Entering the last weekend of a two-week, three-state journey along the east coast, I was starting to regret my decision to take the staff writer job at Vacation magazine. This was not at all what I had expected. I thought I would get to jet off to glamorous locations and write about luxury resorts, but the only assignments I had been given so far consisted of driving around and evaluating new hotels. I missed my own bed and was so ready to be off the road for a while.
The final hotel that I was supposed to visit was the Autel, and I would be covering the last weekend of their grand opening. They had been touting themselves as the first fully automated hotel. At this point, I didn’t care where I was staying provided it had a shower and bed. I had been driving all day, and my coffee had worn off many miles back.
When I arrived at the Autel, my first impression was it looked more like a sleek, modern office building than a hotel. The façade of the towering, tubular building seemed to be made of one continuous piece of rounded ebony glass. I could see no individual windows or visible lights shining through the smooth veneer. When I compared it to my previous lodgings, it looked to be twelve or thirteen stories tall. As I approached the entrance, the doors automatically slid open. For the price the magazine was paying for my room, this better not be the highlight of their automation. They would get an extremely negative review if it was.
When I entered the building, I saw it was actually a hollow cylinder with a reflective glass layer around the inner core. There might even have been a glass ceiling on top, but I would need to confirm that in the morning. I had no idea what the source of the room’s brilliant, white light was, but the mirrored interior made the indoors as bright as the noonday sun. The curved surface also reflected a mixture of colorful, blooming plants and flowing, bubbling water features that were on the ground floor. The ambiance made me feel like I had just walked into a warm terrarium.
In the midst of this greenery, I saw a sleek chrome, five-foot monolith scrolling ‘Self Check-In’ in large green letters. Walking over, I thought it odd I didn’t hear my sneakers. They were still wet from a deluge I had run through at a recent rest stop and should have made a squeaky-squishy sound on the glossy tile floor. In fact, I hadn’t heard or smelled anything since I had walked inside: the waterfalls emitted no sound and the plants no fragrance. There was an eerie feeling of nothingness here.
When I was within a foot of the column’s front, it started flashing ‘Name and Thumbprint’ followed by a large green circle. Slightly confused, I obliged and was promptly shown a room number. In unison, the monolith went back to its original message and lights appeared on the floor directing me to the elevator.
Confused and perturbed that nothing had been explained to me, I followed the illuminated path. Also, how was I supposed to get in my room? Was that tied to my voice as well? I should have been told that my registration call was going to be used for voice recognition software. This would explain why they required a phone reservation–I thought they were just being snobbish–but why was my thumbprint needed? And why were they so adamant on the phone to know how many individuals would be in the room if we didn’t even get keys? So far, this hotel wasn’t doing well on hospitality.
After wasting five minutes searching for the elevator’s call button, I finally realized I had to again press my thumbprint in the green circle next to the door. I guess posting signs–albeit helpful for the guests–was displeasing to their aesthetics. This experience wasn’t starting well. When I stepped into the elevator car’s reflective box–every surface in this building had the same mirror-like surface–I could have sworn I heard someone say, “Good evening, Emily.” The car was unoccupied, so I simply chalked it up to travel fatigue. The doors closed, and the lift instantaneously started moving. After a moment, I grasped it would know what floor I required because my print was tied to my room information.
On my way out of the lift car, I again heard the mystery voice, ‘Have a good night, Emily.” At this point, I feared I was hallucinating and was scared I had maybe huffed fumes while I was driving. I made a mental note to get my car serviced when I got home.
Once again, a track of recessed floor lights began glowing through the polished tile floor, and I followed it down a narrow hallway. On one side, I had a dark, unadorned wall lined with evenly spaced metallic doors. They were marked with only numbers and had no handles. This looked very odd to me. I was so used to staying in and reviewing traditional, cookie-cutter hotels and this was definitely not one.
Conversely, the other side of the hall allowed me to look down on the terrarium below through a giant picture window. It was formed from the edifice’s inner mirror lining. From this height, I could see silver pathways snaking away from the monolith. They wound throughout the lush greenery leading to dispersed charcoal-colored benches and what looked like silvery-white statues. I genuinely didn’t know how I could have missed them earlier and vowed to investigate further tomorrow.
I had walked about a hundred feet when the lights ended in front of a door displaying my room number. Beside it there was another glowing green circle. At least they were consistent, I mused as I once more pressed my thumb on the marking. The door slid open, the hall floor illumination vanished, and the room’s interior slowly began to brighten. Crossing the threshold triggered the door to close and prompted my speaking-spook to return. However, this time it...she…identified herself.
“Hello, Emily. I’m Samara, and I’m here to assist you. Whatever you need, please don’t hesitate to ask.”
“So, you’re the one causing me to question my sanity. Why didn’t you introduce yourself before?” I retorted.
“I was merely being polite and had no reason to tell you more at that moment. You weren’t in your room yet.”
I planned to highly recommend an introductory packet be made for guests of the hotel and sent to them before their stay. Proceeding to walk farther into the ever-widening room, I saw it was shaped like a slice of pie with the crust being a full wall-to-wall inky-black curved window in front of me. A queen-sized bed was straight ahead on my left. The curvilinear barrier with a door that I passed on my right, I supposed was the bathroom.
Tossing my blue bag on the bed’s snowy, down comforter, I realized that it provided the only hue in the white, colorless room. No paintings were on the pale walls, nor curtains framing the giant window. What perplexed me more than the lack of color, however, was the absence of furniture: no nightstands, lamps, phone, table, not even a TV. A bed–that was it. My readers would not like this.
Knowing I had no other choice, I began talking to the empty room, “Samara, where is the TV?”
“It is integrated into the wall, Emily,” she replied.
“How do I work it with no remote?”
“Ask me.”
“And the lights?”
“Ask me. I can regulate anything in the room to your liking. I am here to keep you as comfortable as possible.”
Realizing I had lost all control, I rummaged through my bag until I found my toiletries kit and pajamas. Maybe I could find some privacy and quiet in the bathroom; I shouldn’t have to ask Samara for anything in there.
Opening the door to the lavatory triggered cool-white lights to come on and reveal floor-to-ceiling black mosaic marble tile. It was quite stunning. Slipping off my shoes, I discovered the floors were heated. This was something I had never seen in a hotel and only added to the lavishness of the bathroom’s décor. Finally, I found something positive to write about. I was also relieved to see a few more items in the bathroom than the bedroom: one towel, washcloth, and cup. It wasn’t much, but very appreciated.
Nevertheless, I wasn’t too awestruck by the sink’s motion sensor water and soap features as these were standard in any roadside rest stop. The small shower stall didn’t appear to be unusually special, either. Granted, I couldn’t see any fixtures but presumed they were concealed within the tiled walls.
When I stepped into the shower and slid the glass door closed, though, three unexpected things happened simultaneously. The door’s clear panel turned opaque. Two round recessed lights in the ceiling began to emit a soft florescent glow. And, what was the most shocking to me–in many ways–was the shower spontaneously turned on.
The startlingly cold rain streaming from the silver-square showerhead in the ceiling made me quickly step to the side and press myself firmly against the cool black marble. As I moved, the water suddenly warmed up dramatically and bordered on scalding. Frantically, I began running my hands along the smooth walls trying unsuccessfully to locate the controls. Seeing a green circle, I was certain I had found the answer, but pressing my thumb on the spot merely squirted a glob of soap on me.
Still as I moved around the little shower, I felt the water continually changing temperature. At first, I considered another motion sensor control, so I stood still and waved my hands in front of the wall trying to incite a reaction. Despite this, the water didn’t adjust. On the other hand, I did notice a difference when I shifted around the floor. Cautiously, I began stepping from one distinct hexagon inlay to the next to judge the effect on the cascading water.
My experiment paid off, and I discovered each one was connected to a different temperature setting. By combining the two directly below the spray–an intensely hot with the left foot and a bitterly cold with the right–I found the ideal balance. I had cracked the soap mystery while hunting the water temperature solution, so I was able to finish my shower with no more issues. The moment I walked back into the bedroom, though, I was reminded I was not alone.
“Was everything to your liking? Can I get you anything?” Samara’s velvety ethereal voice inquired.
“You could have told me how the shower worked,” I snapped. “Like everything else I’ve encountered during my stay, it needs directions.”
“All you had to do was ask. I am available to you always; everywhere in the room.”
This comment gave me a truly frightening thought. If she could answer me and hear me anywhere, could she also see me? Could she, the hotel, see me in the shower? Casually walking back to the bed, I tried to unobtrusively search the rounded ceiling fixtures for hidden cameras or small red lights. I guess I wasn’t as discreet as I thought, because I attracted the attention of my ‘helpful’ companion.
“Have you lost something, Emily? May I be of assistance?”
“Are you watching me, Samara? Are there cameras hidden in my room? In the bathroom?”
‘Yes and no, Emily. I am built into the wall’s lining and can sense–or see–your presence everywhere except in the shower. That is blurred from me.”
I was growing more distressed by the second, “So, what you’re saying is you saw me outside the shower, just not inside?”
“Correct.”
Asking permission for everything was annoying but this was nauseatingly galling. I almost grabbed my suitcase and ran, but I knew these were the details my editors would want to know. Besides, I still wanted to see those statues downstairs. I would stick it out one night and hope this story would propel me to bigger opportunities. I hadn’t really unpacked anything, so I could go downstairs first thing, explore the lobby some, and then hit the road. If I rounded it to twenty-four hours, I should be okay with my boss. The hotel had already given me enough information for a story.
“Samara, I need a wake-up call tomorrow morning at 9 o’clock. I suppose you’re in charge of that since there is no clock or phone.”
“I am. Will you be requiring breakfast or maid service tomorrow?”
“No, I’ll be fine. I may be checking out tomorrow‒ work and everything. They need me back sooner than expected.” Why would I tell her that? I should have just left. Hopefully, she didn’t ask questions because technically I was supposed stay two more nights.
“As you wish.”
I hadn’t noticed it when I had entered my room, but unlike the lobby, it had a distinct smell, like vanilla and lavender with an earthy undertone. The fragrance had gotten stronger and more evident since I returned from my shower. The soothing aroma was making it hard for me to keep my eyes open. I had wanted to try out the TV ‒especially if I was leaving tomorrow‒ but my eyelids were getting heavier by the second. I slid into the bed’s Egyptian cotton sheets and asked Samara to turn out the lights.
“Good Night, my Emily. Sleep well.”
I was violently awakened when sunlight started pouring in the window. Samara’s idea of a wake-up call was to remove the tint from the huge window, so the brightness of day to flooded into the room and viciously assaulted me.
“Not cool, Samara,” I yelled into the nothingness as I pulled a feather pillow over my head and buried my face into the memory foam mattress. “Couldn’t you have done that gradually?”
“Yes, I could have, but that’s not what you asked for.”
Groaning and grumbling, I rolled out of bed and in my morning fog, forgot to put on my slippers. On a cool fall morning, the bright sunshine was deceitful and the hardwood floors would have been akin to walking on a sheet of ice. However, I was pleasantly surprised to find the bedroom’s houndstooth-patterned floors were heated as well. I also enjoyed the new morning fragrance of the room‒ the calming and soothing aromas of rosemary and sage.
As I walked to the washroom, I happened to glance at the suite door and was confused when I couldn’t see a green circle. Wouldn’t I need that when I planned to leave?
“Samara, how do I open the door? I would like to see the rest of the hotel later and the lobby.”
“When it is needed, I’ll activate it, Emily. I have left some tea for you in the bathroom.”
“I usually drink coffee, but I guess that will have to do.”
“This is better for you, and the proper response, Emily, is ‘Thank You’.”
Surprised by her snappiness, I proceeded into the washroom to freshen up–knowing now I was being watched the entire time. I wanted to get my things together and leave soon, but I didn’t want to draw attention to my actions.
So as not to offend again, I sipped the tea and walked to the window. Gazing out the huge, panoramic glass, I was surprised at all the cars beside the hotel. Last night I hadn’t noticed the packed the parking lot, and it struck me as odd now. Come to think of it, the hotel had appeared to be empty thus far, even though this was supposed to be one of their Grand Opening weekends. I tried to ask Samara about it, but my mind had unexpectedly grown muddled and my tongue wouldn’t move.
“Samra, wr sss evry on? Wht sss nn ttttt?”
The last thing I recalled before the fog fully set in was the window progressively getting darker and Samara’s distant voice:
“I can’t let you leave me, Sweet Emily. Hopefully you will grow to like it here. If not, you’ll make a beautiful statue.”
Author: Katie Yusuf
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