Posted this on HN several months ago, but here it is again. Totally unedited.

Dawn of the Squirrels
Day One
“How can I help you?” The voice came from the back of the room. Jack glanced over and saw an old man standing behind a counter.
“Yeah,” came his reply. “I need a room for the night.”
“Smoking or non?”
“It doesn’t mat- non I guess.”
“All right, room one nineteen,” said the man as he handed Jack a key. “Down the hall on the right.”
“Thanks.” Jack headed down the hallway, looking to his right. “One thirteen, one fifteen, one seventeen, one nineteen.” He muttered to himself. “Home sweet home… kinda”
Jack unlocked the door, steps over the threshold, turns around and closes and deadbolts the door. Turning back around he looks around at what he’s seen for the past 2 months since his wife left him. A short hallway, maybe three feet long, with a bathroom on the left, a closet on the right, and a fairly large room opening up to the left with a double bed perpendicular to the wall. A bedside table, a Gideon’s Bible in the drawer no doubt, and a dresser across the room with a twenty-seven inch television seated upon it. Another motel room, just the same as the last.
He waked over to the bedside table, upholstering his service pistol and lays it next to the usual alarm clock radio, dropping himself onto the bed with a sigh. Pulling off his jacket, he feels a rectangular box in his breast pocket. He pulls out an opened pack of Newport lights. “So much for not smoking,” he thinks to himself, throwing his jacket back on and walking out the door. On the way down the hall, Jack pulls a cigarette from its box and glances at it. It had been one of two placed upside down. “A lucky huh, and not a girl in sight,” he mumbles, stepping out the front door under an overhang meant for guests to park and unload so they wouldn’t get their luggage wet bringing it into the Hojos. Popping the cigarette into his mouth he searches his pockets for a match, before realizing they were in the plastic on the box. He pulls out the book, and rips one out, pulling it across the striking paper on the back. When it lights, Jack cups it in his hands and brings it to his mouth, then waves it out and tosses it on the sidewalk.
Watching the traffic go by, Jack realizes the sun is setting. He checks his watch, 7:36. Better get to sleep, got plans tomorrow. Finishing his last drag Jack pushes the burning stub into a little hole at the top of a pole marked butts, and returns to his room, waving to the old man as he passes.
Locking the door behind him, he proceeds into his room, stopping at the bathroom, and lies down on the meticulously set bed. Jack kicks off his shoes, flips on the television, and drifts off to sleep.

Day Two
Groaning, Jack rolls over and blinks his eyes open, looking at the alarm clock. “What the hell?” he says aloud. The clock was blank. He couldn’t hear cars outside. In fact, the only sound was a soft hissing coming from outside. Jack sat up, fully awake now, and throws his legs over the edge of the bed. Standing up he slips on and ties up his boots, then wanders over to the window. Looking out, there were cars lined up for blocks, ending just past the motel at four smashed cars blocking all lanes of traffic. There was no one in the cars, and their engines were silent. The hissing noise he heard was coming from one of the cars. There was steam pouring out around the hood, it must have overheated sitting there.
Jack was suddenly alarmed when he notices a small moving figure, a squirrel, running across the tops of the cars. It jumped down, and when Jack looked to see where it had gone, he saw a body. The squirrel was gnawing at the face of a human corpse.
He rushed back to his bed, grabbing his pistol and throwing on his jacket. On his way out the door he ripped a cigarette from the pack and lit up. He rushed down the hall, stopping dead in his tracks when he saw the old man, sprawled on top of the counter, dead. One of his arms was severed off, lying on the ground.
Suddenly a large squirrel leapt up onto the old man’s back from behind the counter, gnashing its bloodied teeth at Jack. “Aww [bleeped!] no…” he yelled as two smaller ones hopped up on either side of the first. The bigger squirrel made a gurgling noise and the other two scampered down towards Jack. He lifted his gun, backing away as fast as he could, ad let off three shots, but they were just to small and too fast. He started running back down the hall. Aiming over his shoulder, jack managed to pick off the menace to his right, which fell back in a bloody heap. Two shots later, the other squirrel was lying dead. Now the original squirrel was after him, out to finish what its henchman failed to do, bring home dinner. Jack aimed back again and tripped over a crease in the rug. His gun discharged and put a hole in the ceiling as his face smashed onto the ground, extinguishing the last of his cigarette. That’s it, out of ammo. In the act of reloading, the murderous creature caught up to him, leaping onto the back of his neck and burying its jaws into Jack’s spinal cord. In a moment, Jack was just another meal. Another helpless soul that no one would remember since the day that evil mutant psycho man killing squirrels took over New Jersey.

Death by... evil mutant psycho man-killing squirrel... interesting.

iddnt it?

Resident Squirrel?

Nice story.

Better than yours.