Guests were screaming. The combined echo of it bounced around in the darkened well the beast named Fred called home. But Margaret didn’t scream. She hadn’t voice enough left for it. Her days of shock and amazement were over. At least for a good long while. Turning away from the railing, because clearly the show was over, she walked across the bamboo floor. Careful to avoid stepping in the blood puddle. Opened the door and stepped out into the hall.

To her great relief, the hallway was entirely empty. Even the help desk in the lobby, which had been manned, to her knowledge, constantly since 1907, was surprisingly vacant. Alone, the greenish fire burned down to its final few flames in the lobby fireplace. She passed it without a sidelong glance, petting the head she carried gingerly. A thirty foot wa...

Please subscribe to keep reading.