Her initial thought, after seeing the inn along the horizon for the first time, was that it was on fire. The setting sun, with its orange haze, was shimmering through the distant tree line. The trees, their tall shapes standing like toy soldiers, were all dressed up with their red and orange and yellow leaves. The light warm wind rustled the branches, causing glints of fire light to sparkle along the ground. The effect was disquieting and she finally lowered her head to shield it. This last day of October was stunning, summer was still hanging on for dear life, and the temperature was warm enough to allow Sarah to leave her car window open. She turned and looked lovingly at Michael, her hand preoccupied, and he smiled at her.
She and Michael loved their weekend trips. They took turns, each of them picking a month and planning where they were going to go and what they were going to do. This weekend, after spending last night in Baltimore, was Michael's and tonight he was going to surprise her with something "different for Halloween". Despite the gorgeous day, so far, it hadn't turned out as he had planned.
"Who did you say gave you the phone number to this place?"
"A fellow standing outside of that Holiday Inn. Keep doing that, Sarah, yes, please."
"Because I tried looking up their website and they don't have one. Who doesn't have a website in this day and age?"
"I'm not sure. The guy I spoke to on the phone seemed nice and the room was cheap, really cheap, actually."
She removed her hand from his throbbing crotch and pointed towards the neon sign. "There's the inn, Michael, right up ahead. See the sign?" She glanced down and saw his length pressing up against his jeans. If she unzipped him, she knew he would spring out like a jack-in-the-box.
"You are such a tease, do you know that?"
"Yes, I do know that. I figure you'll be nice and ready for later, sweetie." She batted her long eye lashes at him seductively and played with her long brown hair.
"You're not playing fair."
This was their game on their trips. They would rub and suck at each other, someone might get off and sometimes they wouldn't. Forty five minutes ago, she got off; Mike had pulled over onto the side of the road and hidden the car in an outcropping of trees. She had climbed in the back and he had eaten her sweetness with her legs pressing up against the front seats. In evil retribution, over the last mile, she had been stroking him over his jeans.
"I always play fair."
"You're wearing that dress tonight, too, aren't you?"
"Maybe."
They passed the front of their destination, The Weary Traveler's Inn, and her first impression was how quaint it looked. The Dutch colonial sported a lovely front porch, with two white rocking chairs, a white table with an orange candle, and a scarecrow, with pumpkins and some straw bales. The scarecrow was smiling at her. Behind the house and off in an L, was a larger attached building. The inn was nestled in between two large fields, their yellow and green carpets swaying briskly in the fall wind. A parking arrow led the way and he parked the car, cutting the engine.
"This looks nice enough, Michael, but can you please tell me what happened to our reservation at the Holiday Inn again?"
"I told you. I'm not sure. They couldn't find it. I know I called and made them last month. Everything else in town is sold out."
"Sold out? What's going on around this rinky dink little town? It didn't seem very big to me."
"It's part of the surprise. Come on, let's check-in."
He got out of Michael's BMW X1, his birthday gift to himself last year, and he grabbed their bag from the trunk. Her purse lay in the backseat, its contents strewn about haphazardly and she gathered it up in her arms. Her arms were overloaded and she bumped the seat on the way out and everything spilled out onto ground. A gust of wind came up, scattering the items around, and she froze in horror as she saw her handkerchief, the initials SG, get grabbed by the rough breeze and skitter along the gravel surface, heading towards the inn.
"Quick, Michael, my father's handkerchief! Do you see it over there? Grab it!"
"Which one?"
"You know the one with SG on it? My father's! Quick, before the wind blows it away!"
The wind blew strongly again, whipping her hair, and driving bits of gravel across the parking lot. The handkerchief got caught up in the gust, was forced into the air, and it flipping end on end and up and over the Inn's gutter. She watched it bounce along the pitched roof and then it was lifted again until it balanced precariously on the chimney opening. It clung there, its sides flicking rapidly from the strong wind. Then, without warning, it was sucked down the hole.
"Damn it! Oh, I can't believe it, Michael! I never should have taken it with me. I don't know what I was thinking."
"I'm sorry, dear. I can inquire about where that chimney goes once we get inside. Come on, let's check-in."
They walked past the neon sign, "THE WEARY TRAVELERS INN! ESTABLISHED 1952", which was swaying slightly from the breeze. Sarah stopped and glared up at the front of the inn, with its white paint, green shutters, and large front door. Two orange candles flickered in the top front windows, the white curtains pulled shut. It looked like the house was winking at her. Come to think of it, she thought, the eaves looked like a giant eyebrow and the open doorway resembled a large mouth. Sarah didn't like it one bit. She shuttered. Michael walked through the door and she couldn't help but feel that the house had swallowed him whole, like it had her handkerchief.
"Don't be ridiculous, Sarah" she said. She followed Michael in.
---------------
Her ears popped and the world sounded hollow. Last time she had felt anything like that was on her flight to visit her parents in Florida six months ago. Chewing a stick of gum had helped and she sure wished she had some now. She rubbed her ears and looked around the lobby. The sign out front had said established in 1952 and the décor hadn't changed much since then. The walls were covered in wood paneling and the ceiling was a stark white. A large, plush red couch and table were stuffed into the corner. An older couple was sitting there, he had his hand on her leg, and they were talking, closely. She thought it odd that there was nothing modern anywhere, no cellphones, no wall mounted televisions, no digital screens, and no computer monitors on the front desk. A payphone was setup by the front door. The front desk was made of oak and looked sturdy and tall. Cigarette ads had been taped to the front, all the women looking sexy while enjoying a cigarette. To Sarah, the ads looked disgusting. There was a little silver desk service bell on the corner. She found Michael chatting with the front desk clerk, who was chewing on the end of a pencil.
"How long you folks planning on staying again? I'm Ray, the front desk man here at the Traveler's."
