"Why couldn't she just disappear?" Vanessa screamed, her voice bouncing off the thin walls.
She grabbed the lamp and threw it down. The bulb cracked, plunging the corner of the room into shadow. Pillows, clothes, papers — everything she touched flew in some direction. The small space soon looked like a storm had torn through it.
Down at the reception, the motel owner, Mr. Harris, a heavyset man with thinning hair, frowned. Loud thuds and glass breaking were coming from Room 23 again — the same room he'd regretted renting out a week ago. Sighing angrily, he climbed the stairs two at a time and banged on the door.
"Hey! Stop that racket!"
The crashing didn't stop. Another sound — something heavy hitting the wall.
He unlocked the door with his spare key and pushed it open.
The sight stopped him cold for a moment.
