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墨書 Inktalez
Three people carried their luggage to the front of the inn, where the wooden door creaked eerily in the wind. The sound felt particularly unsettling in the quiet night, causing a sense of unease. The inn appeared old, with peeling paint on the walls and somewhat shabby windows, through which dim light could be faintly seen from inside.
Upon entering the lobby, a sour and musty smell hit them, making the three frown. Several faded paintings hung on the walls, and a thin layer of dust covered the floor. The surrounding furniture looked quite aged. Erin, Mark, and Lisa exchanged glances, each feeling a bit disappointed but resigned. They knew that during business trips, saving money was essential to earn more for their subsequent work; it was a principle of enduring hardship for future rewards.
"Let's stay here; it will save us some costs," Erin said with a hint of resignation in her voice.
Lisa picked up her phone and glanced at the rating system on the map, muttering, "Two point three stars... Yeah, it's truly well-deserved." Her tone carried a mix of sarcasm and resignation, clearly dissatisfied with the conditions of the inn.
Mark sighed and patted Lisa's shoulder. "There's no choice; our budget is limited this time. We just have to make do. What's important is our purpose for being here; a little discomfort in accommodation doesn't matter."
Erin nodded in agreement with Mark's words. "Right, we need to focus on the investigation. This is just a temporary place to stay; completing our mission is what matters most."
The front desk staff was a sullen middle-aged man with an impatient expression on his face. His eyelids drooped as if he found their arrival bothersome, lazily tapping on the computer keyboard. Erin, Mark, and Lisa stood at the counter trying to communicate with him in English but clearly faced a language barrier.
"We have reservations for three rooms; can we check in?" Erin said slowly, trying to maintain clear pronunciation.
The front desk staff looked up with an impatient glare and responded quickly in Spanish: "¿Qué? ¿No hablas español? Habitación... reserva... número de confirmación..." His tone was filled with disdain and impatience, clearly dismissive of their English.
Mark frowned and attempted to respond in his broken Spanish: "Lo siento, pero... no... hablo... mucho español... tenemos... reserva... tres habitaciones... por favor..." His sentences were choppy and his pronunciation inaccurate, further irritating the front desk staff.
"¿Reserva? ¿Número de confirmación?" The front desk staff asked coldly, his tone laced with sarcasm. He extended his hand, signaling for them to show him their reservation confirmation number.
Erin hurriedly pulled out her phone, found the confirmation email, and handed it to the front desk staff. He glanced at the phone screen but maintained his dismissive expression. Sighing heavily, he lazily typed a few things on the computer before tossing three keys onto the counter.
"Rooms 105, 107," he said in a cold tone, then ignored them and continued with his work.
Irene picked up the keys, feeling helpless about the receptionist's attitude. She turned to Mark and Lisa, "Let's go check out the rooms first."
The group took the shaky elevator upstairs. The dim lights and noisy machinery inside made them feel uneasy. Finally, they arrived in front of rooms 105 and 107. Irene took out the key, carefully inserted it into the doorknob, and the lock emitted a creaking sound before finally opening.
As soon as the door opened, a musty smell and an old odor rushed out to greet them. The sight before them made them frown slightly. The sickly yellow wallpaper on the walls was peeling and faded. The furniture in the room looked worn out, with scratches and stains covering the chairs and tables, as if they had endured countless uses and wear.
The dim light flickered from the ceiling, casting weak illumination that made the entire room feel even darker. This kind of lighting made one feel drowsy but unable to fully relax. A thin layer of dust covered the bed, and the sheets and blankets looked like they hadn't been changed in a long time, their colors dull.
Irene stepped into the room, feeling as if each step on the carpet was like stepping on something sticky. This sensation made her feel nauseous, as if with every step she took, there could be someone’s blood or bodily fluids mixed into the carpet.
"This place is terrible," Mark said with a frown, his tone clearly dissatisfied. "It feels like a rundown motel from a disaster movie."
Lisa pinched her nose, trying to lessen the impact of the pungent musty smell. "But there's no choice; we have to make do," she said with a hint of resignation.
Irene took a deep breath, trying to adapt to the environment. "Right, we have to endure for now; it'll get better later." She tried to lift her spirits and comfort both herself and her teammates.
They placed their luggage in a corner of the room and began to tidy up a bit. Despite the poor conditions, they were determined to complete their mission. The old and dim atmosphere of the room could not shake their resolve; it was just a small obstacle on their journey, with real challenges waiting ahead.
"Okay, let's rest early so we can start working first thing tomorrow," Irene said, trying to keep everyone’s spirits up.
Mark and Lisa nodded. Although they were disappointed with the state of the room, they knew that everything was for the sake of achieving a more important goal.
Mark carried his luggage to Room 107 across the hall. He pushed the door open, and the room's old decor was just like that of Room 105. He sighed and began to unpack his belongings, preparing to rest for the night.
Eileen and Lisa stayed in Room 105, freshening up a bit before settling down. Lisa lay on the bed, stretching her limbs and feeling the old and uncomfortable mattress beneath her. She couldn't help but exclaim, "I haven't done much all day, but I'm so tired." Her voice carried a hint of fatigue and complaint, her eyes half-closed as if she might drift off to sleep at any moment.
Eileen sat at a rickety table, intently reviewing some documents. The desk lamp cast a dim yellow light, barely illuminating the papers in her hands. These were materials she had compiled last week, covering the background, members, and rituals of the Holy Angel Cult. She flipped through the pages with a furrowed brow, contemplating the action plan for tomorrow.
"We're heading to the town for an investigation tomorrow; I wonder what challenges we will face," Eileen murmured, her tone tinged with both tension and anticipation. "The mysterious cult, strange rituals—unknown stories are lying dormant in that town."
Her mind was filled with questions and unease. She knew that this investigation could uncover many hidden secrets but would also bring countless risks. The truths hidden in history and legend might shatter their understanding of the world.
"Sometimes, things that are unknown have their reasons," Eileen whispered to herself, a flicker of confusion in her eyes. "Things that shouldn't be known are meant to remain unknown because you never know what you might face." She recalled Mad Dog's words; the handgun and the customs officer's mysterious actions made her feel that this investigation was far more complex and dangerous than she had imagined.
Nevertheless, she was determined to uncover the truth about this cult—for the sake of journalistic integrity and for her own inner pursuit and desire. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to calm down and continued organizing her materials to prepare for tomorrow's actions.
On the bed, Lisa had slowly drifted into slumber. In the room, only the sound of Eileen's papers rustling and her focused gaze under the dim light remained. In the quiet of the night, Eileen felt a sense of unsettling calmness as if the truth they were about to unveil was silently waiting for their arrival in the shadows.
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