𝐒𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞. | ʜᴏʀʀᴏʀ ᴏɴᴇsʜᴏᴛs

𝐌𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐥.

I own an abandoned motel and no, we are NOT open for business
All parts in one chapter!
Word count: 11634

The guy was clearly nervous. After all, it would take a special kind of mental state to ignore the overgrown parking lot and darkened sign. Maybe I should have flipped on the old thing, at least it would have said "No Vacancy." Then again, given this guy's state of desperation, it probably wouldn't have mattered.

"We're closed. Permanently." I said, adding to the finality of my words by crossing my arms.

"Listen, lady, I saw a light on. I'll pay cash." He didn't meet my eyes, constantly glancing around him, cradling a black duffel bag like it was a newborn baby. His appearance was nondescript; age neither old nor young. Perhaps the leather jacket had been a bit flashy at one point, but it had seen better days. He smelled strongly of the river and boat fuel, his accent was Canadian. A clandestine border crossing, clearly. Intriguing circumstances, however, did not change the fact that there hadn't been housekeeping around here in at least a decade.

"Where's your car?" I asked innocently. I could feel the man's anxiety mounting. With a trembling hand he reached into his pocket and threw down a wad of American money, each a hundred-dollar bill.

"Just take my money. I'll sleep on the floor."

Just as I opened my mouth to refuse him again, a leathered hand snatched up the cash.

"Martina!" I gave my manager a dirty look. She fixed our guest with a wide grin of yellow teeth and pulled open the drawer of keys. I nudged her aggressively, but she ignored me.

"I'll get you a key, doll." She purred, producing a key with a miniature foam buoy attached to it. "Room number two. You can't miss it. Numbers only go up to five anyway." She laughed her dry, three-pack-a-day laugh.

"Wait a second, hold on." I grabbed the key out of my manager's hands. "Martina, can I talk to you privately?"

"Lady, I–"

"Just wait. We'll be back in a minute."

I pulled Martina into the office behind the reception desk and closed the door behind us. Martina was laughing again.

"What's your problem, kid? Did you see the cash this guy is handing over?"

"I did. But this is not a functioning motel!"

"Even after your uncle closed this place down, he would make exceptions. People in need, you know."

I sighed. Martina had been around Calnon's Cottages and Motel since my grandfather built the motel in the 1960s. A five-foot-tall woman with a salt and pepper bob, and a penchant for cat sweaters who largely resembled a raisin after decades of tanning and smoking, she had almost single handedly managed the property after the old man died. I was hugely grateful for her and while I realized that I had only shown up to run the place a week ago, I didn't want any trouble from the cops. I can't help it. Uncle Jim was the business mind, but my dad was a lawyer. I inherited his deep sense of risk aversion. Martina patted me on the arm. She wasn't an affectionate woman, but she did always have a soft spot for me.

"Listen, kid. I know. Your dad was always looking over his shoulder too. Nothing wrong with being cautious. But we have bills to pay here. I know Denny took care of you, but that's not going to last forever."

"Once I get the cottages ready for online rental, we won't need to worry about that! We don't need to have some drifter clearly involved in something illegal sleeping in the motel!"

Martina frowned and pulled back the old blinds. It was a clear night, the snow had finally started to thin tentatively. Soon it would be spring, then the tourists would arrive in summer. We didn't have much time to finish renovating.