I’ll be honest, when I sent an email to the Internet czar at the time, David Dvorkin, and he told me there was no active New York Chapter, I was annoyed. It was one of the reasons that I joined. But I was ambitious and very motivated to get my name out there, so I started the Chapter on my own. The first meeting I met some good folks, some established, some not. But once Jack Ketchum and Don D’Auria got on board, we were on our way.
After we had Don D’Auria as our guest of honor, I began to feel a little stupid. I wanted to have some T-shirts, or HWA trinkets to give my guests—make things look official. So I wrote to the powers that be. I started with Nancy E., then emailed all the bigwigs.
Richard Laymon wrote me back!
Not only did he promise to send me a bunch of T-shirts, but he signed the email, “Dick.”
I think I shit in my pants. He was so damn sweet. I can remember telling my wife, jumping around the house like a retard. After that, we wrote back and forth a bunch of times. He started writing me! I couldn’t have been more flattered. He’d ask how the meeting went, and even said that I’d inspired him to start an L.A. Chapter. I inspired Dick Laymon?! Clearly something is backwards! But I guess I did. Dick and I planned to meet in Seattle. There was a big fuss over the Stokers not being in New York. But I promised Dick and Alan Beatts I’d do my part to rally the troops. And I brought a pretty good NY contingent with me to Seattle. But as we all know, Dick didn’t make it to Seattle. Sure, I got to meet Ann and Kelly, who I love dearly. But I felt so cheated, never getting to meet the man in person. It still makes me so sad. Although I never got to meet him, I’ll always consider him my friend.
Adam Pepper
HE WATER FALLING from the sky slammed into the windshield of the ’96 Pontiac, as if the car was cruising through a twenty-four-hour car wash. Ronald strained to see through the downpour, and focus on the road, but it was near impossible. What he could see was the gas gauge, nearing empty. The last thing Ronald wanted to do was delay his trip further. If he had any chance at saving his teetering marriage, it was by getting home. He was a day behind schedule already, but he’d have to stop soon. He wasn’t making good time anyway, with the storm beating down so fiercely.
Ronald saw a bright neon sign reading, “Happy Hotel,” and below it, “Vacancy.” The place didn’t look like much, just an old brick building. Pretty high though. Must be a bunch of travelers passing through to fill that dreary old building up, although there were only a couple of lights on. Regardless, his business was slow, and his expense account was used up, so cheap would suit him just fine, so long as it was warm and dry...particularly dry.
He pulled the brown car into the parking lot, and drove into an available spot. The lot looked pretty full. An odd empty spot here and there, but not too many. Who knew this place was such a hot spot?
Ronald grabbed his overnight bag from the passenger seat, opened the door, and then booked towards the front entrance, holding the suitcase above his head as he ran. The front door was maybe a hundred feet or so from the car, but he was soaked by the time he got there.
“Wow, it’s coming down out there,” he said to the guy at the front desk as he panted, trying to catch his breath.
“Yep. It’s quite a mess out there,” the old man said. He had the unfazed look of a man who’d seen many stormy nights come and go while he sat behind that desk.
“I need a room for the night.”
“Sorry. We’re filled up, I’m afraid,” he said as he twirled his white beard.
“Filled up? The sign says ‘Vacancy’.”
“That sign hasn’t worked in years, son.” The old man took off his wire specs, wiped the lenses, and put them back on. Then looked up and forced a smirk.
“Damn. Well, I’m soaking wet, and I have no gas. I really need a place to stay tonight.”
“You do, huh?”
“I really need a room.”
“Well, we have one room available. But I hate to rent it to you,” he said, now back to twisting his beard. “I mean, I could use the money, but you seem like a nice guy and all.”
“I’ll take it.”
“You’ll take it? You haven’t even heard what’s wrong with it.”
“Is it dry?”
“Well, yes.”
“Then I’ll take it. I just need a dry room for the night.”
“If you insist,” the old man said as he smiled. He finally stopped fiddling with his beard long enough to slip the register over the tabletop for Ronald to sign. Ronald quickly signed it, soaking the paper as he rubbed it with his soggy coat sleeves.
There was a loud smash that came from outside, and Ronald looked up. “What was that?” he asked the old man.
“I dunno, thunder maybe?”
“Didn’t sound like thunder.”
The old guy shrugged, then tossed the key at Ronald. Ronald caught it with his free hand, while picking his bag up with the other. He turned to the guy and said, “Thanks, I really appreciate this.”
“Sure thing,” the old man laughed.
Ronald looked at the key: room 1313. He pressed the elevator button and waited, and waited.
“Cute, room 1313.”
The elevator finally made its way down to the first floor, and Ronald pulled open the door; it was an old elevator, the kind where the door doesn’t slide open on its own. The floor below him settled as he stepped in, and the door creaked as he closed it. The ride up was slow, and a bit bumpy. The thing didn’t feel very stable. It was noisy too—made Ronald just a little claustrophobic as he waited for the ride to end. There was no company on the ride up. He was all alone, just waiting to get to the top floor. Floor number thirteen.
Ronald stepped out of the wobbly elevator, glad to be off it. It was awful quiet as he walked down a long corridor: a simple, very plain hallway—nothing but wood doors and dark painted walls with cheap lamps bolted on. The floor was carpeted, so even his footsteps didn’t make noise; there was just the faint sound of raindrops coming from outside. He got up to room 1313 and put the key into the tarnished brass knob. An eerie feeling overcame him as he did, and the silence was broken.
“I’m lonely,” a voice said. It was very soft, just barely audible, yet Ronald was sure that’s what he heard. And he was pretty sure it was coming from inside the room. Still, he looked back down the hallway to his left. He looked to his right, and there was nothing but the end of the hallway—not even a window. There was a radiator against the wall, hissing softly. Ronald looked behind, and there was no one there, just room number 1312, with the door closed.
“Hello?” Ronald called as he looked around. “It was the radiator.”
The desire to get out of his wet clothes overcame his silly, irrational fear. Ronald turned the key, and he swore he heard noise coming from inside the room: the wheezing of a deep breath.
He flung the door open, and quickly flicked the light switch. The room was empty, and quiet. Ronald dropped his bag and tossed his drenched jacket on a nearby chair. The room was small, but neat. He undressed and dropped his clothes as he walked towards the bathroom. Ronald turned on the shower, all hot water, cranked to the fullest. He took a bathrobe that was hanging from the door, and slipped it on.
Ronald called downstairs and the old man quickly answered, “Hello, son.”
“Yes, can I get some room service please?”
“Sure. Alls we got is burgers or sandwiches.”
“A burger sounds great, and some coffee, please.”
“Sure thing, be up in a jiffy.”
Ronald jumped in the shower, and turned the hot water down, but just a smidge. It felt too good, even though it was scalding him a bit. After a minute he turned the hot water down a little more, and cleaned himself up.