Chapter Text
This, here, is a special car.
They say the dessert goes on forever. And it does.
It may look like nothing: ‘least not when the sun is out, and you ain’t yet in the throws of dehydration. But it holds everything.
Yes, what we have here is a wide open infinity. Placed here by the creator for you to chase down exactly what you’re trackin’. Or flee from what’s trackin’ you.
Somewhere out there is exactly what you’re lookin’ for. Just have to ride long enough.
It’s only a matter of time. A matter of space. But if your body don’t give out, you’ll find your door.
It’s waitin’ at the End of the Ride.
And pard’ner, have we got a long ride ahead of us…
But not to worry. ‘Cus the folks in this-here car? We're special, too. Us cactus-folk tell stories, see. We carry legends. We hold the Lore of the Train. And on those long, starry nights, with the horizon spread out in all directions, when you start a-wonderin’ what you’re even doing here, or if the world holds anything ‘cept horizon and sand, we share those legends with you.
And we also hold water! So if you get thirsty, just stick a straw in us and suck out those juices.
…
Naw, c’mon! Give it a try. Stick that straw in, pard’ner.
…
Naw, it don’t hurt us..
…
Coooome on, hydrate or die-drate, as my mee-maw always say!
…
Oooooh-ho-ho-ho-ho! See? Ain’t that the stuff! You be sure to stay hydrated in this desert climate, now, ya hear?
Now, what was I sayin’...
Oh, right! I had a story for you.
This here’s a good one. Nice and long. It has everything: adventure, violence, romance, heartbreak, cosmic-horror, self-discovery, extreme feats of hospitality and engineering, and the clash of two gods. You might even learn something you need for your travels.
It’s the tale of a boy who became a lawman, and a man who became his best self.
They called him The Lobby Boy…
******
He didn’t come from your world. He came from a place a lot like the train: they call it The Hotel, and you better pray you never end up there.
He worked as a bellhop. Or rather, he came into being there as a fully-formed adult, with all the bell-hopping skills and knowledge built in, and was forced to toil in service of the Hotel’s never-ending hunger for horror and slaughter. The Hotel had a motto, see: No One Ever Checks Out. Not even the staff. Not even through the sweet release of death, once the place has finished method-o’logically rendin’ your body and mind with its dark magiks and ghastly, unknowable engineering.
Not, it seems, ‘til Madame Hotel ran up against The Train.
I don’t know how it happened. I don’t know if anyone knows. It was one hell-of-a fight for the train, that’s for sure. The whole universe just blacked out for a minute, there—for a whole minute; I dunno where we went but I had a hell-of-a head rush when we came back.
Then they started extracting his memory.
And oooo-eeee! was that somethin’ we’ll never forget. See, time was weird inside the cosmic being he served: past, present, and future sorta happen simultaneously, and certain moments loop around a whole bunch. Like, loop around several million times, some times. Long story short, the fancy maths in the Tape Car wasn’t built to handle those kinds of memories too well, and it didn’t.
First, the train started rattlin’: whole cities and mountains jigglin’ like really hard, really dangerous jello. Then, the static started poppin’. Then all hell broke loose. Tectonic plates cracked, and splattered, and flashed in an’ out of existence. Suns flickered in skies then burst like Edison bulbs, sending shockwaves through reality and reverberating echoes of…of the…h-his memories…
Can you imagine?
The things he’d seen. The things he’d done with his own hands, his poor conscience only able to watch from afar as the powers that brought him into being propelled him onward, over and over again, millions and millions of iterations…. And…it was seeping out through cracks in the cars: beading up from who-knows-where onto the metal itself like fever sweat. We tried as best as we could to dodge the fumes, but the stuff was everywhere. We all got a little bit.
Just a whisper each, mind you—but when the fumes hit, we each saw…
Just a little peek, mind you, but…
Welp! They did a hard reset on the engine after that, and the stewards n’ their fancy maths figured out some way to catalog the important bits without breaking the universe.
And when the pod dropped him off and he came-to, everyone was surprised at just how normal he was. Sure, he was skittish as a filly in an umbrella factory. And his brain worked a bit differently than lots of people’s, but in a way that’s pretty normal.
Funnily enough, his pod landed in a hotel! Morgan, her name is. Managed to prop itself up in a supply closet and get the door stuck closed after it. Poor Morgan had to ask another passenger to unstick the door so his pod could open.
He toppled out in the most comical heap you ever did see.
If you ever meet Kez the concierge bell, she’ll tell you all about it. How he flopped out in a perfect lil’ equilateral-triangle, where the tip was his butt, then just sorta slid for a bit, one cheek all smooshy against the floor, and his eyes two wide unblinking circles of “WHAT!” and…
… …What? Legends like these are stories that live on through the repeated retellin’. Ain’t my fault if such an un-dignified part’s gets told a whole bunch, and becomes extra legendary. Well, told a whole bunch by Kez, mind you, but still.
Anyway, he stayed there in his lil’ triangle with his big eyes, while Kez tried to stop laughing her sweet silver top off. Then he sat up and sat there all catatonic-like for a bit. Then he was more or less back to his ol’ self.
And you know what he did? Jumped right up and started bellhop-ing—no questions asked!—before Morgan could even get out a peep.
*********
…
…
…
…I’m so confused.
…
I’m not in The Hotel.
That can’t be right. I can’t be…not in The Hotel.
The voice—Morgan: she sounds almost like Madam Hotel. It’s different, ever-so-slightly rougher and more mature, but…similar. I can feel her, whatever she is. Subtly, in the texture of the air, the chill off the stone surfaces. But I’m disconnected. That shadowed cord connecting all our beings like a mass of blood vesicles, a part of me so long I don’t think I truly realized how much I didn’t notice it until now…it’s just cut. I still feel something, though.
And I feel I’m…not unwelcome, exactly. But foreign.
Another shiver of pastel static ripples through the world, I blink. The bell with the eyes shudders.
“Pardon me, sir,” Morgan’s voice resounds from everywhere, “Would you happen to be one causing all this trouble?”
…
…I don’t know.
I can’t feel—I can’t know—anything. I went through the door. And I went…I was pulled…I was sucked down to a trail of light and speed, and…I don’t remember. I don’t know if whatever is happening is my doing. I don’t know how whatever is happening could be happening.
But that bell is eyeing me with those simple little ovals. And there’s a guest here. She looks terrified.
I still need to see to the guest.
I think?
I think I manage to say something. “Sorry, ma’am,” maybe.
I hold out a hand for her bag and she stiffens. Something glows green on my palm. She sees it, and whatever it is, her brows furrow deeper.
“May I take your bag, miss?”
The guest looks to the room in general—to Morgan—for reassurance. She’s terrified because of me. But being in a talking castle, and a bell with eyes that laughs and floats, those things don’t phase her at all.
“Wait,” the bell’s expression twists into a suspicious glower, “Do you like…work here, somehow? Morgan—does he work here somehow?? I mean, he’s dressed as a bellboy—unless he like, just came from a costume party and he’s super in character…?”
The bell and the lobby walls regard me with expectant silence. The guest clutches her little pink and blue messenger bag tighter.
“Well?” rumbles Morgan.
I shake my head.
“No you don’t work here, or no you’re not wearing a costume and really into character?”
My mouth is completely dry. I’m still holding my hand out, and start to feel a bit silly. Everyone looks at each other.
“What’s your name, young man,” Morgan inquires.
Um…
When I need to give a name to the guests, The Hotel provides one. It never lets me hear it, but I’ve never had to introduce myself…by myself before.
So…
Um…
I…guess…
“...I’m the Lobby Boy.”
The bell shudders and flattens herself towards the center of the room. “Morgan?” she hisses, eyes long and ominous, “I think that he…” she shudders with an icy clatter of sparkles, “works here…”
“...Hmm…”
Morgan considers me.
“Nah, I think he’s just eccentric. But I suppose…” she murmurs thoughtfully, “we haven’t had a proper caretaker around here in quite some time. Would you like a job, young man?”
“...Yes.”