In no time at all they were seated in a circle holding hands while they prayed and then celebrated the sacrament. They were six in total – the Priest, the Deacon, two Lay personnel, a visiting Presbyterian and Charlie the Canadian. In lieu of a homily, the Priest suggested they go around the circle and each talk about whatever they wanted. It was all quite interesting. When it came time for Charlie to speak he waxed eloquent about how he always had a bit of trepidation about coming to the States because of the numerous acts of violence that transpired there. However, all of his visits turned up nothing but friendly folk who were more than kind to him. He finished with – “I love America.”
All seemed pleased.
As he slipped out of the Church, Charlie silently whispered a few prayers for safety against the dreaded Room 666 and its eerie voices. Arriving back at Room 665, he found his friends sound asleep. They awoke at his entry, and soon they found themselves back at the Genesee Brew House having a few cold ones to warm up for another big evening of baseball.
When the day was done, Charlie collapsed exhausted into his bed hoping that he would sleep peacefully through the night but dreading he might not.
The witching hour struck, and the voices returned. This time they were coming from the adjoining room containing Mort and Ronnie. They softly summoned him. “Charlie. Charlie.”
Dopey with drowsiness, Charlie commenced complying. As his feet hit the cold floor, even colder reality hit his mind. Back into bed he dove and pulled a pillow over his head hoping to block the voices. No such luck! “Charlie. Charlie!”
He either slipped back into slumber or passed out from fear. In any event, when next he opened his eyes, sunlight was streaming into the room and Donnie was just coming out of the shower.
“How were your little voices?”
“Don’t ask!”
The day flew by: Jines for breakfast, an afternoon baseball game and an evening supping on succulent seafood at the Crab Shack. Half of them chose fresh seafood and half preferred the deep fried version. They all devoured platters of oysters on the half shell as an appetizer. A good time was had by each and every one of them.
It may have just been the wine talking, but Charlie leapt into bed that evening with a cheeky challenge to the voices: “Hit me with your best shot. Nothing will disturb my sleep tonight.”
How wrong he was! In the dead of the night, the voices returned. This time they were in the room. “Charlie. Charlie.” They drew ever closer to his bed. “CHARLIE. CHARLIE!”
Charlie pulled the pillow over his ears and the covers over his head, and started to pray up a storm. The Spirits above were stronger than the spirits below. Silence returned to the room and, eventually, so too did the dawn.
Charlie was ever so happy to break fast with the boys, load up with cases of Genesee Cream Ale and hit the road for home. Shortly after crossing the border into Canada, Charlie’s phone pinged. It was a text from Donnie with a picture of the evil door across the hall.
“Ha HA!” He responded as he erased the picture from his phone – and his memory as well.
