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front of a red velvet curtain. Beside the bell was a large book with the
wordguests embossed on it.
Philip noticed how badly his hands were trembling when he picked up the brass
bell and gave it a sharp ring. Nothing happened. He rang the bell again. Then,
from the interior of the inn, he heard footsteps approaching in his direction.
They were heavy footsteps, quickening their pace as they came nearer.
The red velvet curtain suddenly parted in the middle and shot open. A man
with black hair and a pale complexion stood before Philip, staring at him with
inquisitiveeyes.
"Yes?" he asked.
"I... I hoped you might have a room for the night," Philip said.
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"We have every room in the house," the man said with a flourish of his right
hand.
"With the weather like this, every other guest has canceled. You'll be all
alone here. I've even had to let some of the staff go. Service may not be
quite up to par, but we'll make your stay as interesting as possible. We don't
like to disappoint a guest." He finished his speech with a weird, forced smile
that made Philip uneasy.
"Thank you," Philip said nervously, signing the guest book with the pen the
man handed him. The ink was a strange, dark red color, rather like dried
blood.
"You'll want dinner, I assume," the man said, running the fingers of one hand
through his black hair, which grew in an odd widow's peak at the middle front
of his forehead.
"Yes, certainly," Philip said, wondering if he would be able to order his
usual pot roast and sauerkraut in a place like this.
"Very good, sir," the man said. "Dinner is served at seven o'clock in the
dining room, off to the left. I'll show you to your room now. Since you're our
only guest tonight, of course I'll give you the most sought-after room, number
thirteen."
"Of course," Philip mumbled, feeling more like a prisoner than a guest as the
man led him up a creaking staircase, down a shadowy hallway, and up to a door
thathad the number thirteen painted on it in red letters. The man handed
Philip an old-fashioned brass key, excused himself, and hurried away.
Philip fit the key into the lock and opened the door. The room was
pitch-black. He searched in his pockets for a pack of matches, found them, and
struck a light. The glow from the match fell on a large candelabrum with five
candles. Philip lit them and then looked around the room. An old four-poster
bed with a canopy and heavy drapes falling from it dominated the room. He
searched for a light switch, but there didn't seem to be any. Oddly enough, a
television sat on a table at the end of the bed.
Philip tried to control his imagination as he unpacked his suitcase.
Everything about the Right Inn seemed wrong; every aspect of it was totally
unpredictable. He washed up, changed clothes, and went down to the dining room
for dinner. He would have preferred to stay in his room, but he was starving.
The same man -- he introduced himself as Mortimer -- greeted Philip in the
dining room. Mortimer explained that the inn had no menu. A standard meal was
served to each guest, just the sort of food theywould expect in such a place.
While Philip waited to be served, he wondered what he was to expect.
The first course was a soup of a rather disturbing shade of red. There were
odd, unidentifiable chunks in it. Despite his hunger, Philip pushed the bowl
away from him, hoping it would be removed as soon as possible.
Mortimer delivered the main course on a silver platter covered by a silver
dome. He set it on the table in front of Philip, then whisked off the lid.
Philip stared down at the gray mass with finely convoluted ridges on its
surface.
"Brain," Mortimer announced with his weird smile.
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Philip looked away from the brain casserole and tried to regain control of
his stomach. He stared at the stuffed animal heads mounted on the walls of the
dining room. Their beady eyes all seemed to be watching him.
Mortimer took away the uneaten brain and the full bowl of soup. He assured
Philip that he would find the next course delightful. It was a plate of peeled
grapes and old, moldy cheese. Philip's hunger overcame his better judgment. He
tried both a grape and a piece of cheese. Instantly he regretted it.
Mortimer appeared again and asked Philip if he would like to sample the
dessert trolley.
"I'm going up to my room," Philip announced briskly, jumping up from the
table. "I've had quite enough."
"Be sure to watch our special video," Mortimer called after him. "It's
already in your VCR. You'll want to experience everything the inn has to
offer."
Philip didn't turn around to answer. He ran up the stairs two at a time,
opened the door to his room, and then locked it tightly behind him. The
candles still flickered, but they had burned down to short stubs. Philip
looked at the television at the foot of the bed. What else was there to do? He
would have to try the video.
He brushed his teeth, put on his pajamas, and crawled under the heavy covers
of the bed. Then he flicked on the television and pushed the play button on
the VCR.
There were several minutes of fuzziness until a picture came on the screen.
Then Philip sat upright in bed. It was him! The picture was of him approaching
the inn that night. The candlelight flickering on his face gave him a haunted
look. What was going on here?
Philip watched himself on the screen, looking around the lobby, ringing the
bell,and waiting for someone to appear. When Mortimer came out through the
velvet curtain, the video suddenly moved on to a new scene. The camera [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]