Moonlit Desires

Welcome to Blackthorn Ridge (2)

(Chloe’s POV)

With that pep talk in mind, I headed up the creaky wooden steps and pushed open the door to the inn. A bell above the door jingled weakly, and I was greeted by the smell of musty wood and... something else. Something faint, but metallic. Like old blood. I wrinkled my nose as I stepped inside, scanning the dimly lit lobby.

A large, dusty chandelier hung overhead, casting weak, flickering light over the cracked wooden floor. The furniture looked like it hadn’t been updated in decades—heavy, dark pieces that seemed out of place in the small, cramped space. There was a reception desk near the back of the room, but no one stood behind it. The woman looked like she hadn't smiled since the Clinton administration.

“Hello?” I called, setting my bag down and walking toward the desk. The old wood creaked under my feet, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched. I turned slowly, scanning the shadows near the stairwell, half-expecting someone—or something—to be lurking there.

Nothing. Just empty space.

I was about to call out again when a woman appeared from a back room, wiping her hands on a dish towel. She was tall and gaunt, with gray hair pulled back into a tight bun and sharp, hawk-like eyes that assessed me with a cool indifference. Her face was expressionless, her lips pressed into a thin, colorless line.

“You must be the journalist,” she said, her voice flat and emotionless.

For a moment, I was taken aback. How did she know who I was? I hadn’t introduced myself yet, and the town wasn’t exactly buzzing with activity.

“Yeah, that’s me,” I said, trying to sound casual as I moved toward the desk. “Chloe Reynolds. I’m here for a room.”

The woman gave a short nod and turned to the wall of keys behind her. She didn’t ask for ID, didn’t check a computer or a ledger. She simply plucked a key from the wall and set it on the counter between us.

“Room 4. Top of the stairs, last on the left,” she said, her voice still devoid of any warmth.

I hesitated, glancing at the key before reaching for it. “Thanks,” I said. “Anything I should know about the town? Seems... quiet.”

Her eyes flicked up to meet mine, and for a split second, something flickered behind them. Something dark. “Quiet’s good,” she said, her tone even more clipped than before. “People who come looking for noise don’t last long.”

I raised an eyebrow, unsure how to respond. Before I could think of something witty—or at least less awkward—she spoke again. “Don’t leave your window open at night. The wind here is... unpredictable.”

I blinked. “Unpredictable? It’s wind.”

Her lips twitched, though it didn’t come close to a smile. “You’ll see.”

And with that cryptic remark, she turned and disappeared into the back room, leaving me standing in the empty lobby with nothing but a brass key and a growing sense of unease.

Great. Wind. That’s what I need to be worried about. Not the fact that I’m clearly in the set of some supernatural thriller where I’m the only one who didn’t get the script.

My room, as promised, was at the top of the creaky staircase, last door on the left. The door itself was old, the wood splintered in places, and the brass knob felt cold and worn under my fingers. I unlocked it, pushing it open with a low groan from the hinges.

The room was... well, quaint was a generous word. Small bed, a nightstand, and a window that looked out over the darkening town. The wallpaper was peeling in some spots, and the floorboards creaked ominously underfoot, but it was clean. That was something, I supposed.

I dumped my stuff on the bed, and flopped down next to it with a groan. “Why am I doing this?” I mumbled into the pillow.

My phone buzzed, and I half-heartedly fumbled for it in my bag. It was a text from my best friend, Sarah.

Sarah: Did you die yet?

Me: Nope, but this town smells like it might. Seriously, it’s like a Tim Burton fever dream.

Sarah: Sounds sexy. Maybe you’ll meet some brooding guy with a dark secret.

I snorted. Yeah, right. If the guys in this town were anything like the gas station clerk, the only dark secret I’d find was their extensive collection of roadkill.

With a sigh, I tossed my phone aside and stood up, glancing out the window. The forest loomed in the distance, dark and sprawling, its edges blending with the shadows that had already begun to claim the town. The sun had nearly set, casting everything in a deep, amber glow, and as I watched, a low mist began to roll in from the woods, curling along the ground like fingers stretching out toward the town.

I shivered, though the room wasn’t cold. Something about this place... something wasn’t right. I could feel it.

The forest was closer than I’d realized, stretching out endlessly beyond the town. It was beautiful in a way—wild, dark, mysterious. Like it held something ancient, just waiting for someone dumb enough to find it.

And I guess I was that someone.

I turned away from the window, pulling my laptop from my bag and setting it on the small desk near the bed. Time to do some digging.