Voodoo Inn

During his third night out of town, a travelling businessman discovers a voodoo doll in his hotel room.

A voodoo doll? On his bed? Strange. He didn’t recall putting that there. But look, there’s a note! It said, “Have fun with it now, I know how lonely you can get when you’re away from home — Love, Eileen” The businessman made sure to lock the hotel door and drew the curtains shut.

The voodoo doll had no distinguishing features. Its eyes and mouth were just paint, wearing off. It wore no clothes, had no fingers, ears, or smaller bits. "Well," he said, "Let's see." He pinched the doll's bottom. He felt nothing. The doll was for someone else, but who? Eileen?

Despite the doll's antique features, it felt unsettling. His eyes flickered over the emptiness where there should be fingers. Replaced was a single orange leg, then another, then another. A centipede slithered out territorial of this doll, as if protecting her, or him, from her.

“Oh, hey, buggy bro! With all those legs you must be great at popping and locking! Here, I’ll go first.” Then I busted a move right out of there post haste.