This one is my most recent Furious Fiction submission, November 2020 as indicated in the title.

I really liked the prompts for this month, but it was still incredibly difficult editing this one down to 500 words. Perhaps that’s why it was so difficult? If I win, or make the short-list (or even the long-list) I might just post the full, unedited first draft here.

Here are the prompts:

• LOCATION: Your story must take place at a HOTEL.
• OBJECT/PROP: Your story must include a PHOTOGRAPH. (In the story itself – do not send us a photo!)
• WORDS: We had a set of ‘red’ words and ‘blue’ words ready and have chosen the blue-themed set. So, your story must include the following words: COLLAR, GLOOMY, POLICE, RHYTHM, SAPPHIRE.

Enjoy.

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“Oh, the rhythm of my heart is beating like a drum,”

“You won’t be singing when the police arrive,” the concierge said to the stranger.

They sat on opposite sides of an old mahogany desk, one much too large for the gloomy basement office of the antique hotel.

“With the words I love you rolling off my tongue,”

“You’re not a guest, you may as well tell me what you’re doing here.”

The stranger was bigger, older, and considerably calmer than the young concierge. By appearance alone, one would assume that the stranger could simply exit the room with nothing the concierge could do to stop him. Instead, he sat there contentedly, showing no emotion at the threat of police involvement.

“No never will I roam, for I know my place is home.”

The concierge stood and anxiously made his way over to the door, passing unnervingly close to the stranger. The size difference between the two even more pronounced at this proximity. When he got to the door, the concierge popped his head out and stole a quick, impatient glance in each direction.

“Where the ocean meets the sky, I’ll being sailing.”

There was nothing overtly sinister about the man’s behaviour, but a persistent smile combined with the way he was singing his song, made the concierge incredibly uncomfortable; maintaining his confidence was a challenge.

“Photographs and kerosene. Light up my darkness…”

“That’s enough singing,” a staid voice carried into the room, quickly followed by its owner, a diminutive woman in a sapphire police uniform. The officer was small enough to make the concierge look large, the stranger like a giant, but what was immediately apparent was that she was now the grown-up in the room.

The concierge hurriedly moved out of her way, returning to his side of the desk, hugging the far wall with his back. The stranger didn’t move, but he had stopped singing.

“Light it up indeed,” said the officer matter-of-factly, with no melody in her cadence.

There was no change to his demeanour, but the concierge could tell the stranger was shaken.

After a short silence, he spoke, “I thought they’d send someone else.”

“It’s him,” she spoke into the radio mounted on her collar. She had not yet seen the stranger’s face.

“You should be so lucky,” came her delayed response.

“We believe he’s here to spy on one of the guests,” announced the concierge, “security found some photographs on his person.”

“He’s coming with me,” replied the officer, already halfway out the door.

The stranger stood and reached out a hand. He towered over the concierge, who immediately fumbled his way into his desk drawer. Once the concierge had handed over the photographs, the stranger too exited the room.

When he was certain they were gone, the concierge sank into his chair.

“What the was that about?” he asked of no one, the drum-like rhythm of his heart the only sound that could be heard in the otherwise silent room.