The second I touched the pen down and scratched out my name, something shifted.The air around me stilled. For half a second,I thought the storm outside had stopped.
The ringmaster closed the book with a snap that echoed in the empty lobbyand made me jump.
“Lovely,” he purred, while tucking the book aside.
When his gloved hand dipped behind the counter,temptationto run awayflooded me. I half expected him to pull out a knife. Instead,a key dangled from his finger, withthe number237 etched into a tarnished brass tag.
237. To anyone else,that would be a number and nothing else. To me,it was the time her laughter left this world.
“Do you have another room?”
“No.” The key dangled from his finger, clinking against the tag. “This one isyours.”
Yours. As if the room chose me and not the other way around.
When Ididn’tmove to take it, his smile sharpened. “Don’tbe shy, Poppet. Shelter’s hard to come by in a storm like this. Youwouldn’twant to go back out there, would you? All that rain. All thatwater.”
My chest tightened.
“Would youlike a nightcap before you turn in?Something to help you ring in the new year?We have a fully stocked bar.Some of the finest winesyou’llever taste.”
I shook my head.Ididn’twant to ring in the new year. I wanted to make the last three disappear.
“Not a wineconnoisseur?”His tone dropped an octave as he leaned forward and said, “Perhaps a touch of brandy to warm your shivering soul?”
If Ididn’tknow any better,I’dsay he was trying to tempt me. Ihadn’thad a drink in over three years. Not since that night when I got into my parents’brandy.
“No thanks.” I snatched the keyfrom himbefore I had a chance to overthink anything.He was being polite and doing his job. Nothing more. “I just want to get some sleep.”
It had been a long day.
“As you wish.”Theringmaster waved his hand towardthe stairs. “Your room is on the second floortothe right.”
Not wanting to be around him anymore, I promptly spun around andwalked away.
“Sweet dreams,Poppet.” The ringmaster sang. “Welcome to The Craven.”
December 30 9:02 pm
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 bethat 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?”
