“Are you Franklin by any chance?”
“Yep, that’s me” I reply.
“Ah, excellent!” The neatly dressed man with beady eyes exclaims. “My name is David. I own the Spring Creek Inn down the road, but I guess you know that already!”
Something funny about his face… has he had a stroke? “Of course! David. How are things going at the inn?”
“Oh we’re hanging in there, but we’re in dire need of someone like you Franklin.”
“Call me Frank.” I say with a smile.
As we drive away from the bus station and up into the forested side of the mountain, in the warm confines of his van, I speak “I want you to know how much this job means to me. Its–“
“More to us than you, Franklin. I assure you.” He winks.
The trees press close as we turn into the driveway of the Spring Creek Inn. Outside the van, the air is frigid and steam pours from our mouths. In the sky, bloated gray clouds sit stagnant. David helps me with my luggage, and leads us inside a small, poorly lit lobby. Potted, plastic flowers rest on either side of the front desk. Those will have to go.
A diminutive woman sits behind the desk, observing expectantly through cat-eyed spectacles. A man and woman stand beside her. All grin widely, displaying perfect sets of teeth. I look behind me and David too reveals a flawless smile. I wait for a greeting, but am faced with silence. Finally David says, “Welcome, Franklin, to our small establishment! This is my wife, Mable, who keeps the books. My son, Jeffery, and my daughter Elizabeth who run the kitchen and maintain the rooms.”
“Pleased to meet you all.” I tell them, shaking their hands in turn.
Each returns the handshake and utters “Welcome Franklin!”
“Please, call me Frank! I’m very excited to be here and I look forward to working with you!”
“We too are simply ecstatic for your presence! As you can see, our inn could do with some… changes.” David replies. “But come! I’m sure you are tired. Let me show you to your room.”
The plaque on the door to my new room for the next month or so reads “Manager”.
Later in the evening, David’s daughter delivers a tray with a bowl of soup, a plate of pasta and a pitcher of water. “Thank you Elizabeth.” I say as I take the tray from her hands. By the light of the only lamp, it becomes more and more difficult to read my novel. Why am I so tired? As I reach towards the bedside table, the book tumbles from my numb hand. Why is my hand numb? My body slumps to the side, as if weighed down. I cannot turn over. I cannot get up. The armoire across from me opens on oiled hinges. One by one, all four of them step into the room. The air is thick and my mind sluggish. They breathe heavily. Panting… Their pupils dilated to twice their size. What’s that look they all have? Are they hungry? No. Ravenous. “David?” I slur.
David reaches under his shirt collar and pulls back his face.
Malcolm Cameron
Face It