original

Deadly Delights Inn

Author: furrfun

Chapter 1: Welcome to Deadly Delights

The forest stretched endlessly, its skeletal trees looming like ominous sentinels. Shadows played tricks on the narrow dirt path, and every snap of a twig sounded like a whispered threat. A bucket swung against Ezra's leg as he trudged forward, the faint glow of a lantern ahead barely cutting through the mist.

"This is fine," he muttered, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Totally normal. Just me, a mop, and a haunted forest. Really living the dream here."

Adjusting the strap of his worn backpack, he shivered. His jacket did little to block the cold, and his scuffed boots had long since given up their battle against dampness. Every squelch of mud beneath his feet reminded him why he'd taken this job in the first place.

"Only option left," he grumbled. "Just clean up some creepy old inn for a few months, save up, and move somewhere warm. Like... anywhere without skeleton trees."

The reality was simpler, and sadder: Hollow Pines, his hometown, wasn't exactly brimming with job opportunities. His last gig as a store clerk had ended abruptly when the shop owner decided to "embrace automation." A.k.a., replacing Ezra with a self-checkout machine. Rent was overdue, his landlord had been sharpening his eviction pen, and the classifieds had been bleak—until the listing for Deadly Delights Inn popped up.

Ezra sighed. "Flexible hours, free lodging, no experience necessary. Translation: We can't find anyone desperate enough to take this job. Until now."

The path twisted sharply, and there it was: the inn.

---

The sign hanging from rusted chains read Deadly Delights Inn, the faded red lettering barely legible. The building itself wasn't much better—it leaned slightly to one side, as though trying to escape the forest's grasp. Cracked stone steps led to a heavy wooden door, its iron handle rusted with time. Faint light glowed from the fogged windows, though it did little to make the place feel inviting.

Ezra stopped, gripping his bucket tightly as he stared at the inn. He glanced over his shoulder at the dark woods behind him.

"Yep," he said aloud. "Definitely not a death trap. I'm sure nothing bad has ever happened here."

Shaking off his hesitation, he climbed the steps, which groaned loudly under his weight. "Just steps being steps," he muttered. "Not foreshadowing at all."

The door creaked open with a sound that could have doubled as the soundtrack to a horror movie. Ezra winced. "Subtle."

The air inside was cold and damp, carrying the faint scent of mildew and... was that iron? Chandeliers hung from the high ceiling, their flickering flames casting restless shadows across the walls. Thick crimson curtains lined the room, muffling what little light the fire offered. A grand fireplace sat at the far end, cold and lifeless, its mantle draped in cobwebs.

Ezra cleared his throat. "Uh... hello? I'm Ezra. The new... cleaner?"

Silence answered him. The oppressive kind that made his skin prickle.

He stepped farther in, the bucket clanking loudly against the floor. For a moment, he wondered if the job was some kind of elaborate prank. Then, a figure emerged from the shadows near the staircase. Ezra's grip tightened on the mop, his heart leaping into his throat.

The man was tall and angular, his sharp cheekbones and hollow eyes giving him the appearance of a marble statue come to life. His tailored suit looked like it belonged in another century, and his pale skin almost seemed to glow in the dim light. His black hair, streaked faintly with silver at the temples, was combed back with military precision.

"You're late," the man said, his voice low and gravelly.

Ezra blinked. "Sorry, I got... lost. You know, woods and all."

The man's piercing gaze didn't waver. "You are here now."

"Right. That's reassuring," Ezra muttered under his breath. "So, uh, are you the manager?"

"I am Grimwald," the man replied. "Owner of this establishment."

"Cool. Nice to meet you," Ezra said, forcing a grin. "Love the decor. Really... embracing the haunted aesthetic."

Grimwald didn't so much as blink. "Room 7 requires your attention."

Ezra frowned. "Attention? Like cleaning attention? Or exorcism attention?"

"An incident occurred," Grimwald said flatly. "You will see."

Ezra hesitated, glancing at the mop in his hand. "Great. Love an ambiguous mystery. Keeps things exciting."

Without another word, Grimwald turned sharply and disappeared into the shadows, his footsteps somehow silent despite the creaky floors. Ezra lingered for a moment before muttering, "Okay. Cool. Definitely not creepy at all."

Grabbing his bucket, he headed toward the staircase. "Room 7. Lucky me."

---

The stairs creaked loudly under his boots as he climbed, each step sounding like a warning. The air grew colder the higher he went, and by the time he reached the landing, his breath puffed out in small white clouds. A single flickering lantern cast dim light down the hallway, its warped wooden walls leaning at odd angles. Most of the doors were shut, their brass knobs tarnished with age. But one near the end stood slightly ajar, faint light spilling through the gap.

"Room 7," Ezra muttered, gripping the mop like a sword. "Here we go. Just a normal cleaning gig. Nothing horrifying about this."

Using the mop, he nudged the door open. It creaked loudly, the sound echoing into the room. Inside, the faint glow of a bedside lamp cast jittery shadows on the walls. A crooked wardrobe stood in the corner, its mirror cracked. The bed, covered in a faded quilt, was slightly off-center, as though someone had shoved it aside in a hurry.

Then his gaze dropped to the floor.

Blood.

Thick streaks of it smeared across the carpet, pooling near the bed and splattering the walls. Ezra froze, his stomach churning. "Oh good," he said weakly. "Fake blood. Love the attention to detail. Very immersive."

A soft sound made him turn. On the edge of the bed sat a woman. She was pale, unnervingly still, and her long black hair fell in straight curtains over her shoulders. Her hands rested in her lap, motionless. She stared at the far wall, as though she hadn't noticed him enter.

"Uh, hi," Ezra said, his voice cracking. "Sorry to bother you. Just here to... clean up."

Slowly, the woman turned her head. Her sharp, dark eyes locked onto him, and he felt his breath hitch. There was something unsettling about her gaze—something cold and piercing that made him want to look away.

"You're not afraid," she said softly.

Ezra let out a shaky laugh. "Afraid? Me? Nah. Fear and I broke up years ago. Totally fine."

Her lips curved into a faint smile, though it didn't reach her eyes. "If that's what you wish to believe."

"Cool. Cool. I'll just... get started, then," he said, dipping the mop into the bucket. The silence in the room felt heavy, pressing against his ears as he scrubbed at the bloodstains.

When he finally turned to leave, her voice stopped him cold. "The woods aren't safe," she said, her tone calm but certain. "Stay inside tonight."

Ezra froze, his hand hovering over the doorknob. "Right. Totally staying inside. Thanks for the tip."

Her faint smile lingered as she turned her gaze back to the wall. Ezra backed into the hallway, letting the door click shut behind him. The oppressive stillness of the inn seemed even heavier now.

"Yep," he muttered, heading back toward the stairs. "Totally fine. Just a haunted inn full of creepy people. Living the dream."