Under the service sign stretched a well-worn wooden check-in counter, with a tiny clapper bell and a ledger on top with an old fashioned cabinet of mail/key cubicles; lucky to find a place open and with electricity in a storm where winds snapped tree trunks and sheet-bucket rain blinded.
An elderly gentleman shuffled out of the darkness beyond the service sign, “Miss Cavanaugh, we readied your room just in case – with this weather and all – but I see a mistake has been made – wrong reservation;” closing the ledger, he shuffled back into the darkness.
I hurt, blood and rain ran down my face blinding me; those wonking in and out sirens were headed this way; so Jonathon, not stirring beside me, must be the right reservation in the ledger under the service sign.
Once again, I stretched the meaning of a sentence so there would only “appear” to be three. I am quite the little rebel at times.
Written for TLT, week 36 hosted so graciously and ingeniously by Sonya of only 100 words; photo by Mike Wilson – click here for bigger version
Lorraine's frilly freudian slip 
October 9, 2016 at 4:34 pm
You’ve done a great job creating a dark, desolate backdrop for this story. Very mysterious!
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October 9, 2016 at 8:32 pm
Thank you — that was the feeling I was aiming for.
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October 8, 2016 at 11:27 am
Nice atmosphere throughout – isolated, run down, dark and lonely. Great stuff :)
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October 9, 2016 at 8:33 pm
Thanks Lynn. With Halloween coming . . .
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October 10, 2016 at 12:40 pm
Ah, darkness is round every corner, even in broad daylight and the world smells of leaves and moss, a hint of tin and woodsmoke. The worlds thin. :)
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