Chapter 2: First Impressions

The dining hall of Deadly Delights Inn had all the charm of a dusty museum exhibit, complete with mismatched chairs and a long table that looked like it had been stolen from a gothic mansion. The faint light from fogged windows did little to brighten the room, and Ezra had the distinct feeling that the shadows in the corners were laughing at him.

Standing awkwardly near the entrance, he clutched his mop like a nervous schoolboy holding flowers on prom night. His stomach growled, but the faintly glowing soup on the table wasn't exactly calling to him.

The swinging kitchen doors banged open, and a burly man stomped into the room, carrying a tray piled high with an assortment of dishes. His apron was a mess of stains, and his gruff expression made it clear he wasn't here to chat.

"Breakfast!" the man bellowed, slamming the tray down on the table hard enough to make the plates rattle.

Ezra flinched, glancing nervously at the green soup again. It shimmered faintly, like it was trying to communicate. "Uh... that's safe to eat, right?"

The man shot him a look that could have curdled milk. "It's food, isn't it?"

Ezra decided not to push the issue. Instead, he extended a hand awkwardly. "Hi, I'm Ezra. The new cleaner."

The man ignored his hand entirely, crossing his beefy arms. "Mr. Pibb. I cook. You clean. Stay out of my kitchen, and we'll get along just fine."

"Got it," Ezra said quickly, lowering his hand. "No mop in the kitchen. Message received."

Before he could embarrass himself further, the sound of a chair scraping drew his attention. At the far end of the table, a woman in a flowing green gown rose gracefully, as though the chair itself had carried her. Her dark hair was pinned back elegantly, and her sharp green eyes seemed to pierce right through him.

"You must be the new help," she said smoothly, her voice like silk over a blade. "I'm Lady Marrow."

Ezra nodded, trying not to stare at the way her gown seemed to shimmer faintly, as if it were alive. "Ezra," he managed. "Nice to meet you."

Her lips curved into a faint smile, though it didn't reach her eyes. "Welcome to Deadly Delights. For your sake, I hope you're more... durable than the last one."

Ezra swallowed. "The last one?"

Lady Marrow picked up a teacup with delicate precision, taking a slow sip. "Oh, don't worry about that. Just remember the rules."

"Right," Ezra said, forcing a smile. "Don't bother the guests, don't touch the locked door upstairs, and definitely don't—"

"Do anything foolish," she finished for him, her smile sharpening. "Yes, those are good rules to follow."

At the other end of the table, an older man with wild gray hair and a disheveled jacket was hunched over a chessboard, muttering to himself. He moved a pawn forward with trembling fingers.

Lady Marrow's eyes flicked toward him. "That's a mistake, Barnaby."

The man grumbled under his breath, squinting at the board. "I know what I'm doing."

"Do you?" she asked, her tone mocking. "Checkmate in three moves."

Barnaby glared at her but didn't reply, his attention returning to the chessboard. Ezra glanced between them, unsure if the tension was playful or the kind that ended in murder.

"Don't just stand there gawking," Mr. Pibb barked from the kitchen doorway. "Either eat or get to work!"

Ezra grabbed a roll from the edge of the table and made a hasty retreat, his stomach rumbling in protest as he bit into the dry bread.

---

Later that morning, Ezra found himself in the library, a cavernous room that seemed to stretch into infinity. Bookshelves climbed toward the vaulted ceiling, crammed with every kind of tome imaginable. Dust swirled lazily in the air, illuminated by the soft glow of the lanterns. The faint crackle of a fire in the hearth added a warmth that was missing everywhere else in the inn.

Ezra grabbed a feather duster and set to work, starting with the nearest shelf. The titles ranged from familiar classics to books written in languages that looked more like art projects than actual text.

One, in particular, caught his eye. It was bound in black leather, with no title or markings to hint at its contents. The cover gleamed faintly in the firelight, as though inviting him to take a closer look.

"Bad idea," he muttered to himself, reaching for the book anyway.

The pages were filled with dense, spidery text in a language he didn't recognize. Strange diagrams adorned the margins—circles within circles, intersecting lines, and symbols that seemed to hum faintly when his eyes lingered on them too long.

"Not many can read that one," a voice said suddenly, startling him so badly he dropped the book. It landed on his foot with a painful thud.

"Ah!" Ezra yelped, hopping on one foot and clutching his toes. The elderly woman standing a few feet away didn't even try to hide her amusement.

"Sorry," Ezra said, wincing as he set the book back on the shelf. "Didn't mean to snoop."

"You're not snooping," she replied, her silver hair catching the firelight. "The library is here for everyone. Though some books are better left unopened."

He frowned. "What is it, anyway?"

"A journal," she said, her voice calm. "It belonged to a guest who fancied himself an expert in... darker subjects."

"Darker like, ghosts and demons? Or darker like the tax code?" he asked, trying to lighten the mood.

Her faint smile didn't falter. "You'll find that curiosity is often unkind."

Before he could ask what that meant, she turned and disappeared into the maze of shelves. Ezra stared after her for a moment, then shook his head.

"Yep. Totally normal. Definitely not about to die horribly," he muttered, returning to his dusting.

---

By the time night fell, Ezra was exhausted. His narrow cot looked more appealing than it had any right to, and he collapsed onto it with a groan. The events of the day played in his mind like a bad dream—Lady Marrow's cryptic remarks, Mr. Pibb's disdain, and the strange journal in the library.

He closed his eyes, hoping for sleep. But instead, the whispers came.

At first, they were faint, like the rustling of leaves. Then they grew louder, their unintelligible murmurs pressing against his ears. Ezra sat up, his heart pounding.

"Could you not?" he muttered, pulling the blanket over his head. "Some of us are trying to sleep."

The whispers stopped abruptly. For a moment, the silence was worse. Then, from the hallway, a soft knock echoed against the door.

Ezra froze. The knock came again, louder this time.

Sliding off the cot, he grabbed the mop leaning against the wall. "Whoever's out there, I'm armed," he called, holding the mop like a baseball bat.

The hallway was empty when he cracked the door open. Lantern light flickered faintly, casting long shadows that swayed like they were alive. Ezra slammed the door shut and locked it, his breath coming in shallow gasps.

"That's it," he muttered, climbing back into bed. "I'm sleeping with the mop from now on."

The whispers didn't stop.