new wisdoms and insights. But what if places could talk? What if they could share events from their past? What the walls could speak about the warm loving family that grew up with them, or tell of the sins they have witnesses?
What would the walls of the Borley Hotel say? What would the hotel itself say, if it could tell its tales? Perhaps it would speak of its golden days, of being one of the well to do spots in New York state. Indeed, one of the premiere hotels in all the world, lavish and luxurious, with every movie star and royal family member renting rooms in it. And perhaps the Borley Hotel would also touch upon it's other, darker aspects.
Much as the beautiful coffin masks the rotting, putrid corpse within, so did the Borley's decadence hide its darker traits. Indeed, the hotel had a swimming pool, gym, movie theater, wine cellar, bar, ball room and even a race track outside, among other features. It had beautiful architecture, a combination of ancient antiquity and Victorian.
But it had been vacant for years, decades even. First, there were stories of ghosts, strange things that would go bump in the night. Then came the murders and the involvement with the mafia and other scandals. Then strange, demonic looking creatures said to roam the ground and guests who would hear voices, some of which went unexplainable mad. Some said it was cursed, built on top of an Indian burial ground. Others said it was home to a cult and actually a gateway to Hell.
Rumor has it that no one can stand to spend one night in it any longer. To play upon this, every year, a contest is hosted, the rules of which are simple. Stay one entire night, from dusk til dawn, inside the grounds of the hotel, which include the hotel itself and the adjacent land. To go beyond the confines of the great stone wall and iron front gates is to forfeit the contest. And if one does manage to spend the entire night there, then one wins one million dollars USD.
To date, no one has ever succeeded, either scratching and clawing over the fence in a panicked frenzy or having died during the night. Although the hosts of the contest assure that the hotel is uninhabited, people have died during the contest. Some have their bodies found in the morning. Others vanished altogether.
And Cheryl couldn't think of a better way to spend her vacation. Fresh from battling zombies and helping to save the world, the Gunnery Sergeant was given some well deserved leave. The problem was that she didn't know how to spend her free time. She'd devoted so much of her life to the USMC, that it felt...unnatural and awkward to be out of uniform, mingling with civilians.
All she could do was travel to New York City, where she at best hoped pig out in the restaurants and sleep in in hotel rooms she would rent. There was also Anya, whom she hoped to visit. But this contest, she never dreamed of anything like this. It was the chance of a lifetime. She jumped at it, inviting Anya and Bridget along with her.
Borley itself was located outside of New York City, somewhere in the state of New York. It was relatively isolated, a real in the middle of no-where place. Apparently that was what gave Borley such an appeal in its golden years. But that was decades ago.
Borley today looked old and neglected. White sheets covered the furniture. It's once beautiful hotel lobby, complete with a fountain with statues in it, was now dark and silent, it's fountain dried up. Dust and mold were everywhere. It even smelled old inside, that earthy smell. And floor boards creaked and the fine, oriental rugs were faded from age.
Cheryl, unlike the hotel, still looked youthful. Being in vacation, she was out of uniform. She wore combat boots that reached up almost to her knees, loose fitting, gray cargo pants, a black tank top and fingerless gloves. Although she was short and had a distinctly feminine frame, the muscular arms and shoulders that her tank top showed off made her look almost amazonian. The tattoos on her arms were also in plain view, showed off by her pale, goblin skin. One her right arm, in horizontal letters stretching from her shoulder to her elbow, were the words Semper Fi. On her left arm, stretching from her shoulder to slightly past her elbow, was sword that pointed downward and a snake curled around it.
There were no staff on duty at this hour. The sun was about to go down. But no matter, there was plenty of food and drink, booze included, in the hotel dining hall. It was no surprise that Cheryl lurked there, close to one of the long tables that had a buffet prepared on it. In one hand was a turkey leg that she chewed on and in the other was a bottle of wine, which she drank straight from.
She was care free, and why should she be worried? The hotel was well lit. The hosts and sponsors of the contest made sure to pay the electric bill, so that electricity would be supplied to the hotel for at least twenty-four hours. And there were no such thing as ghosts, demons or Hell, right? So then, easiest million dollars she ever made? And what of the other guests? What of Anya and Bridget and the others? Were they worried or equally care free?
What would the walls of the Borley Hotel say? What would the hotel itself say, if it could tell its tales? Perhaps it would speak of its golden days, of being one of the well to do spots in New York state. Indeed, one of the premiere hotels in all the world, lavish and luxurious, with every movie star and royal family member renting rooms in it. And perhaps the Borley Hotel would also touch upon it's other, darker aspects.
Much as the beautiful coffin masks the rotting, putrid corpse within, so did the Borley's decadence hide its darker traits. Indeed, the hotel had a swimming pool, gym, movie theater, wine cellar, bar, ball room and even a race track outside, among other features. It had beautiful architecture, a combination of ancient antiquity and Victorian.
But it had been vacant for years, decades even. First, there were stories of ghosts, strange things that would go bump in the night. Then came the murders and the involvement with the mafia and other scandals. Then strange, demonic looking creatures said to roam the ground and guests who would hear voices, some of which went unexplainable mad. Some said it was cursed, built on top of an Indian burial ground. Others said it was home to a cult and actually a gateway to Hell.
Rumor has it that no one can stand to spend one night in it any longer. To play upon this, every year, a contest is hosted, the rules of which are simple. Stay one entire night, from dusk til dawn, inside the grounds of the hotel, which include the hotel itself and the adjacent land. To go beyond the confines of the great stone wall and iron front gates is to forfeit the contest. And if one does manage to spend the entire night there, then one wins one million dollars USD.
To date, no one has ever succeeded, either scratching and clawing over the fence in a panicked frenzy or having died during the night. Although the hosts of the contest assure that the hotel is uninhabited, people have died during the contest. Some have their bodies found in the morning. Others vanished altogether.
And Cheryl couldn't think of a better way to spend her vacation. Fresh from battling zombies and helping to save the world, the Gunnery Sergeant was given some well deserved leave. The problem was that she didn't know how to spend her free time. She'd devoted so much of her life to the USMC, that it felt...unnatural and awkward to be out of uniform, mingling with civilians.
All she could do was travel to New York City, where she at best hoped pig out in the restaurants and sleep in in hotel rooms she would rent. There was also Anya, whom she hoped to visit. But this contest, she never dreamed of anything like this. It was the chance of a lifetime. She jumped at it, inviting Anya and Bridget along with her.
Borley itself was located outside of New York City, somewhere in the state of New York. It was relatively isolated, a real in the middle of no-where place. Apparently that was what gave Borley such an appeal in its golden years. But that was decades ago.
Borley today looked old and neglected. White sheets covered the furniture. It's once beautiful hotel lobby, complete with a fountain with statues in it, was now dark and silent, it's fountain dried up. Dust and mold were everywhere. It even smelled old inside, that earthy smell. And floor boards creaked and the fine, oriental rugs were faded from age.
Cheryl, unlike the hotel, still looked youthful. Being in vacation, she was out of uniform. She wore combat boots that reached up almost to her knees, loose fitting, gray cargo pants, a black tank top and fingerless gloves. Although she was short and had a distinctly feminine frame, the muscular arms and shoulders that her tank top showed off made her look almost amazonian. The tattoos on her arms were also in plain view, showed off by her pale, goblin skin. One her right arm, in horizontal letters stretching from her shoulder to her elbow, were the words Semper Fi. On her left arm, stretching from her shoulder to slightly past her elbow, was sword that pointed downward and a snake curled around it.
There were no staff on duty at this hour. The sun was about to go down. But no matter, there was plenty of food and drink, booze included, in the hotel dining hall. It was no surprise that Cheryl lurked there, close to one of the long tables that had a buffet prepared on it. In one hand was a turkey leg that she chewed on and in the other was a bottle of wine, which she drank straight from.
She was care free, and why should she be worried? The hotel was well lit. The hosts and sponsors of the contest made sure to pay the electric bill, so that electricity would be supplied to the hotel for at least twenty-four hours. And there were no such thing as ghosts, demons or Hell, right? So then, easiest million dollars she ever made? And what of the other guests? What of Anya and Bridget and the others? Were they worried or equally care free?
