Just over a hundred miles outside of Vegas, situated on an old county road, there’s 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 hotel’s twenty-eight
rooms each containing a different live graphic scene of unspeakable torture and often death every night.
Leaning against the side of the medieval dungeon’s rack in room 28, Donna watched the group of hotel patrons standing just outside the room’s
front wall of glass, talking among themselves. Of course, I couldn’t hear anything they were saying. The thick glass is quite soundproof. However,
thanks to overhead speakers outside this room, they’ll be able to listen to every torturously intimate moment of what occurs in here tonight.
They almost seemed amused, like they didn’t believe any of this was real, but I know it is. After all, earlier today, I’d watched the video of the
gruesome demise of the last unfortunate woman to occupy this room. I wonder how they’d react if they knew the truth.
I’m awaiting the diabolic attentions of one of the hotel’s staff of obscenely talented torturers. When he arrives, which should be in just a few minutes,
my death will not be quick or easy. Instead, over the long coming hours, I’ll suffer in unrelenting agony, my body fiendishly mutilated and destroyed as
he slowly and methodically tortures me to death simply for my audience’s sick twisted amusement.
And unlike this room’s last occupant, or should I say, victim, tricked into believing this was just another indie horror film, I know what it is that they
do here. They film actual snuff films here every night. Why else do you think I would have willingly volunteered for this?
Inspired by Zatanna Dark’s Hyper-Realistic Horror Hotel series...