Chapter 11: A Deal with Shadows
Ezra slammed his mop into the bucket with a little more force than necessary, sending a spray of soapy water onto the dining hall floor. It wasn't like anyone cared about how clean the inn was—most of the residents were too busy playing chess with imaginary opponents or drinking tea like they were at a royal court. But Grimwald had made it clear: Ezra had a job to do, glowing keys and cryptic shadows be damned.
"This is my life now," he muttered, jabbing the mop at an invisible spot of dirt. "Scrubbing floors while existential dread looms over my shoulder. Living the dream."
Lady Marrow, seated at the head of the table, raised an eyebrow at him over her teacup. "You're in rare form today."
Ezra straightened, leaning on the mop handle. "Oh, don't mind me. Just processing the fact that I've apparently been chosen to protect a haunted inn. No big deal."
Her faint smile didn't reach her eyes. "And yet, you keep mopping."
Ezra waved a hand dramatically. "What can I say? I'm dedicated to the craft."
Lady Marrow sipped her tea, her expression as inscrutable as ever. "A wise man once said that the mundane tasks of life are often the most grounding."
Ezra snorted. "Yeah? Well, a wise man never had to mop ghost juice off the floor."
---
By mid-afternoon, Ezra had finished mopping the dining hall and was dragging his cleaning supplies down the hallway. The mop bucket bumped against the uneven floorboards with a rhythmic clunk, the sound oddly soothing compared to the oppressive silence that usually filled the inn.
He paused to adjust the strap of his lantern, glancing at one of the paintings on the wall. It was one of the few he hadn't paid much attention to before—an eerie depiction of a stormy coastline, the waves crashing against jagged rocks. Something about it made his stomach churn.
"Why do all the paintings here look like they're judging me?" he muttered, dragging the bucket past it.
The whispers started again as he reached the west wing corridor, soft and persistent, like an itch in the back of his mind. Ezra froze, his grip tightening on the mop handle.
"Not now," he muttered. "I'm working."
The whispers didn't care. They swirled around him, tugging at his thoughts like invisible hands. Ezra groaned, dropping the mop back into the bucket.
"Fine," he said through gritted teeth. "But if this leads to another shadowy figure giving me cryptic warnings, I'm charging overtime."
---
The west wing was colder than usual, its air thick with the metallic tang that always made Ezra's stomach twist. The wooden door at the end of the corridor was slightly ajar, and the whispers grew louder as he approached. He hesitated, his pulse quickening.
"This is a bad idea," he muttered. "A really, really bad idea."
But the whispers didn't let up, and the key in his pocket hummed faintly, its warmth seeping through the fabric. Ezra sighed, pulling it out and holding it up to the lantern light.
"You're lucky I'm too curious for my own good," he said, sliding the key into the lock.
The door creaked open, revealing the familiar circular room. The crystal orb on the pedestal pulsed faintly, its bluish light casting long, shifting shadows across the cluttered shelves. Ezra stepped inside cautiously, the air colder than it had been the last time he was here.
"So," he said, crossing his arms. "What's the big reveal this time?"
The whispers coiled around him, growing louder and more chaotic. Ezra's chest tightened as the shadows in the corner of the room began to shift, forming into the familiar figure of Grimwald.
"You shouldn't be here," Grimwald said, his voice low and steady.
Ezra let out a sharp laugh, though it sounded more nervous than amused. "Oh, come on. You keep saying that, but somehow I always end up back here anyway. Maybe take it up with the whispers."
Grimwald's eyes flicked to the key in Ezra's hand, his expression darkening. "The key binds you to the inn's fate. Its whispers guide you, but not all paths are meant to be walked."
Ezra frowned, his frustration bubbling over. "Then why give me the key in the first place? If I'm not supposed to be here, why does this place keep dragging me back?"
Grimwald didn't answer immediately. His gaze lingered on the crystal orb, its light flaring briefly before dimming again. "You think I enjoy watching you stumble into danger? I warn you because I have seen what happens to those who rush ahead unprepared."
Ezra froze, caught off guard by the rare emotion in Grimwald's voice. "Wait—are you saying this has happened before? What happens to them?"
Grimwald's expression hardened. "They were lost. To the inn, to themselves, and to what lies beyond."
The room seemed to grow colder, the shadows pressing in closer. Ezra's chest tightened as he stared at Grimwald, the weight of his words sinking in.
"So... what?" Ezra said, his voice quieter now. "You think I'm going to fail too?"
Grimwald shook his head. "That is up to you."
---
Ezra didn't get back to mopping until late that afternoon, his thoughts still racing from his conversation with Grimwald. The whispers had quieted for now, but the weight of the key in his pocket felt heavier than ever. He pushed the mop across the floor of the foyer, his movements mechanical.
Barnaby sat nearby, his gaze fixed on the chessboard in front of him. "The pawns are always the first to fall," he murmured, moving a piece.
Ezra glanced over at him. "Yeah? Well, the pawns don't have to deal with glowing keys and ominous warnings."
Barnaby didn't respond, his fingers hovering over the board as if deep in thought. Ezra sighed, leaning on the mop handle.
"Why do I get the feeling you know more than you're letting on?" Ezra asked.
Barnaby finally looked up, his eyes gleaming faintly in the dim light. "Because I do."
Ezra blinked, caught off guard by the sudden clarity in Barnaby's voice. Before he could respond, the man turned back to his game, muttering under his breath.
"Right," Ezra said, shaking his head. "Because nothing in this place is ever straightforward."
He dipped the mop back into the bucket, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand. No matter how strange things got, the floors weren't going to clean themselves.
CREATORS' THOUGHTS 
furrfun
furrfun "Ezra, multitasking champion of haunted inns, somehow manages to mop floors while dealing with cryptic warnings and glowing keys. Would you survive a shift here, or would you just quit and run? Let me know while I double-check that none of my house keys are glowing."
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone