Chapter 2
Holding tightly to the room key, I dug the brass tag into my palm.
I welcomed the bite stinging across my hand.
It helped to distract me from the feel of the ringmaster’s eyes boring into the back of my skull.
I knew he was watching me, but I didn’t dare look back.
That creepy smile was the stuff nightmares were made of.
The man hadn’t given me any reason to distrust him. If anything, he was pleasant. Overly so. Politeness shouldn’t be that disturbing. Then again, I could just be paranoid. Normally, I’d enjoy a night like this, but this storm felt different.
I shoved my nerves down and began my ascent to the second floor.
The staircase held the same signs of decayed opulence as the lobby.
The steps groaned under my weight while my hand skimmed a banister that was so dark it may as well have been black.
It wasn’t meant to be this dark. I could tell that from the lighter patches of wood where the lacquer had been rubbed thin.
I stopped halfway up when my fingers caught on a groove.
At first, I thought it was a crack or a splinter.
But it wasn’t the kind of mark left by age.
The groove was thin and ran long, dragging down in a crooked line before angling out again.
Three others followed, scoring the wood in frantic slashes.
Not breaks or rot, but scratches. The kind that someone made while clawing for an escape.
A voice in the back of my mind told me to run as my neck twisted, and I looked down at the lobby.
The ringmaster was still behind the front desk. He didn’t say anything or wave. He simply stood there, smiling.
I stood there staring back at him. I didn’t move, and neither did he. Should I stay or should I go? Could I go?
His head tipped to the side as if he was intrigued or amused. I couldn’t tell which. “Is something wrong, Poppet?”
Yes. There was something very wrong. I could feel it in the air and all around me, but I couldn’t explain what it was. “No.”
“Did you change your mind about that nightcap?”
“No.” I tried to think of some excuse for my odd behavior. He hadn’t done anything to make me believe he had ill intent. And if he did, I didn’t want to tip him off.
Thankfully, the couple saved me from having to explain anything. They came down the hall before I could open my mouth. I heard the woman’s voice before I saw them.
“You should’ve stopped at that diner.”
I looked up as they came around the corner, and the man huffed out a sigh. “You said you weren’t hungry.”
I’d never been happier to see two people in my life.
“Well, I am now. Do you think they have anything good to eat here?” Her hand waved through the air.
“I’m sure it’s good enough for you to choke on.”
“God, you’re useless.”
I stepped to the side as they passed by. The man looked at me and rolled his eyes, while his wife or girlfriend continued to berate him.
Their arguing didn’t bother me. It was a nice reminder that I wasn’t here alone. Plus, their presence diverted the ringmaster’s attention.
“Unfortunately, the dining room is closed.” He gave them a frown that was just as creepy as his smile. “Shall I have something sent up to your room?”
While he was distracted, I climbed the last few steps and disappeared around the corner.
Doors lined the hall, most of which were shut. A few remained cracked open enough to show slivers of a dark room. I thought I heard a faint whisper from one, but it was too quiet to be sure. Another smelled like mildew, and one slammed shut when I walked past.
My room was halfway down the hall on the right-hand side.
I stood in front of it, staring at my warped reflection in the brass plate displaying the number.
237.
It didn’t mean anything. It was just a number.
Huffing out a breath, I reached out, unlocked the door, and pushed it open.
I don’t know what I was expecting. A monster or torture dungeon, perhaps. But the room wasn’t nefarious in any way.
The queen-sized bed held four fluffy pillows and a navy bedspread pulled smooth and neatly tucked in at the corners.
To the right of the bed stood a four-drawer dresser, with a vase of roses sitting on the top.
The carpet was plush and soft when I stepped on it, and the ambience itself was warm and inviting.
Heavy velvet curtains were drawn over the window, shutting out the storm, while the sconces in the room glowed with a soft golden light, not the sickly yellow buzzing in the hall.
There wasn’t a single thing that I couldn’t find in any other hotel room, including the open door across the room, which I assumed to be the bathroom.
It was a bit disappointing, honestly. Where were the walls painted in blood or cobwebs and bones? The normalcy of it almost made me laugh. Instead of a horror scene, I got floral patterns and a sweet scent.
Go figure, I had once again worked myself up for no reason. Paranoia would do that to a person. No matter where I was or what I was doing, I always read too much into things that meant nothing. It was my own guilt driving me insane, not some evil ringmaster in a rundown hotel.
Even if there was something clearly wrong with that man, I had no right to judge him.
It wasn’t as if I were a paragon of righteousness.
Besides, anyone who owned a place like this was bound to be a tad eccentric.
I was the one being a hypocritical asshole.
If anyone in this place deserved judgment, it was me.
“Get over yourself, Mazie,” I muttered and walked into the room, shutting the door behind me.
I dropped my keys on the small vanity sitting across from the foot of the bed. The mirror on it was warped with age, yet polished enough to throw my reflection back at me.
I looked like hell. My dark hair was wet and hanging in limp, dripping locks. There were bags of exhaustion under my blue eyes, and my fair complexion looked extra pale in the weak lamplight. I looked like death drowned in sorrow.
Bending closer, I rubbed my thumb over a smudge on the glass. For a second, I thought the mirror rippled, but it was probably just me, swaying on my own feet.
For the first time since the storm swallowed me, my shoulders loosened, and exhaustion set in.
My eyes floated over to the bed. The quilt appeared clean, a little faded, but so was my existence.
I headed over to the bed and pressed my palm down on the mattress. My body wanted nothing more than to flop down on it.
Until a drip rang through my room.
I froze.
Drip.
Drip.
The sound was faint and hard to locate. It took me a minute to realize it was coming from the bathroom.
Drip.
Drip.
“It’s old pipes, that’s all,” I told myself while staring at the open bathroom door.
The dripping continued, and behind it was something else—the echo of lost laughter.
“No.” I shook my head. “There’s no one there.”
There was no ghost or child hiding in the dark, or sweet laugh waiting to mock me. There was nothing but me and the shadows.
That didn’t stop my heart from flipping when I forced myself to look in the bathroom.
There was nothing other than tile that had gone yellow with age and a cracked mirror above a leaky sink.
Sighing at the dripping faucet, I scolded myself and reached out to tighten the tap.
“There. No more dripping.”
When I turned to leave, I could’ve sworn I heard another drop hit the porcelain.
Refusing to waste what little energy I had on my delusions, I ignored the sound, peeled my wet clothes off, and climbed under the quilt. The blanket was heavier than it looked, not in a bad way but a good one, as if the material were hugging me and keeping me warm while the storm raged outside.
“One night.” I yawned. “That’s all I need.”
Just one night.