Everything Included
by Philip J. Lees
Roger woke up with the worst hangover he’d ever had in his life. Even though his head was throbbing too hard for him to remember, it had to be the worst, because nothing could be worse than this. The pain, along with the dizziness and nausea that rolled over him when he opened his eyes and moved his head, told him to try and sleep some more; the bursting sensation in his bladder urged the opposite. Grunting, Roger swung his legs over the edge of the bed, using their leverage to rotate himself to a sitting position. He propped himself upright with both hands until the room steadied, then took a deep breath.
It was much too bright. The sun was streaming in through a gap where the sliding shutter on the balcony door had been left open. He scrunched his eyes up, squinting against the glare. There was a strange smell in the air. Roger raised his right elbow and sniffed under the armpit. It didn’t seem to be coming from there. Where then?
Suddenly his bladder wouldn’t wait. Cursing, he pushed himself upright and staggered into the bathroom. He dragged down his shorts and underpants just in time and stood leaning over the toilet bowl, his forehead pressed against the cool tiles, as the pressure gave way to relief.
That was better, but his mouth still felt as if a rat had been sleeping in it. Rinsing his hands in the sink and splashing tepid water on his face he noticed the red plastic bracelet on his wrist and a phrase popped into his mind. Everything included, that was it. While he wore that bracelet he could help himself to anything he wanted—food, drinks, anything—and he wouldn’t have to pay, as long as he stayed on the premises.
Better get some breakfast, Roger thought. He pulled on a tee-shirt, grabbed his sunglasses off the dresser and let himself out of the door. He found himself at the restaurant in no time. The queue at the breakfast counter was almost out of the door. Roger’s hangover had ebbed to an ache in his temples, but his stomach had started growling. Eventually he reached the counter and began to serve himself.
A man in a white apron and cap came and placed a metal tray full of fried eggs on the row of hotplates. The eggs smelled bad and the man’s skin had an unusual colour, more dark red than brown. It was hard to tell in the fluorescent light. Before he disappeared back into the kitchen the waiter noticed Roger looking at him and their eyes met. The waiter smiled and Roger was shocked to see long canine teeth on either side of his mouth, like fangs.
The orange juice was bitter, the cornflakes were soggy and the milk tasted sour. The toast was cold, the butter had a rancid flavour, and the marmalade was greenish and had unidentifiable dark bits in it. The tiny containers of butter and marmalade each bore the word ‘Inclusive’ on their labels. Odd, Roger thought. He sipped at his coffee, which tasted as if it had been brewing for days, and reflected on the fact that he didn’t have to pay for any of it.
A waitress started to clear his table without asking if he’d finished. She had the same red skin as the waiter. The bad egg smell was stronger again. When the waitress turned away from him he thought he saw a tail sticking out of the back of her skirt, but by the time he had pulled the sunglasses off and rubbed his eyes she had gone. Had he imagined it?
He left the restaurant and went outside to the pool area, thinking he would sit in the shade and digest his breakfast. No such luck. A group of hotel staff dressed in luminous shorts and patterned tee-shirts were making the guests get up from their sun beds by prodding them with what looked like long-handled barbecue forks.
“Time to have fun,” they chanted. “Time for a game. Time for an ACTIVITY!”
By now Roger wasn’t surprised by the pointed tails, nor was it much of a shock when he noticed that their bare legs ended in cloven hooves instead of feet. He turned back into the hotel and crossed the reception area at a staggering run, making for the main exit.
Two red-skinned, muscular individuals with pitchforks barred his way.
“Not while you’re wearing the bracelet, sir,” one of them said.
Roger turned and headed back to the reception.
“I’m leaving,” Roger said. “I want to check out.”
“You can check out any time you like, sir,” the receptionist said. He was a small man with gargoyle features, and again there was that whiff of sulphur about him.
“But I can never leave, right?” Roger said.
“Not while you’re wearing the bracelet,” the gargoyle said.
Roger turned his back and began tugging at the bracelet. It was too tight to pass over his hand and there didn’t seem to be any fastener to undo. Surely there had been a clasp before. He tugged it back and forth, trying to stretch it, until his flesh began to burn.
Two of the activity team had come in and were looking around. They saw Roger and headed in his direction. Desperate now, he dashed through a door labelled ‘Private’. He had to find something to cut the bracelet off. He would rather cut off his own hand than stay here any longer. He stumbled down a long corridor and turned the corner at the end. Standing there was a being twice his size, with the now familiar goat feet, tail and steaming red skin. He was holding a short handled fire axe with a glistening blade.
“Is this what you’re looking for?” the creature asked. Two curved horns topped his head.
Roger nodded. Behind him he could hear the activity team cackling, waiting to see what he would do.
“Everything included,” the demon said, smiling. His fangs extended down almost to his chin. He handed Roger the hatchet, but somehow Roger knew it wasn’t going to be as simple as that.