I Took a Job as a Bellhop. The Hotel Has Its Own Set of Rules.

No, not at all. This street is my safe space. You mean, you're all right? Yes, exactly. This street is the street that's just a bit different. The game of the studio, the job or the music. It's stymed. It's just a bit stymed.

Stymed is a bit stymed. With this street. The roof of the city of the city is full of stories. From legends, from forgotten scenes, from mystical words. But the biggest story of the city of the city is the fact that the society is a human.

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Just search Dr. No sleep podcast on YouTube and make sure you're subscribed with notifications on so you don't miss it. Dr. No sleep. The front left wheel of the overloaded baggage card. Squeaks like a mouse being shoved through a meet grinder. Not that a mouse would squeak for very long after the first couple of cranks of the handle.

But the sound is so loud, so obvious that any lesser description wouldn't do a justice. Hold the elevator! I cry. Pushing the loaded baggage card with all of my strength. Cornell, our elevator operator, pauses as he closes the elevator gate.

He eyes me. He eyes the overly loaded baggage card. Then he eyes the woman behind me. The one who's baggage I'm hauling. The one with the four small dogs, all on rhinestone crusted leashes.

All yipping and barking and snapping as other guests try to hurry past. Eager to get away from the woman's chaos. Come along, my little darling. She coos. Cornell's disapproving gaze moves back to me as he steps out of the way.

So I can get a running start and shove the unbelievably heavy baggage card over the elevator. The elevator's threshold. It rolls inside with a heavy thumb thumb. As the wheels clomp over the seam between the floor and the elevator card. Cornell keeps his eyes on me the entire time.

Even when he says, "Good evening, madam."

“Which floor do I have the pleasure of taking you to?”

Tell him, Bill Hop! The woman snaps at me as she struggles to get all four of her barking rats into the elevator. As soon as two are in, the other two wander back out. Then they switch. It's a maddening cycle.

And I watch closely as I try to ignore Cornell's glare. Six. I say to Cornell. Four or six. The man's nostrils widen only slightly at the mention of the floor.

But he's been operating the elevator for something like two decades from what my co-workers have said. You got a problem. Listen to Cornell. They all say.

Having been on the job for only a couple of months, I haven't really gotten a chance to seek out the man's advice. But with the way he's staring at me, and the way his nostrils flared when I said the floor the woman is staying on, I might pick his brain a little. Only the top floor will do for me and my little Darwin's.

The woman says, "One of her dog's yips, then farts in agreement." How do you find the decor, madam? Cornell asks her.

The second the woman turns her gaze on the rose and gold wallpaper lining the elevator

car. Cornell reaches out and he ranks hard on two of the dog leashes, pulling in the stragglers. He quickly slams the gate, then lets the elevator doors slide closed. "I have seen better decor." The woman states, "then bends down and pats all four fuzzy little heads."

"Have it, my little darling." One of the nips her finger, and she pulls it back, clutching the digit to her chest. "It's the best chin! What a naughty little scamp you are." Around the baggage cart, I see Cornell engage the elevator's drive lever. According to the staff, the owners of Hotel Heismith had tried to update the elevator,

putting in a modern system with push buttons, a digital readout, and all of that stuff. Though Del was not pleased.

“I remember laughing at the story, thinking the housekeeper and short order cook I was talking”

to, while we smoked cigarettes out back, were messing with me. But they were stone-cold serious.

The hotel did not like the change, and made it apparent, the very first night the new elevator

was used. Three people died, a couple with their young child.

crushing the car and the occupants.

When the housekeeper told me the story, she prefaced it with, "You'll learn this soon enough, but the heismith plays by its own rules. You learn them, and keep to them, and all will go fine for you." Ignore them? "Well, then there's nothing none of us can do to help you."

The old elevator was restored. The owner's insurance company paid out a massive settlement to the victim's family. And Cornell got his job back. May I make a suggestion, Madam? Cornell asks the woman, "I'm sorry, are you speaking to me?"

The woman asks, "Her voice all hotly and full of inventive events." "Yes, Madam."

And you want to make a suggestion?

“As if I'm in need of advice from an elevator operator?”

Simply a suggestion, Madam. He looks down at one of the snarling balls of fur. The corner of his lip almost turns up in a disgusted sneer, but he controls it, despite the fact that the snarling ball of fur is peeing on his shoe. "I think not."

The woman says, "In turn's her body so she faces the elevator doors, giving us both the cold shoulder. Although, since I am stuck, next to the overly loaded baggage card in the back and out of her sight, I am fairly certain she has forgotten all about me." Of course, Madam, Cornell says, "And we ride in silence the rest of the way up to

the floor." The floor. There are rules to the floor, explicit rules I have been told. And I'm pretty sure one of the rules is no pets. Even though no one will tell me what all the explicit rules actually are, you learn them.

The gardener said one afternoon, "And there ain't no other option. If you get what I mean. I didn't then. But I do now. I've seen some things.

We've all seen some things. I watch Cornell and can see he's still struggling with keeping the suggestion to himself. I may have only worked here a short while, but being a bellhop means I spend an inordinate amount of time in this elevator. And when the operator is as notoriously grumpy as Cornell.

Well, you learn his body language and moods fast, or your day can be ruined by one improperly timed raised eyebrow that he doesn't like. So I watched the vein on his neck throb with his increasing pulse.

“I see his jaw clench, clench, clench, then relax just before I think he's going to crack”

a molar. His hands are bald, his back, his ram rod straight. If it were just the two of us, Cornell would have blown his top at me big time. But with this guest in here, and her being the target of his increasing frustration, he is going extra lengths to keep himself from losing his shit on the woman.

Sort of. "Madam, I must insist on helping you." Cornell says finally, "Did you ask for this sixth floor?" The woman eyes him like he's a plate full of spoiled beef. Her nostrils even flare, as if she catches the scent of rot and decay, which she easily

could, considering the more unusual aspects of the heismath. "Would he not listening before?

I always stay on the top floor."

She snaps. "I understand, Badam, but, stop calling me, Madam.

“I am not in charge of a bunch of French horse.”

I will be addressed as Mrs. Rollins. Do you think you can handle that young man?" That stops Cornell, not the dressing down by the snob of a woman, but the fact that she called him young man. Cornell is older than my dad, I'm pretty sure.

"My apologies, Mrs. Rollins." Cornell says, "As he clears his throat and puts on his best ass kissing face, my intent is to save you at a hard age." This makes the woman pause. She closes one eye, sizing Cornell up, then, when properly sized, she purses her lips

and snorles. "You may speak." "Thank you, Mrs. Rollins." Cornell isn't looking at me, but I can tell he's including me in this conversation. "I still think the woman is forgotten all about me, though."

The front desk manager should have known better, but I can see we are very busy this evening, so it must have slipped his mind. The clears his throat and looks down at the four little balls of spoiled fur. "There should not be pets on the sixth floor. It isn't safe for them."

The part of me thinks that Cornell wanted to add, "Or for you at the end of that sentence, that probably wouldn't be interpreted correctly, and would sound too much like a threat."

What on earth are you jabbering about?" Cornell smiles kindly.

“A smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.”

"There have been incidents met at Mrs. Rollins, pets tend to get lost on that floor. It's an old hotel with too many nooks and crannies to list. Meet the size of your babies. I worry for their safety." "Size?

What does size have to do with it?" I want to tell Cornell to drop it. He's going to get nowhere with this woman. I'd catted at the country club for three summers in a row in high school, and they are the same there.

They always know better, and they never make the wrong choice.

If anything does go wrong, it is your fault not theirs. "Your cute babies might wriggle through a crack or get behind a baseball board," I say. "Mrs. Rollins jumps and presses a hand to her chest, as she looks over her shoulder at me." "How dare you sneak up on her woman like that?"

She nearly shrieks. "Who are you? And what is your name? Oh, I'm Nudge, ma'am. The bell hop?

I unloaded your luggage from your trunk, and loaded it onto this cart. I've been with you the entire time, ma'am. I've never seen you before in my life. And what kind of name is Nudge? My name, ma'am.

I think it's a family name. What a looter per thought, a family name is Rockefeller, get it, Astro, or Pritzker. Nudge is what you call the fourth cousin that can't open both eyes at the same time. Get it different name." "Um, yes, ma'am.

And if you were expecting a tip, well, you will be sorely disappointed, especially after you gave my baby such a fright." I looked down at the useless dogs. One is asleep. Another looks dead.

The third is looking himself clean, if you know what I mean.

And the fourth is staring straight up at me. Its tongue hanging out of its mouth, a single drop of drool, ready to fall to the elevator floor.

“"I'm sorry for scaring you, ma'am, but who said you scared me?”

I said not to sneak up on my woman. I wasn't scared. These scared is for people like you. I don't have time for scared." "Um, of course, ma'am."

Cornell clears his throat. As I was saying Mrs. Rollins, the sixth floor isn't appropriate for you and your babies. Perhaps I can stop at the fifth floor, and offer you a different room? It would only take a minute to call down to the front desk and get this all sorted out. "Oh, I see.

You want to charge me for the penthouse, but make me stay with the unwashed floor below. Is that it?" We don't have a penthouse at the high-smith Mrs. Rollins. The dog staring at me, yips. "Yes, baby.

They are trash on our day." Mrs. Rollins says. "Then vends down and picks up the tiny mongrel." "They should be ground up and turned into dog food. That food for you and your siblings.

No. For the poor dogs.

“The ones who eat food from those large paper bags I have seen advertised on television.”

The dog yips again. "No, no.

I could never feed that to you, my love.

Only the best for my babies." She glaring at me. "How late is the kitchen open for room service? Until 11, ma'am." "I say."

"Tell them to stay open all night in case my babies get hungry later. Steak tar tar is their favorite. Make sure the chef is informed of this." "Um, I don't think, yes, Mrs. Rollins." "Cornell and Arrups.

I'll tell them myself. Now, about that room on the fifth floor." "Cornell's words just hang there. Mrs. Rollins does not respond. Only snares."

"I shuffle my feet, and the dog I thought was dead leaps up and starts barking its head off at me. "You have upset Richard!" Mrs. Rollins cries, setting down one dog in order to pick up the other. The one she sets down immediately walks over in peas on Cornell's shoe.

He sighs and shakes his head. "I am sure the sixth floor will be more than adequate Mrs. Rollins." He says, and slows the elevator. He hears clang and break squeal. Then the car comes to a perfectly time to stop, lining up with the gate on the sixth floor without even a millimeter of a gap.

The elevator door is open, and Cornell reaches out to slide the gate to the side. The second there's even a small gap, the four dogs race out into the hallway. The one in Mrs. Rollins' arms leaping as if it's a cat. It is not a cat, and the dog face plants on the floral carpet. Yet yelps, then races after its siblings as they take off down the hallway.

Mrs. Rollins says nothing. Simply letting the leashes fall from her hand so her tiny monsters can be free. Cornell stays composed, watching the dogs scurry off down the hallway. Now that they are out of the elevator, they are no longer his problem. I, on the other hand, still have to roll this damn cart down to Mrs. Rollins' room.

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Sign up for your $1 per month trial today at Shopify.com/dns. Go to Shopify.com/dns that's Shopify.com/dns. Please enjoy your stay Mrs. Rollins Cornell says he watches me struggle to get the baggage card over the threshold of the elevator as the wheels get stuck on the seam. I'm starting from a dead stop with no space to gather any momentum.

So it is taking all of the strength in my arms, my back, and my legs to get this card moving.

Finally, with one last hard shove, I managed to get the card into the hallway.

“Good luck Cornell says he closes the gate after me.”

Drop off those bags and get off this floor as fast as you can, Nudge. What's going to happen? I ask is the elevator door's closed. Nothing good. He says, then his lost from sight.

Mrs. Rollins screeches from down the hallway. Show me to my room this instant. One of the dogs runs up to me, swirling around my legs so that the leash still dangling from its collar wraps about my ankles. I reached down to get free, but the little shit snorles and bites at my hand.

Bellha! My only solution is to embrace my title, so I start hopping as I push the card forward. It is not an efficient way to move. Mrs. Rollins' face is purple with anger by the time I reach the door to our room.

Sorry, Mrs. Rollins, I got tangled up.

I say, and look down at my ankles. Then I frown. The leash is still wrapped around my ankles, but there's no dog attached to the leash. I thought it was trotting along with me, but I was wrong. Lucy, where is Lucy?

Mrs. Rollins demands. I am, I'm not sure, man. I say, and untangle my legs. I go to hand or the leash, and she recoils. I set it on one of the bags instead.

“Then I move around the card and use the key to open the door.”

Once the door is open, I hand the key to Mrs. Rollins' and step aside. After you, man, I say, and bow. She huffs and heres into her room. I push the card after her, rolling it up next to the double closet, set just outside the in-sweet bathroom.

Somehow, I manage not to groan when I see the size of the room. It's twice the size of my apartment. Maybe three times the size, but I'll stick with twice, and it's less depressing to think about. Shall I unload your luggage and set the bags in the closet, man?

Well, I'm not going to do it. She says, as she strips off her coat and throws it on the floor. I hurry and pick it up, placing it on the back of a chair. Mrs. Rollins' turns sees me and her eyes go wide. What are you doing here?

Go for my Lucy right now! She shouts. A scrambled toward the door, see the card of luggage that I still need to unload, and move toward it instead.

Find my baby, you idiot! Mrs. Rollins' bellows. I leave the luggage and bolt out of the room. Lucy! I call as I hurry down the hallway.

Backtracking toward the elevator. Lucy! There's a quiet, yep. Then a pain to squeal. I hurry faster. Lucy!

No, yep, this time. Passing the elevator, I can't help but notice that the call button is gone. The gold plate where it should sit is blank. There's not even a hole or recess for where the button should go. I'm not liking that.

Lucy! I call and move toward the tee at the end of the hallway. If I go right, I'll pass two rooms, want on each side of that hall, then reach the stairwell. I have been told in no uncertain terms

to avoid the stairwell at all costs. If I go left, there are four rooms down that hall with a single room at the very end. It's not as big as Mrs. Rollins' room, but I hear it is quite large with an excellent view of the river.

No one is allowed to stay in that room though. Something about a record number of suicides by jumping out of the window. Maintenance has sealed the window closed several times.

When I get to the tee, I shout.

Lucy! Come here, girl!

“Of course, I hear her yet from the right.”

I go that way, moving slowly, listening for the lost dog, hoping she's behind one of the two room doors. No such luck. When I get to the stairwell door,

I can hear the little snott ball of fur scratching from the other side. I press my face to the small window in the door and try to look down, but I don't have the right angle and can't see past a couple of inches. Taking a deep breath, I grab the handle and turn the knob, or I would turn the knob if the door wasn't locked.

Shit! I'm mumble. And pull out the ring of keys for my pocket. Lucy continues to scrape and scratch at the door. Her little winds and yips echoing pitifully from inside the stairwell.

Then, as I fumbled to find the right key, the scratching stops, the whining stops, the yips stop.

Out of the corner of my eye, a shadow falls across the small window.

My eyes are on my keys on the door knob. I should look up and see the source of the shadow. That would be the smart thing to do. The normal thing. But there's nothing normal about the sixth floor,

so I keep searching for the correct key. Then there's a light tapping at the window. I sigh, letting the keys just dangled from my fingers. I look up. A face is in the window.

Press just as close as mine was a moment ago. I can't tell if it's a man or a woman. To be honest, I can't tell if it's human or not, which is a weird thought to have. Although if I asked my co-workers,

they might not think it's such a weird thought. Um, hello, I say.

“Have you pre-chancing a small dog in the stairwell?”

The face nods. Still pressed right up against the window. Oh, wonderful. I say, trying not to look too closely at the face. There is something ratchet about it.

Something disheartening. Maybe it's the long teeth protruding from between its lips. That could be it. I lift the keys up. I can't find the correct one.

Can you open the door from your side? The face shakes from side to side. Oh, it must be locked there too. The face nods. Then there's a short bark.

In Lucy's tiny head is shoved up between the face and the glass. She winds for a moment, but only for a moment. The winding stops, because the face's mouth opens, and swallows her hole right there in front of me. Oh, dear Lord!

I shout and stumble back away from the stairwell door. My hands to my mouth. The face finishes devouring the squirming dog, licks its lips, and slowly lowers out of sight, leaving behind a smear of blood on the window.

I want to turn and wretch, and even begin the motions.

But when I have finally turned around,

all I see are eye staring at me. Children's eyes. About 15 kids, all maybe around 8 or 9, are standing there, filling up the hallway, blocking my escape. Behind me, I hear a lock click.

No, no way. That thing doesn't have a key. How can it unlock the door? My brain is desperate to cling to the sad bit of logic. Locks that are locked should stay locked.

That's one of the laws of the universe. But not a rule on the sixth floor apparently, because I hear the stairwell door slowly creep open. I should look. I should, just turn my head and have a glance over my shoulder.

But 15 strange ass kids are staring at me. So maybe I'll keep my attention on them. Puppy? One of the kids asks, "Then it points past me." Puppy!

All the kids screen. Puppy! And point. But don't move. They don't budge a single centimeter from where they stand.

I should look. I know. I really, really should, but I don't. I can't. Frozen with fear.

I stand and wait. Then thankfully, I hear the stairwell door close. Followed by the sound of small feet patting down the hallway. I see movement at my feet and managed to get my neck working so I can look down. Lucy.

What's left of her? Her fur is matted in spotty, coated in slime and blood. One of her eyes dangles from her head, swaying with the rhythm of her small dog gate. Her tail has been bitten off, and one year is completely missing.

“What I think are her insides are dragging between her back legs behind her,”

clearly on the outside. Puppy! The kid's shriek. Lucy takes off running. Those insides being pulled along after her,

as she bolts down the hallway past the creepy kids, turning left at the tea. The kids do not hesitate. They take off after her, screaming and laughing and calling. Puppy!

At the tops of their lungs. Attapping echoes from the stairwell door. I don't turn around. Instead, I get my feet moving. And I walk slowly and cautiously to the tea.

Then I peek around and stare down the hallway, watching the creepy kids chase the mutilated Lucy past the elevator,

A bang from the stairwell gets me moving,

“and still without looking back, I round the corner,”

hurrying after the parade of nightmare kids chasing down a dead dog, or dead-ish dog. It is running about, dodging their attempts to grab and pick it up. So maybe it's not exactly dead dead. So, yeah, dead-ish is apt.

I'm just getting to the elevator when Mrs. Rollins' door opens, and the woman herself steps into the hallway. What is going on out here? Who are you, Urchins? Where are your parents?

What are you doing? Stand still, Dammit! Are you listening to me? Respect your elders! Dead-ish Lucy helps, as one of the kids,

almost snacks her skinless back leg. At the yep, Mrs. Rollins' eyes widen, and she looks down. Lucy? Before she can bend to examine the ghastly sight, sitting at her feet.

The other three dogs race past Mrs. Rollins, escaping the confines of their luxury hotel room. The creepy kids go absolutely ape shit. No other way to describe it. They explode into squeals of laughter,

and split into pure chaos,

“as they try to chase down the three new dogs.”

My babies! Mrs. Rollins' cries. Keep your filthy little hands off of my babies! The children all stop running. They freeze in place.

Then slowly, almost painfully slowly, they pivot on their heels, simultaneously in turn, to face Mrs. Rollins. Ma'am, maybe go back inside your room and lock the door. I suggest, then I clap my hands.

Um, kids, this isn't a play area. Let's get you all back to your parents. Dead-ish Lucy barks once, then falls over. I think she's dead this time. The other three dogs race away from all of this,

heading down the way I just came. Probably headed toward the stairwell. Could luck with that puppies. What are you little thugs staring at? Mrs. Rollins' cries.

Don't look at me that way. You will show respect towards your betters and your elders. Then Mrs. Rollins' catch a sight of Lucy again in glances down. Lucy, what is wrong, baby? Get up in prance for mommy.

The children snicker,

“putting their hands to their mouths and a fake attempt to hide their disrespect.”

Puppy dead! They all say, "Mrs. Rollins' gasps." Then three barks echo down the hallway. The barks become a cacophony of yips and growls and squeals,

followed by a door slamming, cutting off all of the sounds instantly. "My babies! Get them bell hop!" Mrs. Rollins' shouts. "Get them bell hop!" The children echo, mocking her hot evoice.

Stop that! Mrs. Rollins' shouts. The children take a step toward her. Um, yes, well, perhaps you would like to come with me down to the lobby, ma'am. I suggest.

Mrs. Rollins' arm shouts out, and she stabs a finger in my direction. "You are going nowhere bell hop!" "Except affects my babies! Go get them now!"

Then she looks down and acts as if she's just seeing the now very dead Lucy for the first time.

"Ugh, see? Baby! What has happened to my sweet little darling?" The woman bends, and I hear her knees pop. The children snicker again,

but don't hide it this time. I catch sight of some very sharp teeth behind those grins. As Mrs. Rollins' lifts, the very dead Lucy into her arms. I take one step forward.

The kids had to all turn at the same time. Their dead, cold eyes locking onto me. I hold up my hands and take a step back. They return their attention to Mrs. Rollins. "My poor poor Lucy!"

She says that she walks back into her room. The children gasp, then as one says, "Poppie!" Before the room door can close behind Mrs. Rollins,

the children search and shove into the room. I hear a shriek of surprise going to cry of pain just before the door closes, plunging the hallway into silence. Without making noise,

I walk backwards a few steps, my eyes on the hotel room door. Once I'm at the elevator, I risk a glance at the call button, and almost wheat with joy when I see the white button

sitting in the gold plate. I press it. Oh yeah, I press that damn button over and over and over. Far below, I hear the rumble of the elevator. I also hear the padding of several small dog feet

coming from way down the hallway. To my racing heart, it feels like it takes a week. A month, a year before the elevator arrives in the doors,

slide open to reveal a scallion. "Now, where's your luggage cart?" He asks, " as he pushes the gate aside." "Oh, get it later."

I say, "pretty much jumping onto the elevator." "Can we go now?" Cornel smirks, but doesn't say anything. He shuts the gate, and lets the elevator doors close

before he engages the drive lever, sending us back down to the lobby.

We are passing the third floor when I cough and ask,

"Why the front desk manager send her up there? If they knew that would happen!" Cornel snort laughs. "Because she didn't pay her the last time."

That's what the front desk manager said.

"Yup." Oh, a little harsh punishment for a couple of MPs. Cornel shrugs. "Yeah, maybe." He shrugs again.

"But we don't make the rules do we?" "Oh, I whisper. I suppose we don't."

“A shiver runs up my spine as we reach the lobby.”

Cornel lets the elevator doors open,

then slides the gate away. He pats me on the shoulder as I walk past, surprising me. "You'll need to get your luggage rack before your shift is over." "It's a rule," he says.

"And I see the glee in his eyes that he gets from telling me this unfortunate bit of news."

"He must see the terror in my own eyes

“because he laughs and squeezes my shoulder."”

"Don't worry, he can all be over by then." Just take our luggage to the basement. "The hotel will sort it out." "Yeah, okay." I say and start to walk away.

"Then I stop." "Something else you need?" Cornel asks, as I consider my words. "Um, yeah, I wanted to thank you," I say. "Oh, for what?"

“My eyes strayed to the doorway leading to the stairwell.”

"For running the elevator so well," I say as I go. Beats taking the stairs. His eyes follow mine and he nods. "Yeah, it sure does, Nudge. It sure does."

The front desk manager sees me. Dings the little bell on the desk and waves me over. I put on a brave face and hurry to him. Glad we have more than one luggage cart. As I see, there is a frowning couple holding a ridiculous amount of bags waiting for me at the front

desk. I wonder what floor they'll be staying on. Hopefully, they've paid their bills in full, because the sixth floor has way more rules than just no pets. Way more rules.

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