New Short Story on the way - "In The Red Light Backrooms"

I have been working on a new short story for Halloween.  It was originally intended for Literotica's Halloween contest, but it ended up being a little longer than I anticipated (over 10K words) and I couldn't finish it in time.  It is finished now.

It's set in Amsterdam's red light district and influenced by the Backrooms stuff.  By influenced, I mean the first principles concept of someone clipping out of reality and being trapped in a weird place.  The Backrooms itself seems to be one of those big shared internet lore things (like the SCP foundation) and I know very little about it other than the general idea and some youtube short films.  It seemed a cool concept, and fired up the inspiration for this little tale.

Here's a teaser:

Damien Kane and Chris Abbott noclipped out of reality on an otherwise unremarkable summer morning at precisely 11:01.  The where from was a corner of De Walletjes, more infamously known as Amsterdam's main red-light district.  Damien and Chris were there—and let's not beat about the bush—to get laid.

As for the where to...

The corridor of doors stretched off into the distance before turning to the left.  Around that corner would be another long corridor of doors leading to another left turn.  Sometimes it would turn to the right.  Sometimes—more rarely—it would end in a T-junction.  It never opened back out onto the street outside.  If there was even an outside.

The corridor was narrow and claustrophobic, with a low ceiling.  The floor was covered in thick linoleum—mushy and slightly tacky.  The air carried the tang of stale sweat, cheap perfumes, and—beneath it all—a hint of something far less pleasant.  It called to mind sordid and illicit pleasures.  Illumination came from fluorescent tubes above the doors.  They washed everything in a wan glow—sometimes red, sometimes pink.

If the lights dimmed, you ran.

If the lights flickered, you ran fast.

Each door had a large glass window.  For most of them a red velvet curtain was pulled across to hide the room on the other side.  For some that curtain was pulled back to reveal a feminine figure dressed only in lingerie.  Always attractive.  Always sexy.  Never human.

Damien remembered the words of the Irishman.

"You have to pick a door, but it has to be the right door."

How do you know if it's the right door?

"Do you think I'd still be here if I knew that!"

Damien hadn't seen the Irishman in some time.  Maybe he'd found the right door.  More likely he'd walked through the wrong door and never returned.

Damien heard a wet snuffling phlegmy sound.  Far off behind him... for now.

Time to move on.

The story is finished.  I've submitted it to Literotica and it will probably appear there in a few days (usually about 3)

If you don't want to wait, I've already posted the completed story to Patreon and SubscribeStar.  Subscription to either is for the low low price of $1 per month and you'll also get a new "House of Hellish Harlots" update at the end of every month as well (two months before it goes live on the public website).