Jeepers Creepers: A North Island Horror Story

The name of this establishment shall remain confidential to protect the dignity of the owners or any previous guests, both living and dead *gulp*

“Scott, there’s a big pink stain on the floor…..”
“It’s ok” he replied, “It’s too light to be blood.”
Not the most comforting conversation to be having when you’ve just checked into your hotel room in one of the only hotels in the town. We had planned to spend one night in a small town on the North Island on our way back to Auckland from Welllington. The town itself was quaint and charming. If only we could say the same about our hotel.

As soon as we checked in and saw that we were the only people staying there that night, we knew that the place probably wasn’t your regular all-singing-all-dancing thoroughfare hotel. But as we walked along the deserted corridor to our room and peered into some of the other rooms whose doors were lying open, we started to become slightly anxious. Threadbare mattresses and cobwebbed sinks greeted us from every doorway.

We reached our room and breathed a sigh of relief. We had an ensuite bathroom, something the others hadn’t – they had obviously given us the best room in the place. Which wasn’t saying much. The graveyard of dead spiders under the window drew my eye line first. Then the towel folded on the spare bed, which had been there so long it had cobwebs growing on it. My unease heightened – we had already paid for the room, there was nowhere else to stay and the bus had long since left us in a trail of dust. It was only for one night, we would just have to grin and bear it.

Through the open window we heard the sound of mechanical diggers and started joking that they were digging our graves. Was this “a local town for local people” where tourists arrive but never leave?! We also spotted several open fires burning in local backyards – highly suspicious given the weather – but we ignored it and spent the day as best we could.

Back at the hotel that night we pushed a chair against the door in a feeble attempt to stop any murderous intruders and also kept our only semi-dangerous tool – a bottle opener – by the side of the bed whilst we slept. What the hell we thought we’ d do with that, I don’t know. Maybe pour our killers a drink before they mutilated us?!

I awoke the next morning after my best nights’ sleep of the whole trip. Apparently the thought of imminent death didn’t scare me that much. I stumbled into the bathroom to be faced with the sight of a centipede that had crawled out of the bath plug and who appeared to be trying to make a hasty escape out of our bathtub. Even the insects know better than to stick around in this place. Wish I could say the same for Scott and I.