Just over a hundred miles outside of Vegas, situated on an old county road, thereís an isolated Victorian-era hotel, a place known by its patrons as
the Horror Hotel. An evil establishment owned by a cruelly sadistic dominatrix, known only as Mistress Dark, the Hotelís twenty-eight rooms each
containing a different live graphic scene of unspeakable torture and often death every night.
Room 26, known simply as Guts. An execution chamber where every night over the past two months, dressed in a red satin g-string, with a ballgag stuffed in my mouth and a canvas hood concealing my identity. Iíve silently prayed that tonight isnít going to be the night that I finally meet my gruesome, horrifying demise.
Of course, before all this, I was a college coed, a math major just finishing up my junior year. This past Halloween, Iíd taken a job at a local house of horrors playing a sexy damsel in distress for three weekends and loved it. You can imagine my excitement when just after finals, I heard about this Horror Hotel place. Going online, I filled out an application. Less than an hour later, they hired me for the summer. I have to admit, the idea of spending the summer playing the part of a damsel in distress at a horror-themed hotel felt intensely erotic. How could I have been this naive?
Every night the show starts promptly at eight and runs until midnight. Most of the Hotelís nightly audiences believe what they see in the Hotelís rooms is either fake or done with special effects. However, all the women locked within the rooms know the unspeakably horrifying truth, everything that happens here happens for real.
Every night, I have groups of Hotel patrons walking past my room. Those who purchased tokens with their admission ticket may decide to stop and play that diabolical slot machine standing outside the glass front wall of my room. However, unlike the older mechanical slot machines still found in some Vegas casinos, these machines donít use symbols like fruits or numbers. Instead, here at the Horror Hotel, they use things like a hangmanís noose, bolts of electricity, pouring water, flames, etc.
Each machine contains five reels with twenty symbols, each corresponding to one of the twenty rooms with slot machines. For two matching symbols, the machine pays out ten tokens. For three, fifty. For four, a credit of one hundred.
To win a one thousand token credit, you have to hit the jackpot and get all five of the symbols associated with that roomís slot machine. Ominously, the jackpot symbol on the slot machine outside of room 26 is five chainsaws. So, if or when someone wins my roomís jackpot, that powerful chainsaw poised directly between my thighs switches on and swings upward. Its sharp spinning blade will effortlessly bisect my torso from my crotch to the top of my ribcage in what promises to be an utterly gruesome and truly agonizing display of blood and gore.
Being a math major, figuring the odds were easy. The chances of me dying with every spin of the slot machine are just one in 3.2 million, that is, assuming the slot machine isnít rigged. Still, on my first horrifying night here, they informed me that the average survival time for the women in the twenty rooms with slot machines is only about four months, but thatís just the average. Some women last longer, while others die much sooner.
In the end, itís simply a matter of time before my luck finally runs out...
Inspired by Zatanna Darkís Hyper-Realistic Horror Hotel series.