As the minibus exited the M180 motorway and drew near to its destination, tall pines crowded the sides of a long main road. They formed a grey-green tunnel, casting long shadows in the late-afternoon light. The day was cloudless yet strangely forbidding, Reverend Morris mused.
"Well the weather's a lot better than it was this morning!" Jenna said, knocking her husband out of his thoughts. "The land sure is flat round here. No hills anywhere."
"I think some parts of the Fens are below sea level," Reverend Morris said. "The highest point is Wold's Top. Lots of beautiful areas for walking and such, shame we haven't the time to explore the Wolds. Oh well, there'll be other times. I'm looking forward to getting off this bus and stretching my legs, though!"
A road sign appeared. Epworth, 2 miles.
A few houses were tucked in the purple gloom among the trees on both sides of the road; their windows glowed with soft yellow light even an hour before nightfall. Most were Georgian-era red brick cottages with terracotta roof tiles.
The Parson's Knob was a 3 storey building dating back to the 1690s. Once a coaching inn, it had gone through various occupations before being converted into a hotel. As the minibus pulled onto the car park, a peculiar sense of wrongness immediately overcame Reverend Morris. He could not identify the reasons for his instant negative reaction to the place, though perhaps it was related to the sombre interplay of light and shadow caused by the tall conifers encircling the car park. At this dying end of the January day, in the cheerless sunlight, the white painted exterior of the building gleamed as if built from time-bleached bones. The shadows cast by the trees were stark, spiky, razor-edged.
Exiting the minibus, the small group made their way into the hotel. There was no-one at the reception desk.
"Ah, typical British service," Gordon muttered to Barry. "Non-existent."
As the group waited for a member of staff to arrive, Reverend Morris paused to study the other guests in the lounge. Not many were there, four or five people, mostly middle-aged. They also struck him as wrong, though his reasons for thinking ill of them were less definable than those that fanned his impression of the hotel itself. They looked uneasy, one man wandering around with peculiar air of urgency that seemed unsuited to a old-fashioned hotel such as this.
Reverend Morris sighed and headed back to the reception desk, telling himself that his imagination was running wild.
Gordon, not known for patience, pressed the bell on the reception desk again.
"Does anyone work at this place? We've been stood here for ten minutes!"
Moments a later, an overworked-looking Eastern European woman came hurrying behind the desk.
"I'm so sorry for your wait! We're really short-staffed at the moment. Many workers have gone on strike."
"Makes a change from being absent due to testing positive I suppose," Gordon replied and the vicar pulled a face at him.
"We've only four rooms available, the receptionist replied. "A lot of rooms are...being redecorated. Mr and Mrs Morris, you're in Room 13, which has a double bed." She turned to the others. "Which leaves three rooms, all with two single beds. Someone will have a room of their own, but the other four of you will have to share. Are you gentleman okay with sharing?"
Josh looked at Norman. "That's fine by me."
Gordon looked horrified. "I'm not sharing a room with my cousin. He snores!"
"What? No I don't!" Barry shouted.
"You do. When I was seeing to you over Christmas when you had that broken ankle, you nodded off on the couch and your snoring was that bad, doors were opening and closing."
Ahmed the bus driver attempted to calm the situation. "I don't mind sharing. My wife snores. They can hear her snores in Bradford. I'm used to it though. I just put my wireless earbuds in."
"Okay, thanks, that's sorted then. Mr Leesmith, you get the room of your own then, yes?"
"Suits me!" Gordon smiled. "I prefer a room all to myself."
Jenna smirked. "Unless you have to share a room with a woman...or a pipe organ, right?"
He winked back at her. "You know me so well!"
Barry raised an eyebrow. "Hmm..."
Reverend Morris and Jenna trudged up three flights of stairs to get to the room, seeing as the lift was out of order.
"Good thing we've just got overnight bags instead of heavy suitcases," he said. "I'm not too enamoured with this place so far."
"What do you expect for such a low price though? It could be so much worse. It's dated and badly in need of re-decorating, but it seems clean enough. Cheer up Simon!" Jenna said. Already she was thinking of Gordon, all alone in his room. Maybe I could read him a bedtime story...
"Yep, you're right. Sorry for being such a misery guts today. Not very Christian is it?"
The vicar had arrived with the knowledge that something was rotten there, so of course he saw ominous signs in a perfectly innocent scene.
At least that was what he told himself. But he knew better.
During the wait at the reception desk, he'd overheard two of the guests discussing the hotel. Why had the Albanians left in such a hurry? What was the real reason for the workers going on strike? Reverend Morris had a hunch that the truth, once uncovered, would be unusually disturbing.
Room 13, despite the bad luck associated with such a number, was decent enough - clean, double bed and a view overlooking the River Torne.
