Vacancy Bloom

By morning we'd forgotten why we meant to leave. Our packs had rooted into the carpet. Yellow pollen wrote room numbers on our wrists.

The night before, the powerless motel's VACANCY sign had welcomed us. Bougainvillea covered every door except twelve. A woman-shaped trellis stood in the courtyard fountain, key tags hanging among orchid throats. Pale roots drank from the cracked tile. She spoke through the air conditioners. Cool leaves closed our wounds. Blossoms guarded the windows. The water she gave us was clean.

I found door twelve behind three layers of vine and opened it to noon. Every empty room screamed. We carried one another out as roots tried to rebuild the courtyard around us. She was still offering breakfast. Another night. Names for the children we hadn't agreed to become.

It gives a traveler what is missing, then builds routines around the gift until departure seems unreasonable. Resident creatures and allied plants receive food and healing, with hidden routes through the building. Threats meet repeating corridors or are soothed until roots can hold them.

Explicit checkout rituals trouble it. So do open exterior doors and sunlight entering the first sealed room. It doesn't believe the restraint is cruel. Even while attacking it apologizes for the discomfort and promises a better stay.