The Night Sister

Amy was waving an envelope around. “So, when I took the typewriter out of its box, I found this stuffed at the bottom.”


Piper read the address on the envelope out loud: “Mr. Alfred Hitchcock, Universal Studios, Hollywood, California.” There was a four-cent postage stamp on the upper right corner. She saw that the return address was Sylvia Slater, Tower Motel, London, Vermont. “Wait, like Alfred Hitchcock the movie director?”

“Who’s Alfred Hitchcock?” Margot asked.

“He made all these freaky old movies, like The Birds and Psycho,” Amy said. “You’ve seen that one, right, Piper? That crazy shower scene?” She mimed stabbing the air with an invisible knife, making high-pitched sound effects with each thrust: “Eee-eee-eee!”

Piper shook her head. “Uh-uh.” She wasn’t allowed to see anything scary, anything that was rated R.

“Oh my God! We totally have to rent the video! I can’t believe you haven’t seen it! You know the best part? It’s at a motel! Just like this one. It’s even a motel no one ever comes to because of the highway—he could have taken the idea from right here.”

Piper shrugged. “Sure, sounds cool. But what does the letter say?”

Amy pulled it out of the envelope with a flourish, handed it over. It was neatly typed on Tower Motel stationery.

Mr. Alfred Hitchcock

Universal Studios

Hollywood, California

October 3, 1961

Dear Mr. Hitchcock,

I have a new twist on my old movie idea for you. There is a motel. It has 28 rooms. Everything seems normal and nice and almost perfect there. But that’s not the way it really is. Because this motel has a 29th room. A place where the darkest secrets you can imagine are kept.

Here is my plan: I am going to discover all the secrets of the 29th room, then I will come to Hollywood and tell them to you in person. I think that if you hear my story, you will agree it would make a wonderful, dark, twisted movie. The kind of movie only you can make.

I will be in touch soon, I promise.

Sincerely yours,

Sylvia Slater

Tower Motel

328 Route 6

London, Vermont



“Bizarre,” Piper said. “What’s she even talking about?”

“It’s obvious, isn’t it? She’s saying this motel has a secret room somewhere, a twenty-ninth room, and she went looking for it. And check out when this letter was written: October 3, 1961. It’s the day before she disappeared! I checked with my grandma this morning—Sylvie was gone on the morning of October 4.”

“But how could there be a whole other room in the motel that you don’t know about?” Margot said.

“Maybe it’s not a real room,” Piper guessed. “Maybe it’s like a…a—whaddaya call it?—a metaphor or something. Or maybe she just made it up to get his attention?”

Amy shook her head. Her face was flushed and feverish-looking. “No. I think it’s a real place, a secret room somewhere in this motel. And if we really want to find out what happened to Sylvie, we’ve gotta find it.”

“So where are we supposed to start?” Piper asked.

“I think we have to look through that suitcase again. Maybe there’s a clue in there. Then I think we need to search the motel, room by room.”

“And that old trailer, too!” Margot said, caught up in the excitement.

“Every inch of this property,” Amy agreed, nodding. “Come on, let’s start with the suitcase.”





Jason