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I'd come face to face with glossy, blank eyes. A stuffed black bear—claws raised, teeth bared—stared back at me as I swallowed, regaining my breath.

"Jesus," I said, quickly opening the door before the bear decided to move and eat me.

Once I made it through the large double doors and into the lobby, I was welcomed by a warm scent of rich coffee and burning firewood. The interior was enormous, decked in woodsy decor, and had rustic, wooden walls and mahogany floors. To my left, a long patch of hardwood held shiny cherry wood tables with bright blue runners, some of which were occupied by a few older men and women. A buffet bar with fruit baskets and coffee pots ran along the wall, and on the other side of the room was a large sitting area with strategically placed sofas, loveseats, and armchairs. Two remarkable bookcases were packed full of novels, sandwiching an impressive brick fireplace, which was brightly glowing and crackling with the sound of snapping sticks. Coming from Jacksonville, it was a very foreign atmosphere for me, but it was gorgeous. There was even a lovely melody of a piano in the background.

Distracted by my surroundings, I almost missed the small desk that I supposed was a check-in service. A plump woman with gray hair stood behind the desk, glancing over paperwork. She was dressed in a fancier business suit than I would have thought, seeing as we were in the middle of a forest.

Her eyes lit up when she noticed me. "Oh! You must be Isabella Swan!"

I raised my eyebrows, surprised, and a few of the people sitting around the lobby looked up in curiosity. I spied the rude girl from the parking lot staring at me from a doorway that read 'Entertainment Hall.' "Um, yes?" I replied.

"We've been waiting for you all afternoon, honey," the woman said, walking around the desk and stopping in front of me. "I'm Doris Wendler. I own Red Timber. Pleased to meet you!"

She held out her hand and I took it, still a little stunned. Small-town hospitality, I guessed. "Nice to meet you, too," I said, feeling a bit shy.

"Did you have trouble finding the place, Isabella? Did the rain slow you down?" Doris questioned as she picked took my suitcase. I opened my mouth to protest, but she waved a hand and took it anyway.

"Well, both," I admitted with a smile, securing my other two bags on my shoulders. "You can call me Bella."

"Bella," she repeated. "I like it. Did your father start that?"

"You know Charlie?"

"Of course, he's the one who told me all about you!" she said.

Charlie must have called and blabbed. I wondered if Doris might have worked here when Charlie had been a guest so many years ago.

"Best police chief we had as far as I can remember," she continued. "We were all sad to see him go. Though I can't blame him for wanting out of the rain and into the sun. How's he liking Jacksonville?"

"He's … adjusting," I said with a small laugh. It had been hysterical to watch Charlie set foot on the beach with his pale skin and skinny legs, and actually try to surf with Renée.

"Well, give him my best when you speak to him," she said, then gestured all around her, letting her hand sway. "This is our common room. We have a separate dining hall for dinner, but breakfast and lunch are served over in the cafe by the windows. Just grab anything you want from the buffet and seat yourself, though our servers do come around if you want to order anything from the kitchen." She tilted her head in the direction of the curly-haired girl, who perked up and gave me an artificial smile. "That's Jessica who's on duty now, and you'll meet the other girls in no time."

From the pinched look on Jessica's face, I made a mental note to get food from the buffet. If she was ever carrying my order, it was likely to contain her spit.

Doris pointed to the fireplace. "There's tons of books if you feel like curling up by the fire. Beware, there are quite a few with large print for us old folks, but I'm sure a young girl like you will do just fine with all of them!"

"I love to read, so that's perfect," I said.

"Well, that's wonderful," she said warmly. "I'm a fan of the classics, myself. That Charlotte Bronte brings me to tears. Anyway, dear, you're free to read them here or take them to your room—wherever you wish."

She gestured again, saying, "The Dining Hall is straight down that hallway. And this is our Entertainment Hall. We may not be a grand casino, but we try to keep our guests entertained. There's the occasional talent night and game night, and we show movies every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday evening around seven-thirty. Most folk take a drive to Port Angeles during the weekend as well. I could give you some pamphlets on that!"

"Oh, that would be great," I said, trying not to show that I was suffering under the weight of my bags.

"As you can hear, we have a bit of a piano concert going on right now," she said somewhat proudly, signaling to the doorway where Jessica was standing. "Jessica, Mr. Dawes could probably use a refill," she added, a little loudly.

Jessica, who had been staring into the Entertainment Hall, snapped her head in our direction. "Oh," she said, flustered. "Yeah, okay." She had an air of annoyance as she walked over to a man in the buffet area.

"Mr. Masen has been stunning us all with his extraordinary performance," she said, beaming. By the look on her face, I wondered if Mr. Masen knew that he had an admirer. I peeked into the hall to see primarily elderly men and women sitting in fold-out chairs, listening to the pretty music. I couldn't see the man who was playing, but I suspected he looked like my old piano teacher: gray hair, a wrinkly, strict face, and sporting a twisty mustache. Besides Jessica, I wondered if there would be anyone remotely close to my age who was staying there.

Already in a small town, I couldn't imagine any other twenty-somethings who came to a wilderness lodge for the hell of it to spend their time. Just questionably-sane youths like me.

Doris motioned for me to follow her to a huge staircase. "Your room is on the fourth floor," she said.

I glanced up, the tall beams stretching upward and signaling a long climb.

"That floor only has two rooms, which I normally just leave open for show," she said as we climbed, puffing as we carried the extra weight of my luggage. "This house has some history and quite a few famous people have stayed in the upper wing of the house, but I figured Charlie would like you to stay somewhere memorable."

"Oh, you didn't have to do anything special."

"Nonsense. I don't get many young folks coming here. You all can climb the stairs much better than the others, anyway!" She laughed at herself. "It's a nice change and you seem like a sweet girl. Charlie's told me all about you. Have I said that already? Anyway, I think you'll like it."

We reached the top of the stairs and she led me to the right. "We advertise that bathrooms are shared, but this is the only floor where the rooms have their own bathrooms. The rest of the guests here don't know that, so keep it hush-hush if you can."

"Sure," I said, a little relieved to hear that. "Is the other room occupied?"

"Yes, actually," said Doris. "So don't worry, dear, you won't be completely alone. You could always knock and make a friend!" She chuckled, getting that wistful look in her eyes again. "Here we are."

She unlocked the door, pushed it open, flipped on a light switch, and a magnificent glow from an elegant chandelier lit up the whole room. I set my bags down and took in the view.

The furniture was a collection of antiques. The bed was against the left wall—a deep, maple wood carved intricately with flowery designs and covered with a pretty flowered comforter—and a matching night table holding a lamp neighbored the left side. Large, double Victorian windows were parallel to the door, and to the right was a door to the bathroom and a dresser that matched the bed. One on side by the windows, there was a cast iron wood stove, and against the opposite wall, closer to the bed, was a desk and chair that looked like they had been plucked straight out of an Austen novel.

"Wow," I said. "This is beautiful."

Doris's eyes lit up. "Glad you think so!"

I took another look at the stove. "Although, I'm not sure how graceful I'll be with that."

Doris laughed. "Honey, don't worry. You don't have to light it. We upgraded to central air and heating almost twenty years ago."

"Oh good," I said with a chuckle, thinking of how I would have definitely burnt down the whole lodge if I had to handle keeping myself warm with that thing.

"So, Isabella—"

I almost corrected her, but decided to leave it alone.

"I'll leave you to get settled. Come down and get something to eat if you'd like. Everyone's had dinner, but the cook's still here and he'd be glad to whip up something. I'm sure you're starving after your drive. Of course, I understand if you're tired."

"I am tired, actually," I said, omitting the fact that I had embarrassingly inhaled some fast food about an hour ago. "Thanks, Doris. Really, this is great."

She gave me a lively grin. "I'm glad, dear. See you later tonight or tomorrow morning."

For a moment, I wasn't sure if I should tip her, but before I could offer, she closed the door and left me to gaze around my room in awe. Renée would have probably bounced off the walls, thinking of it as an oversized dollhouse to live in. I pulled out my cell phone to see how much reception I had (a single bar—ha!) and called Renée and Charlie to tell them that I had made it there alive. I hung up before they could ramble on with too many questions, and then unpacked my toiletries.

As soon as I sat down on the bed, I craved to bury myself in its blankets. Sleep was tempting, but I felt disgusting from all the traveling and was aching for a shower. The bathroom was very shiny and white, with both a claw-footed bathtub and a shower with sliding doors. The thought of a bubble bath was inviting but I didn't want to fall asleep in the tub, so a steaming shower it was. Afterward, I changed into the first nightshirt visible in my duffel bag and climbed into bed.

I remembered thinking that if I just ignored the tiny blue light of my cell phone charging in the corner, it would be as though I was in another era. The moonlight from outside the windows illuminated the room with a peaceful glow and the sounds of the soft wind and faint raindrops on the windowpanes made everything feel so tranquil. It was still a little scary, thinking that I would be here for weeks without anyone I knew close by, but it seemed like something I could get used to. I had a few other thoughts but was too tired to really concentrate on anything but how soft the bed was. Within minutes, I drifted to sleep.

I dreamt my once-in-a-while recurring dream that night. I was in the meadow again, lying on my back with my arms sprawled over my head. A cool wind blew across my body and rippled the grass, and I opened my eyes to find the clouds stretching and changing shape in the sky. Instead of silhouetting into identifiable figures, they swirled into hazy colors before fading into shades of gray. Then, streaming like water, the fogginess seeped from the sky and started to fall amongst the trees until I couldn't see them anymore. I waited, anticipating the moment when it would envelop me and let me be taken into its intoxicating blanket. But suddenly, the sky turned black and a roar of thunder tore through the atmosphere. It became louder and louder—it seemed to be right next to my ear—

Jerking awake, I quickly rolled over as a clamorous knock came from the other side of the wall. My hair fell into my eyes and I froze, realizing I was perched on the edge of the bed, ready to fall. I didn't dare move to right myself, though. Had there really been a noise or had I just been dreaming?

I waited, but nothing came. No sound.

I didn't think I imagined it, and I knew it was silly, but flashes of childhood fears raced through my thoughts. Dark, hooded figures coming to take me in the middle of the night; a creature under my bed; people who had died wanting to steal my soul; dinosaurs stalking the outside window, hunting. Ever since I'd seen Jurassic Park, I was certain those scaly bitches were out to get me.

"Don't be ridiculous," I whispered, taking a short breath.

It could have been the wood creaking, though that would have been one hell of a creak—if there had even been a sound at all. Man. The last thing I needed in a strange town, far away from sunny Florida, was to be having auditory illusions.

But I wasn't. The second bang from the wall startled me so much that I flipped off the side of the bed, still tangled in the sheets. I hit the floor with a thud, hissing in pain. I tried to scramble to my feet, but in the darkness, I ended up knocking my face straight into the night table.

"Shit," I muttered, placing my hand over my eye, feeling warm, sticky liquid begin to run onto my fingers.

This could not be happening. There was a psychotic ghost in my wall and I was bleeding from the head. I was now officially screwed. Ghosts liked blood, right? No, that was a shark thing.

Oh God, I was getting dizzy and stupid.

"Don't you dare faint," I said to myself, standing up and heading to the bathroom. It would be embarrassing to go unconscious when I was being haunted, after all. That was what happened to the dumb, dramatic chicks that were too hysterical to pull it together in horror movies—they always died first.

I flicked on the bathroom light switch and hesitantly peeked in the mirror, and then had to grip the sink for stability when I saw my reflection.

Blood was streaming down the side of my face, flowing freely from the corner of my eyebrow into my hair, down my neck, and onto my nightshirt. Lightheaded, I blindly reached for a towel, pressed it to my head, and sank down to the cold, tiled floor.

In between slow, deep breaths and a wave of nausea, I listened for any more banging. None came, but I heard something muffled—talking, maybe? It sounded like someone calling out.

Another sick feeling swept over me then, but not from my own accident. Doris had said that the room next to me was occupied. The lodge was full of elderly people. What if someone had fallen and broken their hip or something? Maybe they were banging on the wall for help, and if they were alone, surely no one could hear them from this wing of the house.

Except me.

Standing up slowly, and thankfully not blacking out, I peeked in the mirror once more. I looked like a real creature of the night with blood on my shirt and tangled, bloody hair, and thought if I did manage to help whoever was next door, I hoped I wouldn't give them a heart attack first.

I opened the main door that led to the hallway, which creaked like a ship about to burst, and wondered if this night could possibly have any more horror-movie tropes. All that was missing was the number 1408 on my door and maybe a sign out front that said the Overlook Hotel.

I made my way to my neighbor's door, but I hesitated when I reached up to knock. What would I say if they had just been dreaming and got pissed at me for waking them? For all I knew, Doris and that old dude, Mr. Masen, were hooking up against the wall.

Then I heard it again. The voice. Not speaking, not calling out—moaning. Short, quieter sounds of... maybe pain, or fear? Okay, definitely not cries of passion. I was thankful for that, but then that meant something was likely wrong. I listened for a few more seconds before knocking softly.

The sound that followed made me nearly jump out of my skin. Whoever was on the other side of the door had just gasped aloud and was now panting as though they had been the one forced awake by a loud sound. I was frozen to the spot, afraid to move, and listened silently. At first, I couldn't make out anything, but then heard rustling, followed by footsteps. My eyes widened. They were coming straight for the door and I, for some reason, could not make a move to run back to my room.

I stumbled backward just as the door burst open, and I came face to face with my banging, moaning, panting ghost-neighbor.

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