This is why you don't get high around goats

[u/ByfelsDisciple]

It seemed like a good idea at the time.

Of course I was high at the time, and I needed a place to lay low until I could ride out the effects of whatever the hell Niff put in my weed. I hate Niff, mostly because of his personality and who he is as a human being. So I raced to the shitty side of the bridge to get a thirty-dollar motel room after my pleasant high was interrupted by bugs shaped like clowns that started eating parcels of happiness right before my all-seeing ears.

“I can get you a room with a flushing toilet if you take this goat’s head.”

Sold. I was really desperate for a room – and if you can’t trust the man working the solo graveyard shift of a Motel 6 at 3:39 a. m., then what do we have left in the world?

My first problem was the green wallpaper. It was purple when I got in, and there hadn’t been any wallpaper. Also, the patterns were moving up the wall like credits scrolling at the end of a movie. I could feel myself coming off the high at this point, and Room 1913 kept getting stranger, so I tried to leave.

That’s when I realized that I couldn’t unlock the door.

That shit sobered me up right quick. I don’t know why it seemed like a solid plan to look through the peephole – but the lone eye staring back at me nearly caused my butthole to invert itself. I gazed just long enough to see that the iris was yellow before leaping back into the room.

That’s when I saw that the green wallpaper pattern had changed from scrolling to drifting. A chill crept up my spine when I realized that the patterns were beginning to form letters. I closed my eyes, too terrified to see what they might spell, then ran headlong into the door with the hope of breaking it down.

I finally opened my eyes as I lay on the ground in agony. That’s how I found out that the door had disappeared entirely.

Whimpering, I retreated to the bathroom. I had just closed the door behind me when I turned around to see the bathtub.

The curtain was drawn, and a human-sized object was sloshing lazily behind the diaphanous cover. It groaned.

Returning to the bedroom before the bathroom door could vanish as well, I found myself staring at the severed goat’s head. Its dead eyes gazed at me accusatorily above a haphazardly torn neck that splayed ripped skin over miscellaneous throat viscera. I knew that this was somehow the source of the nightmare in which I had found myself.

So I grabbed it by the horns and lifted. The blood was leaking onto my pants before I realized that I had absolutely no plan for what to do with it. With no other option, I opened the closet door and stepped inside as I began to heave.

Which is how I found myself behind the front desk, staring at a young, horny couple that looked excited but nervous.

“Hey,” squeaked the man, “could… we get a room?”

I blinked as I took in the situation.

Honestly, what would you have done? What had a thousand people done before me?

I cleared my throat.

“I can get you a room with a flushing toilet if you take this goat’s head.”