The Bed and Breakfast

Greetings to you truthseekers. On this evening we are graced with a tale from The Curious Dead Cat.

“Shit!” I exclaimed, kicking the tire of my car, which at that moment was stuck in a snow drift. My string of bad luck seemed continue with this latest development. I was stranded in the middle of nowhere with no car, and no end in sight to the blizzard that raged around me.

I huddled deeper into my coat as I made my way up the deserted road. As far as I could tell there were no houses within sight. I figured they were there somewhere tucked amongst the surrounding forest. By walking I hoped that I’d be able to find some sort of life – whether it be a building or a car. 

My hands and face had gone numb by the time I found salvation. The sign reading “Nox Bed and Breakfast” was nearly hidden by undergrowth and snow, but by some luck (good this time), I saw it. As I trudged up the long driveway, I wondered how anyone could make a profit by having a bed and breakfast in the middle of nowhere; especially since the area wasn’t well known for tourism to begin with. 

I rounded a corner, and there before me stood a quaint two story Victorian. The warm purple of its paint and the gingerbread trim made for a welcoming sight. As did the excess of light coming from its windows. 

I knocked on the door, rather loudly for I was eager to get warm, and waited as I heard muffled footsteps approach. The door opened to a lady who wore on her face an inviting grin. Her countless wrinkles and hunched posture relayed her advanced age; even through the creases, I could see that she had been quite beautiful in her youth. 

I greeted her, and she me, as I explained my predicament. My bad luck returned as she exclaimed that her phone lines had been knocked out by the storm. She offered me a place to stay for the night, and a readily agreed. 

As I had no bags to take up to the proffered room, she led me to her sitting room, which was nice and warm thanks to the roaring fireplace in the corner. With a cup of tea soon in hand, I got comfortable in in one of the oversized armchairs. 

She sat half in shadows in her rocking chair, and once again picked up her sewing, which I must have interrupted with my unexpected arrival. We sat in comfortable silence for a bit, until I inquired whether she had any other guests. 

Her reply, “not anymore,” was rather unsettling, but given her age and our location, I figured she was just eccentric. After a bit more small talk, I excused myself to the bathroom, following her whispered directions. 

I finished my business and made to return to the sitting room, when I noticed an odd sound coming from the room at the end of the hall. As I grew closer I noticed what it was – an echoing drip. 

Curious, I pushed open the door and saw it was a storage room of sorts. The cold returned to me then in a sweeping rush, as I my eyes adjusted to the darkness. Hanging from hooks in an orderly row were the remains of three people. I say remains, as they looked like the shells of a person – empty skins hanging there with black pits where their eyes used to be. The dripping now was louder; a loud plink of blood hitting the concrete floor. 

I hastily backed out of the room, and softly shut the door. In a daze – for it felt like I was in a waking dream – I made my way back to the sitting room. 

My mind was utter chaos as I once again found myself in the same room as the old woman. As I entered, she looked up at me and smiled. Her grin no longer seemed friendly, but rather predatory. 

I began to mumble excuses as I backed towards the door. She stopped me with a few words. “Isn’t it beautiful?” she asked, holding up the piece she had been working on. 

My graze was then snagged by the thing she held before me. A patchwork of pale pink skins lay half-draped on her lap. Illuminated by the firelight, I could tell that they came together to form a garb in the shape of a person. She seemed to be proud of the grotesque creation, and stroked it longingly. 

“This new skin shall be my best one yet,” she explained. “This old one,” she tugged on the loose skin of her face, and I saw now that it stretched a little too much, “was getting too worn.” 

With my breath hitching, I could do nothing but nod. I started once again to back up towards the door, but with my eyes fixed on the woman, I didn’t notice the end table behind me. With a crash, it fell to the floor, along with the guest book that lay on its surface. 

The book fell open, revealing its pages filled with the names of people who had been here before me. 

As I turned and fled out the door, I spared a thought for their poor souls.

I hope that the next time you're out traveling and see a quaint bed and breakfast that you'll think twice before stopping for the night. Sleep well, truthseekers.