log: dahl/connie at B&B
There was something wrong in the air. It was hard to describe and scientifically impossible to prove. Whatever it was had a thick, sourness to it. The aftertaste of death, floating through the air like a gross smelling scented candle. The closer Dahl got to the B&B, the worse it got.
Connie thought it was funny Dahl brought up Halloween, because this was how it felt. Not when pumpkins glowed on doorsteps or children giggled under Iron Man masks. It was Halloween when everything went quiet, when the veil between here and there became thin enough to push your fingers through.
The B&B stood tall on its hill. It wasn't enough that it felt creepy, the arches of the front windows seemed like they were staring down at Dahl, daring her to come inside. Somewhere behind the house, someone was blasting old man music and it felt sort of futile. Like trying to laugh out loud to show you aren't afraid.
You are afraid, right?
The front doors refused to budge at first; they were proving a point. Then after a couple seconds they gently swung open like nothing was wrong at all.