Title: Motel Hell

Rating: K+ to T

Summary: Tim and Tony decide to stop at a motel on their way back to DC. Strange things start to happen during the night, leaving the boys to question their sanity. Will they make it through the whole night?

Notes: written for the "Bone Chilling" challenge. Happy Halloween! Mwahahahaha!

"Tony! Look out!" Tim cried as the sedan veered over the white line, into oncoming traffic. Tony, who had nodded off, yanked the wheel, pulling them back into the other lane, narrowly missing a head-on collision with an F-350 pickup.

"Damn, that was close," Tony said, his heart pounding.

"You almost killed us, Tony! That's the fifth time you've nodded off at the wheel. Maybe we should find a motel—"

"Boss wants us back tonight," Tony said, cutting off his partner. "We can't stop now—" his last word was cut off as he yawned.

"We might die before we get back. It's two in the morning, and neither of us are in any shape to drive. Let's just find a motel. We can leave early in the morning."

"All right, McTired. We'll stop at the first motel we see."

NCISNCISNCIS

Tony pulled into the Paradise Motel fifteen minutes later. The place looked like it should be condemned. Paint was peeling from the siding, the roof looked as if it needed repair, and the landscaping had not been kept up in what Tony assumed was months.

"This place looks inviting," he said sarcastically.

"Let's just get a room before you fall asleep at the wheel again," Tim complained.

"Fine, McWhiner." Tony pulled up next to the office. "Go book us a room."

Tim got out and stalked over to the office. It was dark inside, and he wondered if there was a night clerk there. He knocked on the door and waited. Suddenly, the door clicked open, and moved slightly, granting him access. He took out his gun, on a gut feeling, and pushed the door open, pointing it in front of him. As soon as he got into the tiny office area, the door slammed shut behind him. He jumped and whirled around. No one was there.

"Damn wind always slams the door."

Tim whipped around, gun in his shaky hand. The clerk was standing behind the desk, hands in the air.

"Whoa, mister, if you're looking to rob me, I've got nothing to take."

Tim holstered his gun.

"No no, I'm sorry. I'm a federal agent," he said, showing his badge. "I need a room for the night. Two beds, please."

"The only thing left has one queen-sized bed. Sorry."

"I'll take it."

NCISNCISNCIS

"You're telling me this is the only room there was available, Probie?" Tony said as he stood in the doorway with his go bag slung over his shoulder. The room was tiny. It consisted of a bed, one nightstand, a broken lamp, and a small TV with an old, broken antenna, that sat on an ancient dresser at the foot of the bed.

"It's only for a few hours. You'll live."

"I'm not getting under the covers in that bed."

"Fine, sleep on top of the covers, then. I'm going to sleep."

Tim pulled back only the comforter, and slipped between it and the sheet. He felt Tony lie down next to him a moment later, and the room lapsed into silence.

~One hour later~

A loud crash resonated throughout the room. Tony shot up in bed and frantically attempted to turn on the broken lamp. His movements woke Tim out of a sound sleep.

"Tony, what are you doing?"

"Tell me you heard that noise, McGee," Tony said nervously as he finally managed to get the flashlight application working on his phone. He flashed it around the room, and stopped it on the window. The vertical blinds were hanging off the bracket.

"It was just the blinds falling, Tony."

"Blinds don't fall by themselves," He said, peering around the room with his flashlight.

Tim turned over to face the door.

"They do in crappy motels. Go to sleep."

~Approximately 45 minutes later~

Tim woke up feeling chilled, and realized that the comforter was no longer covering him, but draped over Tony. He pulled it back and wrapped it tightly around his body. Just as he was nodding off to sleep, he felt the covers yanked off of him again with great force.

"Get your own blanket, Tony," he said, once again pulling it back over him. This time he slept facing Tony, so he could catch him in the act. When the blanket was yanked off of him this time, Tony wasn't moving.

Tim jumped out of bed with a scared yelp. Tony sat up and looked at him.

"What the hell, Probie?"

"The blanket – I thought it was you – but it wasn't you—"

"What are you saying?"

"I thought you were taking my blanket," Tim finally spat out. "I turned to sleep facing you, so I could catch you in the act. When it happened again, you didn't move."

"Are you sure you didn't kick it off, Probie?"

"I don't kick my blankets off of myself, and I certainly wouldn't yank them off and drape them over you!"

"Just relax and come back to bed," Tony teased, patting the empty spot on the bed next to him.

"You're not allowed to touch me the rest of the night," Tim said as he slowly lay back down. He barely got to cover himself up, when He felt the blanket yanked off him with enough force, that it actually came out from under Tony's body, sending him over the side of the bed.

"What in the hell?" Tony said as he pulled himself back onto the bed.

"I didn't do it, Tony. I swear."

"Right. A ghost did it."

"Hey, you know I don't believe in—"

He was cut off by a blood-curdling scream. It sounded like it was in the room with them. Tony grabbed Tim by the arm.

"What in the hell was that?!"

"Ask the ghost," Tim said, his eyes darting around the room.

"Shut up," Tony snapped back. Suddenly, he stilled.

"Tony? What's the matter?"

"Something just touched me."

"Yeah, right."

"I'm serious! It felt like a cold hand, touching my arm."

"This is ridiculous. We're getting scared over nothing. Someone is obviously playing some kind of joke on us. Let's just go to sleep."

"Fine with me."

"Fine."

"Good night, Probalicious."

"Go to sleep, Tony."

~Ten minutes later~

"Hurry up and start the car, Tony!" Tim said as he scrambled into the front seat. Tony was already turning the key in the ignition. As soon as Tim's door was closed, Tony burned rubbed out of the parking lot, and away from the Paradise Motel.

From the open doorway of the vacant hotel room, the faded figure of a man stood, watching them drive away. He had a red ligature mark circling his neck, as if he had been strangled. An evil smile curled his lips as he flickered, and disappeared.

END