"I hate this place."

"Um, thanks for that information that I totally didn't care about, I guess," I retorted, rolling my eyes.

"You're welcome," he replied. "Wait-"

"Look, they're vacant!" I interrupted, excitedly, pointing at the sign which indicated so. "Now we can stay here, like you totally wanted."

Based on the glare that Claude gave me, he was trying to figure out how to kill me with his mind again (but we don't talk about that).

Cloud Nine was a sleepy little motel that looked like it was popular literally never. Just no. It was aiming for that cozy cabin feel with its log construction, yet the endless swirl of snow only seemed to emphasize how barren the landscape was- just road stretching on in both directions for as long as you can see, this one little motel with a buddy gas station as a reminder that humanity existed.

We didn't wait long after pulling into the snow-flooded parking lot. Claude and I grabbed our bags from the car and, wishing we had snow shoes, hiked the mighty mountain of snow that had accumulated in front of the entry doors and entered. It sounded fairly easy, but I definitely told Claude to leave me behind more than once. Some gallant force must've awoken within him because he refused to leave me.

The inside of the motel wasn't much, even in comparison to the outside. It smelled like elderly people, all moths and old books (with their fading glue and words and pages) and the too-strong mints they pop in their mouths to distract from the stench of their denchers. The carpets were the dusty purple of an old bruise, the walls papered with flowers that had probably gone extinct since their placement on these walls, but at least all of the furniture seemed to be comfortable underneath its blanket of dirt.

"This is charming," Claude muttered, sarcastically.

"Couldn't have said it any better myself," I grumbled.

"Is there even anyone in here?" Claude asked, in a hushed tone as we looked around. "Maybe when the sign said vacant, it meant of anyone."

"Don't you think you're being a tad dramatic?" I insisted. "I mean, at least we can count on the ghosts."

"Gh-ghosts?"

"Well, a place like this is pretty much guaranteed to be haunted," I reasoned. "Do you want to bet how many murders have been committed in here? Or better yet, the ratio of homicides to suicides? I'm think, maybe, seven to six, but you can nev-"

"Hello?"

Immediately, Claude let out a shriek. It was very high and a little shiver ran through his body, his blue eyes widening with fear. I wish I had gotten a picture of it. It only got better when he spoke in a stammered mush. "W-we're sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Gh-ghosts. We di-didn't mean to of-offend you."

"Ghosts?" Suddenly, an middle-aged woman appeared out of what seemed a wall. I could feel my own eyes widening, bewildered. Claude must be right . . . There was no one a normally dimesioned person should be able to walk through a wall. She's a ghost. They're all ghosts. All of them.

Then she started to laugh.

This place really was the setting for a horror movie.

I grabbed Claude's arm. "Maybe we should go."

"Are you kidding?" Claude whispered back. "This is like some Stephen King type shit."

I almost stepped back from him. "Exactly, Claude. That is literally exactly why we need to leave right now . . . oh, no. Are you in on this, too? Did you plan this? Are you going to kill me?"

Before I had the opportunity to respond (or Claude the chance to kill me in a scene that wouldn't be PG13 enough for Criminal Minds), the woman called out. "Earl, you have to come down here! There are some kids in the lobby who think I'm a ghost. Bring the camera!"

"Wait . . . so you aren't a ghost?" Claude asked. He almost sounded disappointed.

"You should ask my beating heart that question," the woman responded, before chuckling again.

Suddenly, there was a series of several thump, thump, thumps and a man appeared right behind the woman. He was a colossal figure of a man, stretching the fabric of his plaid shirt with his broad frame, and was breathing heavily. "D-dear . . . I brought the . . . camera, like you asked . . . what's happening?"

"Earl, dear, we have customers," the woman told him, wearing a smile and grabbing his elbow. "And they think we're ghosts."

Earl laughed. "Well, I know I might be graying a little bit, but I haven't been called a ghost before."

By graying, Earl meant that he already had an entire head of silvery white hair.

"I'm Earl and this is my wife, Samantha," he told us. "We are the owners of Cloud Nine. I'm assuming you two are looking for refuge from the storm outside."

"How did you know?" I asked, immediately suspicious of the question.

"We never really get people randomly stumbling in unless there's a storm," Samantha explained. "Also, we have eyes . . . so we kind of can see that there's snow outside."

I may have been a little offended, but the sass that she was encompassing made me want to travel the world with her (I mean, Claude almost made me lose my Birkenstocks and I'm literally traveling with him). That didn't stop Claude or Earl laughing at her comment, however. I didn't like Claude laughing at me.

I pinched his side. While he yelping in pain, I asked, "So can we rent out a room?"

Samantha frowned. "I don't know, we're quite full."

"But the sign outside says vacant," Claude reasoned.

"Yeah, vacant of rats," Earl explained.

"And the living in general," I retorted. "You guys are fucking with us, right?"

Samantha laughed. "I like this one, she's feisty."

"But, yes, we might have a couple of rooms available," Earl informed us. "People have been stumbling in all day to avoid the storm, but we might have something for the two of you."

"Now, before we rent out a room, I gotta know something," I told them.

"What is it?"

"How did you get down here? Seriously? It's like you guys just appeared from the wall . . . And I can't be staying here not knowing if you two are ghosts." I could see Claude nodding along to my statement next to me, his eyes gleaming with uncertainty. "I mean, not that I discriminate against the non-living or anything, but- wait, actually, I do."

Samantha and Earl laughed again, but I still felt uncomfortable. Samantha waved us over. "Look, don't worry, we didn't appear out of thin air or teleport through a wall. There's a staircase right here."

"No way," I said, incredulous. "I would've noticed it."

"Well, come look," she insisted.

There was.

Samantha and Earl insisted that they take a picture with "our favorite little ghost hunters" before they'd even start discussing the possibility of renting us a room. I tried to find the perfect smile that let them know that I was classy, but I could still be an essential part of a witch coven if I wanted. You know, for memories sake. And I think I nailed it, based off of the horror on Claude's face when he saw the picture.

*

"Well, here it is," Samantha announced in a booming voice, her keys clattering together as she unlocked the door. "Sorry for keeping you guys in the lobby for a couple of hours . . . we just had to clean the room up and make sure everything was up to the Cloud Nine standard."

I only had to look at it for three seconds for me to confidentially say, "No. Nope. Hell no. We are not staying here."

Instantly, she scowled. "Is there something wrong with the room? I promise, we just cleaned it an-"

"Samantha, the bed is the shape of a heart," I snapped. "A fucking heart. And there are stupid rose petals on the ground, which doesn't exactly seem very hygienic to me, but whatever. Okay, maybe I like the champagne, but is that fucking smooth jazz playing in the background? Are those red satin sheets? I can't j-"

"I'm sorry if this isn't the honeymoon that you two were expecting," she started, gently. "But we aren't exactly a five star resort. We can't exactly afford to have a high quality Honeymoon Suite or-"

"Honeymoon Suite?" Claude interrupted.

"We're not on a honeymoon," I added.

"You're not?" Samantha asked. "Oh, well, this is awkward."

"Yeah, you think?" I demanded. "Do I really look like the type of girl that would settle for him?'

"Hey, I'm right here," he murmured.

"Look, I'm really sorry," Samantha told us. "It's just . . . some of the stuff you were talking about, downstairs, made Earl and I think you had just gotten married."

"Like what?"

"Well, he has a piece of paper taped on his back that says Just Hitched," Samantha explained.

Claude swivelled around to look at me. "Bea?!"

"I meant hitched as in hitch hiker," I reasoned. "Plus, it kept that old lady in the lobby earlier from looking at your butt. So really, if anything, you should be thanking me."

He just sighed.

"And guys kept saying these really sweet, romantic things . . . " Samantha added. "About how you two were starting your journey together. That you guys were headed somewhere to celebrate something special."

"It's the winter holiday season," I deadpanned. "There are lots of things to celebrate."

"You guys could've fooled me, though. Are you guys sure you didn't just get married?" Samantha questioned for the uptenth time.

"Positive," I reasoned. "I have standards."

"Again with the whole saying mean things about me as if I'm not in the room," he muttered.

"Well, this is certainly awkward," Samantha commended. "Earl and I felt so positive that you two were on your honeymoon that we managed to convince the couple originially in this suite to give it up. And then we cleaned up the suite entirely and replaced all of the sheets and whatnot."

"And did you ask them if they were celebrating anything?" I demanded.

"Of course, it's only common courtesty for me to ask," she responded, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "And they weren't. They were just heading to New York for the holiday season."

I could feel my eye twitching. "I . . . You. I-I-I w-we . . ."

"Is she okay?" Samantha whispered to Claude.

He shrugged. "She's probably malfunctioning. Her circuits overheat like that sometimes."

"Oh." Her voice sounded small. "Okay."

"Do you want us to trade back rooms with that other couple?" He asked.

Samantha waved her hand. "The two of them are alreayd comfortable in their new room. So, if you guys could handle it in here . . . well, it would be much appreciated. We'll even give you the champagne free of charge, for Bea, as a symbol of goodwill and our deepest apologies for this misunderstanding."

"That's so nice of you," Claude said. "But you really don't hav-"

"Claude, don't decline free booze." I smiled up at Samantha, finally gaining my voice back.

She chuckled. "Now, that's a good girl, knowing what she wants . . . maybe this room can make you two want each other, eh?"

Claude and I both laughed.

"Not a chance," he said.

"In hell," I added.

"And Satan said it was her or eternal torture," Claude continued.

"And procedded to violently tickle me until I finally made my decision," I concluded.

Samantha gave me a weird look. "Okay, i think I'm going to go now. Don't . . . um, well, I guess don't hurt each other. Or the room. Or anyone else."

I rolled my eyes. "Okay, Mr. Peterson."

Now she scowling again. "Who's Mr. Peterson?"

"My boss," I answered. "You were just personifying him."

"My telling you not to damage other people or the hotel room reminded you of your boss? How does that . . . " She shook her head. "No. I am leaving. Good day to you both."

Claude turned to me. "Smooth. You have a real way with people. Bea."

"This is . . . cozy," I muttered, ignorning him and glancing around the room. "But I wonder where you'll sleep."

"The bed?"

"No that's mine," I responded.

"But I paid for the room."

"Because those were a part of the original terms of me letting you come on this road trip-"

"I'm pretty sure you asked me," he retorted.

"I remember the day like it was yesterday-"

"It was actually today. I hope you remember it. But why do I have a feeling you don't?" He pondered.

"-And I was driving away before you violently jumped out in from of my car."

"That's why I was worried," he murmured.

"You started sobbing your eyes out and promising you'd do anything to have the opportunity to travel with me," I reminicised.

"Definitely didn't happen."

"And me, being a kind soul, let you come." I smiled, warmly, at him. "Wasn't that such a nice day?"

"No."

"Can I ask you a question? Or rather, two- no, three, four questions? A serious one?" I asked.

"Um, I don't know if I-"

"Are we sure the staircase was real?" I questioned. "You know what? Doesn't matter. They could still be ghosts. All I know is that this is certainly the set for the next season of American Horror Story."

"Don't me rude," Claude scolded. "They're . . . nice."

I rolled my eyes. "Whatever. I'm going to binge-watch Netflix until we can leave."

"Oooh, what are we watching?" Claude asked, his tone rich with excitement.

I cringed. "We are not watching anything. I am watching Parks and Recreation and you are going to sit in the corner of the room like an obedient little dog, understand?"

His lips shifted downwards. "Okay."

It was only when I turned on my computer that, gasping, I realized with the upmost horror-

"What's wrong?" Claude asked, confused by my expression.

"There's no wifi," I told him.

His jaw just about fell to the floor.

*

Hey Reader!

Note: So I'm back- yeah! I promise to start updating regularly again :)

Love Your Favorite Liar <3