12 Cabins, 11 Vacancies by Phil Beloin

You suck. Wanna know how cum? Econome dry up like a old…old well in the
summertime and yous don’t cum ’round my motel no more. What’s an honest bizzness
feller to do?

So, you see, when this greasyball eyetalon walk in the office askin’ ‘bout
cabins, I tell’em all twelve’s empty.

“How about one as far away from the office as possible?” he say. “I like the
radio loud, man, don’t want to bother no one.”
He thinks I’m a dum-dum. Take errvantage of me.

“Cash,” I say.

“Not a problem.”
When he go out, I peers after him. He got a monster fancy vehickle with them
tinty windas.


***

I’s watchin’ dat pogrom, Geoparty, when this female yelp raise the hairs on both
my arms. I a’reckonin’ you heard the kind of scream I’m referring of, deep down
from the pit of your guts, terrifying, but, kinda’ of a turn on, too. Know wat I
mean?

I grab Louie. He be long and hard. Made of black ash found down here in the
Souff.

Number twelve be located all the ways ‘round the corner. I could cuts thru the
lot, but I don’t wish to get me boots all mussed up.

The girlie’s next cry is cut off. My heart flutters some kind of pirouette like
they do on that show, Dancin with The Stars. How cum they don’t do no square
dancin’ on that show, anyways?

I got a special key open all the doors ‘round here. I ferget what it called.

I goes in the cabin, blind by a real bright light.

A crazy shape rushes at me. I swing Louie and somethin’ goes snap, crackle, fuck
me, and it ain’t the bat. The eyetalon drops on de floor, moanin’. He be
bareassed. And hairy all over.

There be this big lamp pointin’ downwards on the dolly on the bed. She is
butt-ass nude. Ya’ll seen a blonde beaut like her before. Heck, I’s got an old
lady meself.

Now here cum the part I’s got concerns ‘bout. All her hands and legs be tied up
to the corners of the bed. I’m supposin’ she’s the screamer, too cuz, like, her
mouth is tapped tight. I hate them screamers, too. Distracting and stuff.

I kick the perv at my feet then hops over him to rescue the damsel.

I put Louie on the beddieby and reach for the tape. Her eyes—they sure is
beautifuls—dart off mine. I turn, sees a fella comin’ from the shitter. He be a
smite shorter and hairy then the eyetalon, but just as bareassed.

“Hey,” he say, seein’ his bud on the floor, “what the fuck?”

“Yeah,” I says, “what the fuck? I runs a respectfull establish…”

He charge me. I grab Louie, get him up. This guy, he stop running , turns back
into the can.

I follow this fella, but the shitter door done get closed. I fingers the handle,
but it don’t go. No passkey—that’s the word!—for dat lock. Something I best look
into.

I bang on the door.

“Leave me alone,” the guy say.

“I’s got a family place here,” I say. I here od’er talkings going on in the
shitter. “Ya’ll not alone?”

“Uh…yes, sir. I’m by myself.”

“Tell me true now or I call in the law."

“Okay, there’s a couple others.”

I scratch my dandruffy head while I hitch back to the bed to yank the tape from
dolly’s lip.

“Ouch,” she say. “That hurt, you asshole.”

“You welcome,” I says.

“There’s another one in the closet,” she say.

The closet door done slide open and this little birdie step out. Seems to be I’m
the only one who like wearing duds. The birdie hold a videotape pitcher camera.

“God damn it!” I says. “Is that every last one of you’s all?”

The birdie nods.

“Give me that.” I hold my hand out.

“I didn’t film nothing.”

I raise Louie and she dump the pitcher thing on the bed.

“Now,” I says, “get ya’ll buddies out of the can and go.”

“I’m not dressed,” she says.

“And that’s the ways it stay.”

She go and tap on the shitter door. “Come on, everybody, he wants us to go.”

I hear somes whining, but the door swing open wide. The fella I scared come out
first, followed by some kin folk…I lose track of the number of’em. Nary a one
gots somethings on. All there attires be on the floor. They’s drag greasyball
out and skedaddle in there fancy tractor.

“You gonna let me up any time this century?” the dolly on the bed say.

“I’s need to know somethin’ first.”

“They saw me on craigslist," she say.

Craig who?

“And they met me in the bar up the road.”

I mighta’ drank there once.

“They wanted a film for the Internet,” she says. “A woman in distress type
thing.”

“Look like a gang bang to me.”

“Hey, for five small, why not? I got half up front.”

Which mean the od’er bunch—plus some extras—could be in them clothes on the
floor.

“Now come on,” she says. “Untie me.”

I start to undress. “Now don’t go off a’hollerin’. It confuse me thought
processes.”

“Oh, you better not, hillbilly!”

“I could re-tape you mouth.”

“Stop talking like that. It’s getting old.”

“Sure thing, sweetie-pie.”

As I mount my wife, she purrs, “You’re a devil, honey.”

Nah, just a disciple.