Wedded Witch (The Cursed Coven of Spells Hollow)

Chapter 7

SWYN

I wake up to the soft glow of early morning light filtering through the thin curtains, a gentle reminder that I’m far from home. For a moment, I just lie there, letting the warmth of the bed seep into my bones. To my surprise, the bed is incredibly comfortable.

Much more so than I would have expected from a place like this. The sheets are soft, and the mattress cradles me in a way that almost makes me want to stay here forever, wrapped in this tiny bubble of comfort.

The room itself is nicer than I’d imagined, too. When I first walked in last night, I was struck by how cosy it felt, with its warm tones and simple, clean decor.

It’s not luxurious by any means, but it has a certain charm—a quaintness that makes it feel welcoming, like a safe harbour in the middle of everything that’s gone wrong.

I roll out of bed, stretching my arms above my head, feeling the tension in my muscles slowly unwind. The events of the past few days start creeping back into my mind, but I push them aside. Not yet. I’m not ready to face all of that just now.

Instead, I head to the bathroom and step into the shower, the hot water cascading over me like a balm. It’s one of those showers where the water pressure is perfect, and the temperature stays just right – hot enough to relax me, but not so hot that it burns. I let out a contented sigh as the steam fills the small space, washing away the remnants of sleep and the weight of my thoughts.

After I’ve scrubbed every last bit of yesterday away, I step out and wrap myself in one of the surprisingly plush towels. I take my time getting dressed, slipping into a pair of comfortable jeans and a soft sweater.

As I pull my hair into a loose braid, I catch a glimpse of my phone on the nightstand.

I hesitate before picking it up, my fingers hovering over the screen. This phone is my lifeline, the one I use for work that my family doesn’t know about. It’s how I’ve managed to keep this little piece of my life separate, something just for me. Something they can’t control or track.

I’m grateful I thought to bring it; it’s the one thing that makes me feel like I can still have some semblance of normalcy, even with everything else spiralling out of control.

I swipe through a few emails, confirming some appointments and making minor tweaks to a couple of ongoing projects. It feels good to have something to focus on, something that grounds me in reality.

For a moment, I almost forget about Oland and the marriage, the weight of those magical bonds tying us together. Almost. Even though I slipped my wedding ring off when I ran away, I can still feel the weight of it on my fourth finger, like a ghostly brand shackling me to a life I don’t want.

But the guilt lingers, creeping in at the edges of my mind. I shove it aside again, determined to enjoy this brief reprieve. Maybe once I break the curse I can return to Oland and we can explore the connection that sparked between us, without any pressure or expectations.

The growl of my stomach reminds me I haven’t eaten all that much for a couple of days, and I remember the guy at the front desk, Kel, mentioning the pancakes at the diner across the road.

He was so enthusiastic about them, I didn’t have the heart to tell him I already went there before finding the motel. Anyway, I can’t help but feel a flicker of excitement at the thought of pancakes.

I wish I’d spent a little longer with him now. He was… charming, in that kind of playful, boyish way that’s hard to resist. There was something about him – his energy, his easy smile – that made me feel at ease, despite everything else going on.

And, if I’m being honest, he’s exactly my type. Dark hair, a mischievous glint in his eyes, and a physique that suggests he could take on the world if he needed to.

God, I’m screwed.

I shake my head, trying to clear those thoughts. This isn’t the time for flirtations or getting distracted by some cute guy at a motel. Not when I’ve got much bigger problems to deal with – like the fact that I’m running from my own family and a husband I didn’t exactly plan on marrying.

The thought of Oland sends a pang of guilt through me, sharp and unrelenting. I can’t be thinking about someone else, not when I’m still trying to figure out what the hell is going on with my life.

I slip on my boots and grab my bag, double-checking that I’ve got everything I need. My hands linger over the strap as a nagging voice in my head tells me I’m forgetting something.

Passport. Check. Money. Check. Phone. Check. Okay, I think I’m good.

I’m just reaching for the handle when a loud knock echoes on the door.

“Housekeeping.” The voice is raspy, like it belongs to someone who’s smoked fifty a day for the last seventy years.

My pulse kicks up, and I freeze for a second. I wasn’t expecting anyone.

Could it be my family? Have they found me already?

Cautiously, I open the door just enough to peek through. A small, elderly woman stands there, leaning heavily on a cart stacked with towels and cleaning supplies.

Her bright white hair is piled high on her head coiffed to perfection. She’s wearing what looks like a housekeeper's uniform, but it’s mismatched, as if she grabbed whatever was on hand. The tunic style top is completely unzipped, revealing a low-cut, skin tight leopard print top and a gravity, age-defying bust underneath. I think this is the animated smoker from the diner last night, but I can’t be sure.

Then again, in a place this small and remote, how many leopard-loving pensioners are there likely to be?

And she’s eyeing me like she knows something I don’t.

“Need your room freshened up?” she asks, voice gravelly and laced with sarcasm. Her sharp bright blue eyes study me with an intensity that sends a shiver down my spine.

“I... no, thanks. I was just leaving,” I reply, gripping the door handle tighter. Something about her feels off, like she doesn’t belong in this place.

The woman tilts her head, amusement flickering in her gaze. “Leaving already? Huh. Thought you’d stick around longer. People like you usually need more than just one night to figure out where they’re going.”

I frown, unsure how to respond. “Excuse me?”

She waves a bony hand. “Oh, don’t mind me. Just an old woman talking nonsense. But if I were you, I wouldn’t be in such a rush to leave us. Places like this... they have a way of holding onto people longer than they mean to stay.”

Her words feel weighted, more than they should be. “Who are you?”

The woman smiles, a flash of sharp teeth. “Name’s Mavis. You could say I’m the resident caretaker of sorts around here. Keep an eye on things, make sure people don’t get too lost on their way out.”

“I’m not lost.”

Her grin widens. “Oh, darling, we’re all a little lost. The real question is whether you’ll find what you’re looking for before it’s too late.”

My heart skips a beat at the cryptic tone in her voice. There’s a heaviness in the air now, like the room itself is holding its breath. I step back, suddenly feeling like I’ve opened the door to something far more dangerous than housekeeping.

“I really need to go,” I say, forcing a polite smile.

Mavis chuckles softly. “Of course, darling. But if you change your mind, you’ll know where to find me.” She winks, then pushes her cart down the hallway, humming an off-key tune under her breath.

I double check I’ve got my key, close the door quickly and lean against it, my heart racing. What the hell was that? Something tells me Mavis is no ordinary housekeeper, but I can’t afford to think too much about it right now.

The diner isn’t far, and the crisp morning air feels good against my skin as I make my way across the street. The place has that classic small-town charm, with a neon sign that buzzes faintly and the smell of coffee and bacon wafting out as I step inside. Maybe I was too tired to appreciate its charm last night, or maybe I’m just so hungry it all smells good.

I slide into a booth near the window and pick up the menu, but I already know what I’m getting. Pancakes. It’s practically a given after the way the guy at the motel talked them up.

When the waitress comes over, a different one from last night, I place my order with a smile and settle in, letting the comforting atmosphere of the diner wash over me. It’s busy enough to feel lively, but not so crowded that it’s overwhelming.

There’s a hum of conversation, the clatter of dishes, and the sizzle of something on the griddle. It’s nice. Normal.

My mind drifts back to Kel and the way he smelt so good. Now I’m torn between Oland’s cedar smell and Kel’s leather musk. Damn. There’s something about hot guys’ scents that just hits different.

There was something about Kel that I can’t quite put my finger on – a spark, a pull that made it hard to look away. I wonder what he’s doing now, if he’s still at the motel or if he’s already left for the day.

I didn’t spot him when I walked past the front desk. Maybe I should’ve asked him to join me, but then I remember Oland, the vows we exchanged, and that insistent feeling of guilt returns.

Before I can dwell on it too much, the pancakes arrive, and they look even better than I imagined – thick and fluffy, with just the right amount of golden-brown crisp on the edges. I take a bite, and it’s like heaven on a plate.

For a few minutes, I lose myself in the simple pleasure of eating, letting the sweetness of the syrup and the warmth of the food push away the darker thoughts lurking in the back of my mind.

But then, out of the corner of my eye, I catch sight of movement outside the window. I glance up and see him. Kel. Coming from the motel and heading toward the diner. My heart skips a beat, and before I can even think about what I’m doing, I slide out of the booth and grab my bag.

I don’t know why I’m running, why the thought of talking to him again makes me feel like I need to get out of here fast. Especially as a minute ago I was wishing I’d spent longer with him yesterday.

Maybe it’s because I’m not ready to face anyone, not when I’m still trying to figure out what’s going on in my own head. Or maybe it’s because I don’t trust myself not to get pulled into whatever strange, magnetic thing is happening between us.

You’re married now, Swyn. You may have run from your husband, but he’s still your husband nonetheless. You have no right lusting after handsome strangers.

Either way, I leave a few bills on the table, enough to cover the meal and a decent tip, and head for the door. I slip out just before he reaches the entrance, my heart racing as I step back into the cool morning air.

I take a deep breath and force myself to walk calmly back to the motel, even though every instinct is screaming at me to run. I can feel his eyes on me, the weight of his gaze even though I don’t dare look back. It’s almost like the magic is pulling at me again, urging me to turn around, to stay, to?—

No. I can’t do this. Not now.

I hurry across the street and back to my room, my thoughts a jumbled mess as I lock the door behind me and lean against it, trying to calm the frantic beating of my heart. What the hell is happening to me?

I slide down the door, my knees pulled up to my chest, and take a few deep breaths. I need to get a grip. There’s too much at stake for me to be falling apart over some guy I just met.

No matter how cute he is, or how much my incredibly limited magic seems to go haywire around him.

I just need to focus. To remember why I’m here. Spells Hollow is waiting, and whatever secrets it holds, I’m going to find them. I have to. Everything is riding on this.

“Don’t you fucking dare, you fucking piece of shit!” I growl, slamming my fist down on the steering wheel. The engine sputters one last time, groaning before giving up completely.

Dead. The damn hire car hasn’t missed a beat this whole trip, and now, of all places, it decides to die at the edge of nowhere. The fuel gauge shows full, no warning lights. It’s just… done.

I climb out, boots crunching on gravel and dead leaves scattered along the road’s shoulder. The highway behind me hums with distant traffic, too far away to matter now. Ahead, there’s nothing but thick woods. The road curves, snaking into darkness, leading to where no one is supposed to go.

Spells Hollow.

The air out here is wrong. Heavy, humid, almost suffocating. It smells like rot, earthy and stale, like something festering under the surface. A breeze stirs the trees, but it feels too deliberate, like the woods themselves are trying to tell me something.

I shove the thought down. It’s just the town’s reputation getting to me already.

I look at the road, a faint ribbon of cracked tarmac that disappears into the trees. Somewhere past the forest lies Spells Hollow, the ghost town everyone warned me about.

“Folks don’t come back the same from there, if they come back at all,” the gas station clerk had muttered when I filled up. He didn’t even look up from the register, but the tension in his voice said enough.

I’d like to say I don’t place much stock in town gossip, but I’m living breathing proof that curses exist, and I ran away from my wedding at the insistence of an ancient relative who came to me in a dream.

So yeah, maybe the trees are trying to tell me something. Right now, that message is clear: Go away. You’re not welcome.

I shake it off. I don’t have a choice now. The car’s dead, and I need to find answers. Spells Hollow is the only place that holds them. Screw it. I grab my bag from the back seat and start walking.

The woods are unnervingly quiet. No birds, no insects, nothing but the sound of my boots on the cracked dirt. The further I go, the more it feels like the forest is closing in, as if the trees are pressing together to swallow my tracks.

I swear I catch movement in the corner of my eye – something slinking between the trunks – but when I turn, there’s nothing there.

As I walk down the narrow, overgrown path, trees thicken around me, bending low as if trying to block the way. Branches claw at my jacket. It feels like the forest wants to keep me out. I push forward, ignoring the whisper of leaves, the crunch of dead twigs under my boots.

After what feels like forever, the track I’m on thins out, turning more into a suggestion of where it used to be. And then, I see it. The outskirts of Spells Hollow.

The first building is barely standing, just a crumbling shell of brick or stone with shattered windows. The path widens as I step further in, leading straight to what must’ve been the town’s main square.

There’s a town hall, hulking at the centre like a decaying giant, its doors hanging off their hinges and the windows cracked, but somehow still in place. Around it, buildings are in various stages of near-collapse – houses, shops, all rotting away.

In the not too far distance, a blacksmith’s forge stands off to one side, roof caved in, and beyond that, what looks like it used to be a butcher’s shop.

Nothing stirs. It’s like time stopped here, but left everything to decay anyway.

I step into the square, and there it is – the gallows. Blackened, rotting, yet somehow still standing in the middle of the square, waiting. Whispers say it’s cursed, the place where the darkness that haunts this town began.

Wait, how the hell do I know that?

My imagination is running wild today.

It looks untouched by time, except for the rope, frayed and twisted like it’s seen more use than it ever should have.

The wind picks up, carrying a chill that raises the hairs on the back of my neck. My heart races. I can’t shake the feeling that I’m not alone anymore, even though the town seems utterly deserted.

I tighten my grip on my bag for comfort, even though there’s nothing in there that could save me from trouble. Whatever brought me here, whatever secrets Spells Hollow holds, I’m in the thick of it now, and I’m alone.

I stand in the centre of the square, staring at the gallows. I can’t take my eyes off it. The black charred wood gleams in the daylight, too dark, too preserved despite the damage. It’s unnatural. My throat tightens as I take a few hesitant steps closer. The rope swings slightly, even though there’s no wind now.

A shiver runs through me. This place…it’s like it’s alive. I try to push the thought away, but the deeper I breathe, the more I feel it – an awareness, something pressing in on me.

It’s not the ruins. It’s the air itself, thick with something unseen, something wrong. Like stepping into a puddle of water you didn’t know was there, only to discover it was a pool, and it pulls at you, drags you in deeper.

My gaze moves around the square. To one side, an apothecary sign hangs crooked, barely readable under years of grime. To the other, the roof of an old tavern has caved in, jagged pieces of wood stabbing into the air like broken bones.

There’s a faint path leading further into town from the square, lined with houses that used to belong to the “cursed families” they talked about in the diner.

The scorched marks on the ground form a perfect circle, just as they’d said. Nothing grows. The world looks dead but still recognisable. It’s like everything withered the moment that curse was laid down.

My hands clench into fists. Keep moving, Swyn. Focus.

Is this the origin of my family’s curse? Here, in Spells Hollow? It would make sense why Gramps sent me here, but I’m not sure how I’m supposed to break a curse in an abandoned place.

It’s not like there’s anyone around to ask for help.

“Gramps? Hello?” I call out, my voice wavering slightly. “If you wanted to magically appear and give me some answers, now would be a really good time.”

Of course there’s no answer, but the wind does pick up. Coincidence? Who knows.

I leave the square behind, stepping carefully over the charred line of the Scorch Circle. As soon as I cross it, the air feels different. Colder. The heaviness in my chest intensifies. I know I’m walking straight into the curse’s heart, but there’s no turning back now.

The road ahead forks, one path leading toward the high priestesses’ house and sacred gardens. The other, according to the map I studied back at the motel, takes me to the cliffs by the secret beach. I pause, heart thudding in my chest.

The priestesses’ house is closer – and more important. I live in a coven, I’m not oblivious to the set up of this town. There’s similarities to home. It sits at the centre of the curse, the supposed birthplace of whatever destroyed Spells Hollow.

But the beach…calls to me. My family would probably say that’s where the first signs of darkness in this world were seen. Where the water started to turn foul, and the land became corrupted. They’d warn me to stay away from any unknown body of water.

Both places pull at me, like they’re each waiting for me, calling me.

I choose the house.

Massive, looming, and suffocating.

The building looks almost untouched by time, but the air around it is thick with dread. The high priestesses’ house is supposed to be the centre of the town, where the rituals were performed before everything spiralled into chaos.

The front door is wide open, creaking on its hinges. It almost feels like an invitation. The kind you shouldn’t accept.

I step inside.

It’s dark, the air stale. The wooden floor creaks beneath me, and the smell of something faintly metallic lingers in the air. The main hall stretches before me, narrow and endless. Dust hangs thick in the air, disturbed only by my movements. The house feels bigger on the inside, almost too big, like the walls are shifting, expanding.

A shadow shifts in the corner of my vision.

I freeze, heart pounding in my throat. There’s a figure at the end of the hall. Or is there? It’s hard to tell in the gloom. I squint, taking a slow, cautious step forward.

And then the figure moves—slight, almost imperceptible, but unmistakable.

I’m not alone.

I stand frozen, staring at the shadowy figure at the end of the hall. My breath catches in my throat, every instinct screaming at me to back away, but I force myself to take another step.

It’s just your mind playing tricks.

The house is old, abandoned…maybe it’s nothing. Maybe it’s someone else. Maybe it’s no one.

The figure shifts again, this time more pronounced. It’s tall, looming, and utterly still now, as if it’s waiting for me to move.

Nope, not waiting around to find out.

I back up slowly, keeping my eyes locked on whatever it is, my footsteps soft against the creaky floorboards. The air grows heavier, pressing in from all sides, and I swear the walls seem to be breathing, expanding around me.

There’s a faint sound now. A low hum, barely audible, coming from behind the figure. No – it’s coming from all around me. The house itself. My chest tightens.

I can’t breathe right. I take another step back and my heel catches on something, causing me to stumble. For a split second, I lose sight of the figure, and when I blink, it’s gone.

I whip around, scanning the room, but there’s nothing there. Just the dusty old house, empty and decayed. My pulse races.

I’m out of here.

Spinning on my heel, I make my way back toward the front door, the building groaning behind me. I hadn’t realised just how far into the house I’d ventured.

As I step outside, the air is cool, almost refreshing compared to the suffocating atmosphere inside. But the oppressive feeling lingers in my chest, like something has followed me out.

I glance back at the high priestesses’ house one last time. The open door sways slightly in the breeze. No figure. No movement within.

But I know something was there.

I hurry down the overgrown path, the woods seeming darker now, denser. It’s starting to get dark and the feeling of wrongness is intensifying.

How long was I in there? I swear I just had breakfast.

My feet crunch against the dead leaves and twigs, every sound amplified in the eerie silence. The feeling of being watched returns, stronger this time, prickling at the back of my neck.

I don’t look back. I keep moving, faster now, breaking into a jog as I retrace my steps in the direction of the main road. If I can avoid it, I won’t be returning to my car through the woods. I’d much rather stick to the road.

The path to the beach flickers in my peripheral vision, but I don’t stop. Whatever answers I thought I’d find there can wait.

I need to get out.

By the time I reach the edge of the town square again, the sky is dimming fast, the sun sinking rapidly lower on the horizon. The gallows loom ahead, casting long, dark shadows that stretch across the square like twisted fingers. The cursed rope sways in the growing wind.

I cut through the square, past the apothecary and tavern, barely sparing a glance at the buildings now. The sense of urgency pounds in my chest, pushing me forward. I can’t believe where the day has gone. It’s like I entered a time warp of some sort. It makes no sense.

It takes longer than I remember to reach the outskirts of Spells Hollow. When I finally step past the last remnants of the town, I let out a shaky breath. I made it.

The woods around me are still unnervingly quiet, but at least the air is lighter and the boughs are less dense on either side of the thoroughfare. I pull out my phone, checking the time. Nearly dusk. I need to get back to the motel before night falls completely.

The walk back feels longer than before, the silence pressing down on me. As I emerge from the trees and onto the worn-down road, my car is still there, dead and useless at the side of the road. I grit my teeth, glaring at the hunk of metal. No way I’m getting it to start again without help.

I’m miles from anywhere useful. I’ll deal with it later. The motel isn’t too far now, and I’m sure I can call for help in the morning, or speak to the garage. Surely they’ll be able to take a look at it?

Still though, I don’t start walking. Something makes me pause, unlock the car and slip inside. Then I lock the doors. On instinct, I place the key in the ignition and turn, startling when the engine roars to life.

“The fuck?”

My car has magically fixed itself?

I’m not hanging around to question it, sliding it into gear and performing a three-point turn in the road to get the hell out of dodge.

By the time I get back to the motel, the sun is nearly entirely gone, the sky bleeding into a deep, bruised purple. My favourite colour. Beautiful.

I’ve spent hours wandering the woods and town, trying to piece together what little I could about Spells Hollow, but my mind keeps returning to that figure in the high priestesses’ house. I wonder if I imagined it – or if it’s still there, waiting.

I reach the parking lot, nerves tense and my body aching. The old neon sign of the motel flickers weakly, casting a sickly glow over the cracked pavement. The cool evening air feels refreshing, though it does little to calm the restless energy simmering beneath my skin.

Mavis is watering the plants, muttering under her breath about something, a lit cigarette dangling from her lips, dropping ash onto the petals below.

She’s swapped her outfit from this morning for an all in one leather catsuit that leaves nothing to the imagination. Still wearing orthopaedic shoes though. Atta girl.

I wave and approach the entrance, feeling a slight twinge of anxiety mixed with curiosity about what I might find when I walk through the door.

As soon as I step into the motel lobby, the scent of tobacco hits me, but it’s the sight of the gorgeous guy behind the desk that catches my attention. Does he ever take a break? He’s stationed there, but this time his demeanour is far from the friendly, playful energy I encountered yesterday. Instead, his face is set in a scowl that could curdle milk.

I wonder if he’s having a bad day? Maybe there’s a way I can make it better for him.

I approach the desk with a cheery smile. “Hi, I’m back. I hope you’re having a good evening.”

He barely glances up from the ledger he’s scribbling in. “Yeah, great. What do you want?”

His tone is so abrupt, I blink in surprise. “I just wanted to check in and see if everything’s alright. I’ve had a bit of an adventure today and I guess I’m going to need to extend my stay for a few more nights…if you have availability?”

“Adventure, huh? Well, I’m sure you’ll have plenty of those in Spells Hollow. Just don’t expect this place to be a luxury resort. Stay as long as you like.”

His attitude is confusing, and I’m about to respond – determined to stay polite despite the storm brewing inside me – when a soft whining noise comes from the corner of the lobby.

I look down to see a scruffy little dog with big, brown eyes looking up at me, its tail wagging hopefully. Did it follow me in? I don’t recall seeing a dog before, but this little guy is seriously cute.

I kneel down and hold out a hand, and the dog trots over, nuzzling my fingers and lapping at my hand with its warm, wet tongue. I can’t help but smile, feeling a pang of affection for the small creature.

I was never allowed a dog growing up, and even once I was an adult and left home, it was still so strongly frowned upon in our coven that I was never brave enough to get one.

I can hear my family’s voice chastising me now: “A dog, Swyn? We’re witches. Witches are cat people. Cats and owls and toads and bats. Not dogs, child.”

“Aren’t you just the cutest?” I coo, scratching under his chin. He yips happily at me, making me smile. “I wonder what breed you are. Such a fluffy little floofball, yes you are.”

Kel’s expression darkens further as he watches the interaction between me and the four-legged cutie. “You know, that mutt isn’t exactly the cleanest. And it’s not supposed to be wandering around the lobby.”

The dog’s tail droops slightly as his harsh tone cuts through the air. I look up at him, my eyes narrowing. “You’re really going to be that way about a dog? He’s just looking for some affection. It’s not his fault he’s not a show dog.”

Kel sneers, his annoyance palpable. “Whatever. Just don’t get too attached. I don’t want to deal with any complaints about pets. He’s probably riddled with fleas. Shoo! Get!”

I’m about to give him a piece of my mind when the little dog suddenly bolts towards the exit, startled by the guy’s sharp tone. “Hey!” I call out, rushing after the dog, but the guy is quicker.

He darts out from behind the check in desk, grabs the dog by the scruff and shoves him out the door with an irritated huff before slamming it closed once more.

I’m left standing there, fuming, as the tobacco scent intensifies. “You can’t just chase him away like that! He was harmless and needed some love.”

He shrugs, his expression impassive. “We don’t need any more trouble around here. If you want to stay, you have to deal with the way things are.”

I’m livid, my hands clenched into fists. I can’t stand people who are cruel to animals. Ugh. What did I ever see in this guy? He seemed so nice last night and now it’s like he’s a completely different person!

“You can’t just be rude to animals, and you certainly can’t drive them away from a place they’re supposed to be safe. It’s unacceptable.”

His face remains stoic, though there’s a flicker of something—regret, maybe?—in his eyes.

“Look, princess,” he says, leaning in menacingly. My pulse skyrockets at his proximity, but it’s not in fear. “If you’re not happy here, you can always leave. This is the only motel in town. Unless you want to sleep in the woods.”

The thought of being out there, alone and exposed, makes my heart pound. I want to argue more, but I can’t deny the truth of his words. “Fine.” I sigh. “But I’m not happy about it. I’ll take my chances here for now.”

He doesn’t respond, his focus shifting back to the desk as if the conversation is already over. I turn on my heel and head back to my room, frustration simmering inside me, my footsteps heavy.

The little dog’s sad eyes flash in my mind, and I can’t shake the feeling that there’s something seriously wrong with this place.

As I close the door behind me, I sit down heavily on the edge of the bed, staring at the floral wallpaper and the slightly flickering light from the lamp. I’m exhausted and angry, but I know I need to regroup and think clearly. There’s a reason I came here, and no surly motel clerk or wayward dog is going to deter me from finding out what it is.

I just hope that the town’s secrets are worth all of this.