Do Not Disturb(14)

Greta is silent for a moment. She stares up at me with those watery, red-veined eyes.

“No,” she says. “Nick would never do something like that. The police had it wrong. I told them as much.”

I let out a breath and my shoulders sag. I don’t know what I would have done if Greta told me she thought Nick was a murderer. But of course she wouldn’t think that. Why would she live here if she thought the owner was a killer?

“But there was another reason they thought Nick killed her,” she adds.

I raise my eyebrows. “What reason?”

Her slightly yellow tongue protrudes from her mouth and she licks her lips. “I don’t like to tell tales.”

Really? Because it seems to me she likes to tell tales very much. But I can’t say that.

She holds the socks out to me, and I take them. The material feels rough in my hands, like they haven’t been worn in decades. But they will do.

“Thank you,” I say.

She nods. “Be careful.”

I don’t know what she means by that. She’s not wrong—I am in danger. But she doesn’t know why.

As I turn, I come face-to-face with yet another mirror. Why does she have so many mirrors in her room? It’s hard to look at myself right now. My blond hair is limp and lifeless, and so short now that I don’t even recognize myself. My eyes look sunken in their sockets, and my cheeks are dark as well. If anything looks frightening in this place, it’s me.

“I love mirrors,” Greta tells me. “Mirrors are the barrier between the conscious and unconscious mind. Everyone has an inner concept of themselves, but mirrors are reality. What you see right now—that is the truth that everyone else sees.”

“Right,” I mumble.

“If you stay here,” she says, “I’ll do a reading for you tomorrow. You may find it enlightening.”

“That’s okay. I’m not staying.”

“The future may surprise you.”

If I wasn’t feeling so uneasy, I might have rolled my eyes. This woman can’t see into the future. She doesn’t even have socks in her drawer. She’s obviously trying to scare me. I bet nobody even died in room 201. She probably made the whole thing up to freak me out.

Well, it won’t work.

“Thanks for the socks,” I say. “I’ll leave them on your doorstep in the morning.”

“Keep them,” she says. “You should have an extra pair of socks.”

It’s a nice gesture, although the second I make it out of here, I’m going to buy some socks in a drugstore or something. And some hair dye.

I slip out of her room, the socks clutched in my right hand. I can’t see the future but I predict I will never see this woman again.





Chapter 9


The socks are horrific.

I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, considering what that woman’s room looked like. They are just as stiff and uncomfortable as I thought they would be, but the worst part is the pattern on them. At first, I think it’s just diamonds and ovals. But after a second, I realize what it actually is. Eyes.

The pattern on the socks is eyes.

Just as I get the eyeball socks on, I hear a knock at the door. I nearly fling it open, but then I remember Greta’s story about the woman who was murdered in her room. “Yes?”

“It’s Nick. I’ve got a turkey sandwich for you.”

Just as he says the words, my stomach lets out a growl. I had almost forgotten how hungry I was. I unlock the door, and Nick is standing there with a white plate in his hand.

“Thank you!” I take the plate from him and without even putting it down, I grab half of the sandwich and start stuffing it in my mouth. Mmm…

He laughs at my eagerness. “Good?”

“Yeah, so good. Sorry I’m being rude.”

“Not at all.” He grins. “I’m just glad you like it. It’s just, you know, whatever we had in the fridge.”

I stuff another bite into my mouth. “What do I owe you?”

He shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it. Meals are included.”

“Oh. Okay.” I feel a little bad about it, considering he doesn’t have many guests, and it looks like this place is falling apart, so I’m thinking he’s not rolling in it. But then again, I’m not in any position to be throwing around money. “Thank you again.”

He glances down at my feet. “I see you got your socks. Greta gave them to you?”

“Yes, she did. She’s, um, very interesting…”

Nick throws back his head and laughs. “Yeah, she is, isn’t she? Did she offer to tell your fortune?”

Despite myself, I laugh too. “Yes, she did.”

“That’s her thing. She was some sort of carnival psychic. It’s all a good show.”

I pause before taking another bite of my turkey sandwich. “Did she ever tell your fortune?”

He snorts. “Yeah. She told me the usual thing. You’re going to die young. Horrible misfortune. Like I said, it’s a good show—it’s what she does. I wish she could’ve told me about that pipe breaking. Now that would’ve been useful.”

I swallow a chunk of turkey and bread. “Did a woman really die in room 201?”