The Mystery of the Morelock Motel: Critter Catchers: Level Up, #0.5

By Hank Edwards

An abandoned motel. A ghostly urban legend. A paranormal blogger needing clicks.

 

Oliver Berridge has eeked out a living blogging about creepy creatures. After riding shotgun on paranormal investigations with the Critter Catchers, Demetrius Singleton and his husband Cody Bower, Oliver decides it's time to strike out on his own. With some help from his boyfriend, Dave, Oliver pays a visit to the Morelock Motel to dig into reports of mysterious disappearances.

 

Dave Bower moved back to Parson's Hollow after falling for Oliver Berridge on one of the most unusual nights of his life: a werewolf invasion of his small hometown. Now, two years later, he's more in love than he ever imagined he could be, and wanting to support Oliver as he tries to bring new visitors to his struggling paranormal blog. If that means spending a few nights in a rundown, abandoned, and supposedly haunted motel, he's determined to see it through.

 

Creepy occurrences begin upon their arrival: screams in the woods, a mysterious intruder messing with their belongings, and someone pounding on the door though no one waits on the other side. When the investigation takes a suddenly dangerous and personal turn, Oliver is forced to call in the Critter Catchers for assistance. Demetrius and Cody arrive, but the danger escalates even more, and soon they're all forced to take risks to unravel the Mystery of the Morelock Motel.

 

The Mystery of the Morelock Motel is a humorous paranormal gay romance set in the Critter Catchers Universe and features cismale main characters, one gay and one bi-sexual. This story takes place between the Critter Catchers books Dread of Night and Grave Danger.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mitten Ginger Media
• Release date: Jul 10, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223553380

Hank Edwards

Hank Edwards has been writing gay erotic fiction for more than twenty years. He has written over two dozen novels and even more short stories. His writing crosses many sub-genres, including romance, rom-com, contemporary, paranormal, suspense, mystery, and wacky comedy. Find out more at www.hankedwardsbooks.com.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Dave Bower shifted position and tipped his head side to side to stretch his neck muscles. He was getting really tired of driving. At six foot three, he didn’t fit very well into any car for long, no matter how far back he moved the seat. And the road they’d been following through Pennsylvania had looked the same for the last hundred miles: two-lane patched blacktop flanked on both sides by woods.

His companion Oliver Berridge had been quiet the majority of the trip. With his head bent over his phone, sandy red hair in slight disarray from where he’d run his hands through it, and his round wire frame glasses halfway down his nose, he’d assumed his usual position. Dave had become used to the silence from the other side of the car in the last couple of years.

Oliver was, above all else, a determined and extremely curious man. Since they’d met the night of the werewolf invasion in Parson’s Hollow, Dave’s childhood home and the small Pennsylvania town where Dave’s older brother, Cody, still lived with his husband, Demetrius, Dave had known Oliver was different from anyone else he’d dated. Hell, anyone else he’d met. Dave had dated women and men, but meeting Oliver that night had sent a zing of attraction through him he’d never experienced.

Oliver had once been a reporter for The Herald, Parson’s Hollow’s biweekly newspaper, a role Dave had come to realize Oliver was more or less born to assume, with a naturally inquisitive nature and tenacity to get to the truth of a situation. Oliver had already left The Herald the night they’d met, and was trying to create an online presence that stood out from everyone else in the paranormal blog world with a site called Spooky or Simply Strange? After the werewolves, he’d found a bit of success.

But one terrifying night only lasted so long in the internet attention span, when the next horrifying scene was simply a click away. The bump in popularity had, however, allowed Oliver to find four generous sponsors to fund his site and give him a bit of an income. But once site visits dropped, so did banner clicks. These days his site was supported by one final and faithful sponsor: Beauchamp Sanandreu, owner of Beauchamp’s Bar-be-que Sauces. And while Beauchamp was faithful, he was also a businessman, and he’d recently made it clear to Oliver he needed to see increased visits and clicks to be able to keep supporting him.

That had led to a few late nights with Oliver hunched over his laptop, expression tight as he searched for a story he could research. The glow from the screen had bleached the color and character from his face, giving him a cadaverous look Dave hadn’t liked. He did understand, however, that Oliver was trying to build a presence, trying to find a place online and in certain circles to make his mark. Dave had left him be, though he couldn’t resist taking him cups of his favorite tea and setting plates with sandwiches and chips beside him, which Oliver quietly and gratefully devoured.

One day Dave had come home from his job as a data analyst for a mid-sized steel supplier and found Oliver waiting for him in the living room. The laptop had been set aside, and there’d been a feverish sheen in his eyes and a half-smile of nervous excitement curling his lips. He’d discovered an urban legend about a motel right there in Pennsylvania with a haunted history, and he wanted, needed, to go and check it out. Dave had been so happy to see Oliver alert and aware of the world around him once again he’d immediately agreed to go along and provide whatever support he could. He’d honestly looked forward to it; he’d never been on an actual ghost hunt before.

Now, however, after almost four hours in the car, he was beginning to regret his decision. Not the company, never that, but definitely the distance from home. He shifted positions again and sighed. At this point, he didn’t care how many ghosts might be lurking around their destination. He just wished they’d get there already.

Just five more miles up the road, Oliver said, looking up with a smile. I know you’re tired, but I appreciate you driving the whole way here. It gave me time to do more research on this place.

Yeah, about that. The conversation’s been lacking, so I hope you’ve at least uncovered some juicy details.

Oliver reached over and squeezed Dave’s thigh, but his eyes were on his phone. Still, a little tingle zipped through him at Oliver’s touch. He really had it bad for this guy.

I’m sorry, honey, Oliver said, still not looking up. I got wrapped up in my research. But I did learn a few important details for my story.

I’m surprised you chose a ghost story to investigate, Dave said. It’s a bit different for your blog, isn’t it? You usually write about the urban legend monsters or creatures, like that Ozark Howler you convinced my brother and Demetrius to check out with us.

Yeah, too bad that was a bust. Only good thing was how much it annoyed Cody.

It is fun to get him riled up.

The best, Oliver said with a chuckle. And, yeah, a haunting is different, but I’m hoping the change will attract more visitors. I’ve got a whole new list of SEO tags I’m going to use.

It’s all about the clicks.

You know I love a big click. Oliver grinned at him, and Dave couldn’t resist grinning back. Yep, he was pretty much head over heels.

Then Oliver started reading from his phone, shifting Dave’s thoughts back to the moment.

The motel closed about fifteen years ago because guests were disappearing every so often, and it started to freak people out. It all began back in the late sixties when people, all men, by the way, and all happily married or engaged or partnered with someone, went missing and were never found, despite multiple search parties. Word eventually got around about the disappearances, and business died off, so to speak. But then the paranormal fans and investigators heard about it and started coming. But even that business wasn’t steady enough to keep the place open, so it closed.

Owner couldn’t sell it? Dave asked.

Not with a background like that. I doubt there was even one interested party.

Big money loss.

Oh, yeah.

How’d they figure it was a ghost? Dave asked.

Back in the sixties, a woman named Ruby Gallagher was discovered murdered in one of the rooms. The main suspect was her boyfriend, but it took them a while to find him because he’d fled the state. He was eventually tracked down and questioned, and his story was she had been cheating on him and he confronted her and ended up stabbing her.

Damn, Dave said.

Yeah. During the trial, it came out Ruby had been seeing multiple men, meeting all of them at the same motel. When men started disappearing from there after her death, someone claimed it was Ruby’s ghost taking them for herself, like she’d done when she’d been alive.

Not the best legacy to leave behind, Dave said, then frowned. What is she? A spirit? A ghost? Is there a difference?

That’s a good question, Oliver said. "According to my research, which is really just me doing internet searches down an ever more cryptic and sketchy paranormal rabbit hole, there is a difference between the two. He consulted his phone again and his thumbs danced over the glass before he tapped on a site and scrolled to the spot he needed. Dave loved to see the glint of excitement in his eyes. A ghost is tied to the location of the person’s death, and often doesn’t realize they’re dead. There’s usually unfinished business that needs to be handled or something. There can be bad emotions tied to a ghost, depending on how the person died."

Okay. That would make sense in this case.

Right, exactly.

Her unfinished business is all the men she never had? Dave said.

Maybe. Or revenge for her murder. Maybe she blames all men for her death.

Could be. Then what’s a spirit?

Spirits aren’t tied to a particular place. They are the flickering reflection of a person’s soul after they’ve died, most commonly visiting those with whom they had an emotional bond in life.

So, more protective or loving than ghosts, Dave said.

Right.

I get it. He chuckled quietly. Maybe this ghost we’re looking for is pissed because they didn’t give her a very good name.

Oliver laughed. Maybe. He read from his phone: The Vixen of the Morelock Motel. Isn’t really the catchiest of monikers, is it?

They passed a billboard, one of the old wooden types that had been hand painted decades ago based on the flaking and peeling. Spend the Night in Air-Conditioned Comfort, the billboard’s top line stated in big bold text. Beneath that, only slightly smaller, it read, The Morelock Motel 2 Miles Ahead.

The Morelock Motel, Dave said. I mean, even the name of the place is creepy as hell. Didn’t the owner figure he was damning himself with that name?

Oliver laughed again, and a glow of gentle satisfaction warmed Dave’s chest. It made him feel good when he got Oliver to look up from his phone or away from his laptop, and it was even better when he could get him to laugh. This was definitely a different relationship level than he’d managed with anyone else, and it was exciting and a little frightening. He loved Oliver, had said it countless times now over the years, but he hadn’t expected to fall so much in love with him. Oliver’s quick mind, sharp wit, bravery, and handsome features had really hooked him when they’d first met. Getting to know how his mind worked had kept Dave invested these last couple of years. He couldn’t imagine ever being bored spending time with Oliver.

Here’s the turnoff. Oliver pointed toward a narrow road practically hidden by trees. Sheesh, no wonder people stopped coming here. They couldn’t find the place.

It is tucked away, isn’t it?

Dave slowed and eased into the turn. The trees seemed to swallow the car up, and he glanced into the rearview mirror to watch the sunlit asphalt road diminish behind them. It felt more than a little dramatically final.

If the road they’d been traveling had been rough, this one felt like the Oregon Trail. Dave winced at every bump and jolt, his car squeaking and rattling as he eased it down the road. A thankfully short distance later, the trees opened around a wide pock-marked and weed-infested gravel parking lot that butted right up to the long, single-story structure of the Morelock Motel. Dave stopped at the edge of the gravel lot a few yards away from the building and leaned over the wheel to peer through the bug-splattered windshield.

To say the motel had seen better days would have been presuming that, at some point in its long history, the place had actually once looked good. The siding had long ago been a godawful yellow, the doors and windows trimmed in green, and every door had been painted a different and equally lurid color. The only good thing about how long the place had been abandoned was that exposure to the elements had washed those colors out and made them less garish, though they were now sliding quickly into decay.

It’s, um, colorful, Oliver said, leaning forward as well.

Not sure any of those colors are natural.

Oliver smiled. Come on, let’s look around.

Got your spectrograph fully charged? Dave asked.

Cute. And I wish I had one. I’d love to be able to register ghostly presences.

They got out of the car and came together at the front, looking the place over. Dave got a definite creepy vibe, and he wasn’t so sure his idea for them to spend the night here had been a good one. He’d thought the motel would be in better shape than its current condition.

Think any people are staying in the rooms? Dave asked. Transients?

Possibly, Oliver said, then shrugged. Probably.

Dave held out the key fob for the car and hit the lock button. All right, let’s go explore before it gets dark.

Are you scared?

Scared is a very charged word, Dave said. But I will admit my senses are heightened by anxiety.

Well, that’s good.

They set off across the parking lot, dodging potholes and waist-high weeds until they reached the door to the main office. It stood ajar, but the years and exposure to the elements had warped the frame so much Dave had to put his shoulder against it to get it to open fully. Something scurried away