Unimpressive. And that was being nice.
The brochure made some bold claims but failed to deliver. No time was spent on the edge of her seat, she had all her wits, and her hair was flat as ever.
What she got was a restful night’s sleep on a comfortable bed. Not exactly as advertised.
Thankfully this so-called haunted house had an early checkout.
She reached for her freshly packed suitcase when inexplicably the latches popped open. From inside, a pair of beady yellow eyes.
“Can I come with you?” the tiny voice whispered.
Now that was the price of admission.
The Weekday One Hundred 