Episode 1
1
In her dream, Drucilla Holloway stood barefoot on a cool stone floor, gazing out an enormous, arched window into the stillness of the dark summer night.
Stars dotted a velvet sky like a canopy of twinkle lights over the vast meadow below and the treetops of the forest beyond.
This was the setting of the hotel where she worked. She was sure of it. But in her waking hours, she had never seen it from above this way, at an angle that made it all look small and sweet, like a drawing in a book of fairy tales.
A cooling breeze swirled through the window, filling the room with the scent of roses.
Her dream-self knew that she was waiting for something.
But she couldn’t remember what…
Footsteps rang out on the stone floor behind her, but she didn’t turn.
He’s here…
Her heart pounded in anticipation, and she closed her eyes against the rush of emotions that threatened to overwhelm her.
The footsteps slowed, and Dru could smell the cool, clean scent of him. She could practically feel his touch, even before his arms slid around her waist, pinning her to him.
“Drucilla,” he murmured into her hair, his dark voice sending shivers down her spine.
No one called her that. Even to her family, she had always been just plain Dru.
His lips trailed slowly down her jaw toward the tender place where her neck met her shoulder.
She moaned lightly, already shivering with need.
His mouth left a warm trail of honeyed sweetness wherever it touched.
Sensations washed over her in waves. Behind her closed eyelids, she saw roses blooming and withering, a forest growing taller, suns rising and setting so fast they seemed to strobe.
“Please,” she whispered, not even knowing what she was begging for.
But no sound left her lips.
She tried again, desperate for him to hear her.
A strange sound erupted from her throat and she tried to move out of his grip.
But reality was bleeding in at the edges now…
Dru was vaguely aware that she wasn’t really in the room with the stone floor.
She was held fast, not by the arms of her mystery lover, but by the threadbare quilts she’d been tossing and turning in. And the only roses were the ones on the wallpaper.
She sat up and ran a hand through her hair.
Soft, late-afternoon sunlight bled through the sheer curtains, catching the dust motes mid-waltz.
The light cast a warm glow around the room, but the actual temperature was practically frigid. The hot water in the radiators seemed to go tepid well before it reached her on the third floor of the old hotel.
She sighed, and half-expected to see her own breath plume in the chilly air. It was winter, and Dru had been dreaming of summer again.
She shivered and tried to shake the clinging feeling that something wasn’t right.
A quick look around told her everything was in its place. Built-in bookcases flanked the window seat and lined the wall beside the bed. They were all overflowing with tattered paperbacks and assorted reference books - everything from The Elements of Style, to The Unofficial Star Trek Cookbook, to something called Encyclopedia Vampirica. The overstuffed chair in the corner was still just as covered in unwashed laundry as it always was. And her grandmother’s ancient Smith Corona typewriter awaited her atop the antique desk, silently judging her for all the pages she hadn’t written yet.
The thousand drooping roses on the wallpaper disappeared into the shadowy areas in the eaves, keeping watch over the whole scene, as if she were living in a creepy Victorian doll house instead of a “homey” Bed & Breakfast in the Pocono mountains of Pennsylvania.
But overall, the vibe suited Dru just fine. She was here to work on a horror novel after all, not get featured in Better Homes & Gardens.
Her stomach grumbled, clearly less concerned about the decor than the provisions.
She glanced at the clock - 4:30PM - time for breakfast.
Dru slid out from between the quilts, quickly pulling on a bulky sweater and a pair of well-worn slippers. She headed to the mini-fridge to grab some milk, and dumped the remainder of a bag of Fruity Dyno-Bites into a bowl that she was pretty sure was clean.
No matter how long she worked the overnight shift Dru still preferred breakfast foods as her first meal of the day.
The tiny kitchen of Hemlock House offered meals only at appointed, traditional times. In half an hour, Constance, the only cook, would ring the bell to announce that the dining room was open. Anyone willing to sit at the communal table could choose a plate of gray meat and even grayer potatoes or a half-hearted vegetarian option. Either way, the meal was served with a side of wacky conversation from the odd assortment of hotel guests, and a buttered roll.
Dru carried her off-brand sugary cereal over to the window seat and looked out the window as she ate. It wasn’t as good as the real thing, but it turned the milk a startling shade of neon pink, which was a plus.
It had snowed an inch or two in the night. The expansive front lawn of Hemlock House was frosted with white, and the gigantic hemlock tree that had given the hotel its name looked like it belonged on the stage of The Nutcracker.
But the tire tracks on the circular driveway swooping up to the front door of the hotel ruined the magical effect. There was a shuttle bus that carried guests to and from the nearby town of Willow Ridge - the locals were really into the whole naming things after trees motif. Willow Ridge was only about a few miles down the mountain, but all the twists and turns in the narrow road made the trip take a half an hour, more if there was snow on the ground. In really bad weather, it was completely impassable.
Fortunately, there wasn’t a big storm in the forecast anytime soon.
Chester Crawford, the groundskeeper, was the only one allowed to drive the shuttle, in any kind of weather. It looked like he had recently brought up at least one new guest, which was good. The old place could certainly use the business.
Dru was at Hemlock House this year in part because she had heard short term rental websites were dominating the Poconos.
If she ever wanted to give herself a working writing retreat at the quaint, possibly-haunted-but-not-really, hotel where her grandmother had worked in the sixties, it was now or never. Most of the smaller places were shutting their doors. She didn’t think Hemlock House would be far behind.
And though the overnight shift was still rough on her now, she was sure once she was used to it, she would get tons of writing done. After all, there would be little else to do.
She finished her cereal, then rinsed the bowl and spoon in the sink of the small attached bathroom.
A quick shower and a few minutes of pawing through her small wardrobe had her dressed and ready for work.
But the sunlight had gone pink already.
“Come on, Dru,” she told herself.
She had time to kill before she had to report for duty. She’d probably head down early and catch up with Hailey, but first, she was going to settle into some writing. She could knock out a few hundred words, if she was focused.
Dru sat down at the desk and faced off with the robin’s-egg-blue Smith Corona, its single blank page full of wonder and possibility, like a layer of new snow before some shuttle bus comes along and screws it up.
Typewriters weren’t exactly the most cutting-edge writing tool, and this one didn’t even have a working ‘8’ key, but the internet coverage was spotty in the mountains, and Dru really didn’t need the distraction of social media on her laptop anyway.