Physical Address
304 North Cardinal St.
Dorchester Center, MA 02124
He Sees You
I’m not a big believer in the unusual . . . or paranormal . . . whatever you want to call it. But something happened to me several years ago. I recently noticed a number of disappearances . . . and I think I know the cause. Of course, I can’t go to the authorities with the “paranormal,” but I can warn others. Please, please, please . . . do not go in the Wander Inn.
It was a night like any other. I traveled all over for work. I took a flight to whatever region I was assigned to, and from that point I rented a car. On that night . . . I found myself on a lonely stretch of highway, in the middle of the southwestern desert. I was far from civilization. The moon hung low and cast an eerie silver glow over the arid landscape. The empty desolation almost overwhelmed me. My only company was the rhythmic hum of my car’s engine and the howling wind that seemed to whisper through the car’s glass.
I’d been driving for hours. The yellow road lines disappeared into the never-ending distance. The unrelenting heat of the day gave way to a bone-chilling cold that seeped through the windows, despite my car’s heater. The isolation felt suffocating. I felt a creeping sense of unease.
My radio was my only companion, but even that betrayed me. Familiar songs dissolved into static. There were no stations out there. What strange, unfamiliar stations I found became an incomprehensible cacophony of voices. I tried to shut it off, but it was unresponsive. The bizarre voices grew louder and more urgent. They spoke a language I’d never heard before. I’m a fan of foreign films, so I’ve heard languages from around the world. Except for this one. I don’t know what it was. It didn’t sound human.
My headlights pierced the landscape’s inky blackness. The occasional Joshua tree seemed to reach for me with gnarled, skeletal arms. The wind outside now had an unsettling quality . . . as if it whispered my name. I tightened my grip on the steering wheel. My knuckles grew white.
The road ahead twisted and turned. I had the unusual sense that I traveled in circles . . . but I knew that wasn’t right. I didn’t make any turns. It was like the desert itself conspired to keep me lost in that forsaken place. The stars were obscured by an impenetrable veil of clouds and haze. The moon vanished with them and left me in total darkness.
I saw it then, an eerie, flickering light on the horizon. It looked like pale blue foxfire. It beckoned me forward, but the distant and haunting glow defied logic. This was not the place for foxfire. A sense of dread overcame me, but I was also curious. I couldn’t resist the pull of the light. I followed it and drove deeper into the desert.
The light danced and flickered. It led me through labyrinthine twists of the desert highway. It was a surreal spectacle. I felt a presence . . . something unseen . . . riding with me in the car. The wind outside grew more intense. I kept hearing strange sounds, so I rolled the window down completely. I swear I could hear whispers. They weren’t clear, but there were distinct voices on the desert breeze.
I finally neared the source of the light. It came from a seemingly abandoned motel that appeared out of nowhere. The place was a relic of the past. The broken neon sign cast an eerie, pulsating glow that bathed the entire area in an otherworldly light. I couldn’t see any cars anywhere.
I pulled into the parking lot. My heart pounded as the wind grew into a furious gale that rattled the car’s windows. The motel’s exterior was faded and peeling. Its windows were covered in a thick layer of dust and grime. A feeling of foreboding washed over me as I approached the front door.
The motel’s lobby was as eerie as the exterior. Of course, it was utterly empty. The flickering fluorescent lights cast long, distorted shadows on the faded wallpaper. The reception desk was deserted. An old, yellowing guestbook lay open, its pages filled with indecipherable scribbles. It almost looked like the former guests had written in some strange, Cyrillic language, but I was in Arizona. The lobby’s air was heavy with a musty, damp odor that made my skin crawl. It was the desert. Nothing was musty and damp in the desert, at least nothing I’d seen before.
I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched as I ventured deeper into the motel. The walls seemed to close in around me, and the hallway stretched endlessly, with countless doors leading to who knew what. I heard whispers, unintelligible and maddening, as they radiated from behind the closed doors.
The door to room #13 stood ajar. The feeble lights flickered within. I pushed it open to reveal a dimly lit room, its walls adorned with strange symbols and occult drawings. In the center of the room, a tattered journal lay open on the floor, its pages filled with frantic, rambling entries.
Whispers grew louder as I approached the journal. They formed a chilling chorus of spectral voices. Something was in there with me . . . a shadowy figure lurked in the corner of my vision. The journal’s pages slowly turned on their own, as if guided by an unseen hand. It looked like someone had written, “Don’t Look!” a million times. Some entries were cursive, some print, and some scrawled.
It made no sense. Don’t look at what? At who? What was I not supposed to see? That final entry sent a shock of terror through my body.
“Leave this place before it claims your soul.”
The words on the page pleaded. It dawned on me that maybe I wasn’t supposed to look at whatever that thing was in the corner of my vision. Maybe something would happen if it actually appeared in view.
The next page said, “He Sees You . . .”
I felt the room change. The air grew frigid. I could see my breath. The lights began to flicker.
The next page read, “He’s going to touch you . . .”
I felt a massive, heavy hand rest on my shoulder. Thankfully, my body unfroze.
I fled from the room with a growing sense of impending doom. Everything was wrong in that entire place. The motel warped and shifted as I panicked. The whispers grew more insistent, as though they sought to ensnare me in their malevolent embrace.
I raced back through the lobby. My heart pounded as I rushed out to my car. It was just in time. The flickering neon sign continued to dim, along with the motel itself, until it vanished into the desolation of the desert. The wind died down, and the moon reappeared. It cast an eerie light over the empty highway.
I drove from that forsaken place with my heart still racing. I continued down the highway as everything returned to normal. What was the name of it? “The Wander Inn . . .” was the motel’s name.
Once I recalled the name, I couldn’t get it out of my head. What was the strange light that led me to it? Or the voices that continue to echo in my mind? Were those former victims who didn’t escape?
Some places were not meant to be discovered, and some mysteries were better left unsolved. That night on the deserted highway was forever etched into my memory. I have never found any record of the Wander Inn, but I’m not sure that I want to. I’m just telling my story now to warn others who might be led to the Wander Inn.
He sees you . . .
