Steve Frech - Dark Hollows

I remodeled Groundworks to give it an “old-timey” feel and it started to pick up steam. I was there almost fourteen hours a day, seven days a week. Business continued to grow.

One morning two years ago, Maggie Vaughn, who runs the Elmwood Hotel a block away, stopped by to pick up her supply of coffee, and remarked that her hotel was so full, she was turning people away.

That sparked an idea to give myself a side project and make a little extra coin.

By that time, I had hired some staff to lighten the load and had some time for myself.

I had been using the cottage as storage for Groundworks, but I took out some money, and renovated it as a place to stay. I fixed it up into a charming, one-bedroom affair with a remodeled kitchen and bathroom. I even added the fire pit out front. At the time, Airbnb was starting to take off. I thought they might be too crowded, so I went with a rival start-up called “Be Our Guest”. It marketed itself as a more selective and upscale version of Airbnb. They weren’t going after people looking to save a buck. They were after wealthy people wanting a different experience. These were exactly the tourists who were coming to The Hollows.

Since Be Our Guest was new, they wanted unique properties. I contacted them with photos of the cottage, and they went berserk. A representative from Be Our Guest came out to inspect the cottage and loved it. We went through the formalities. I had to sign a bunch of papers, promising to comply with their policies, one of which was that I wouldn’t become involved “physically or otherwise” with a guest during their stay at my property. I had to submit to a background check, which always makes me nervous. I was confident they wouldn’t find anything, but still, I worry.

Once that was done, I was cleared for takeoff, and take off, it did. Be Our Guest ran the cottage as a featured property and immediately, the reservations filled up. It was great. I was charging $200 a night in the off-season and $300 a night in the fall. If I wanted to, I could have booked the cottage every night. It’s the easiest money I’ve ever made. I usually only saw my guests once or twice. They were always polite—well, most of the time, and all it took was an hour or two, at most, to clean and reset the place after they left.

Some of the hotel owners in town were upset that I had gotten into the game, but not too upset. They were still operating at capacity. I think they were more worried that other residents with extra bedrooms might try to go the Airbnb route. Anyway, like I said—easiest money I ever made. I could set my own dates, and if I wanted to take a break from keeping up the cottage, I just blocked out a week or two here and there. People enjoyed their stay. I made sure to keep the cottage stocked with wine from local wineries and coffee—only Groundworks, of course. Once I put in the fire pit, I also made sure to have the stuff to make s’mores in the kitchen. Everyone took advantage of it.

And everyone loved Murphy.

I did have some rules, though. I didn’t allow anyone to stay at the cottage who hadn’t already written at least three reviews on Be Our Guest. That’s one of the beauties of the site. Hotels have to let anyone stay at their place, so long as they have a credit card. With Be Our Guest, I get to vet who stays at my place. I can see what they’ve said about other places, and you can tell who’s going to be a problem by their reviews. They’re the people who are determined to have a bad time, no matter what. That’s my rule—three reviews to prove that you are a reasonable person. It’s my most sacred rule.

And tonight, I’m breaking it.

Two months ago, I received a request from a woman named Rebecca Lowden to stay in the cottage for one night, only. I was going to reject the reservation request when I saw that she had no previous reviews, but I always check the reservation request to see where they heard about me to stay informed about where Be Our Guest is advertising. I clicked on her request, which took me to her profile page. She was undeniably beautiful, with brunette hair and blue eyes, but it was her bio that caught me.

In the bio sections, Be Our Guest encourages you to list things, like your hobbies, favorite books, and favorite movies. As one of her favorite books, she listed A Christmas Carol . And in the “favorite movies” section? Dead Again , which is in my top five. Also, she had grown up in a town not too far from where I grew up.

So, out of simple curiosity, I broke my rule and accepted the reservation.

*

I pull the sheets and towels from the dryer, and head back to the cottage. I make the bed, pulling the sheets tight and tucking the corners securely under the mattress. I never made my bed until the cottage. Now, I can’t sleep in a bed that’s not made. I hang fresh towels in the bathroom, and stack the rest on the top shelf in the hall closet.

And with that, I’m done. The cottage is ready to go. Check-in time is three o’clock and right now, it’s noon. She could be here in three hours, or she might not arrive until tonight, but it’s a safe guess that she’ll be here closer to three. Most people treat arrangements like this as though they’re arriving at someone’s house, rather than a hotel. So, like I said, she’ll probably be here closer to three. I kind of want to be here when she arrives.

Again, it’s only curiosity. Don’t look at me like that.

I put the key in the lockbox next to the front door, and reset the passcode for the four digits I sent Rebecca in the confirmation email.

I have to head to Groundworks in a few hours, but until then, I can kill time in the hopes of meeting her.

I head back to the main house, and walk into my office on the first floor. The floorboards in the hall squeak in a familiar sound that I’ve grown to relish. It reminds me of the sense of responsibility for the aged house. It’s seen the very end of a Civil War, a World War, a Great Depression, another World War, the Seventies, the turn of the millennium, and I’m the one to make sure it sees the next milestone. I spin into the swivel chair at the desk and fire up the computer.

I check my emails and see that Sandy Bellhurst, the manager I hired to help me at Groundworks, has sent me the receipts from yesterday. I enter them into my accounting software and take care of some more emails. When I’m done, I look over to the door and see Murphy’s half in and half out of the room.

“What? Are you hungry, again?”

Murphy’s tail starts wagging so furiously, it causes his butt to oscillate.

“All right. Fine.”

He turns and runs to the kitchen. I get up and follow.

I feed Murphy a little more food from the bag in the pantry. I heard somewhere that you should give dogs a little food at a time rather than full meals to keep them from getting overweight. It’s healthier and I want Murphy at my side for as long as I can keep him.

After I feed him, I set up on the porch. I think about taking Murphy on a walk to The Sanctuary, but decide to play it cool and drop into a chair with a paperback to enjoy the autumn afternoon in case Rebecca arrives early.

It’s really beautiful. The breeze carries the scent of dead leaves from the forest to the porch. The colors are at their peak. The cotton-ball clouds race through the sky overhead. It’s that perfect temperature where I need a jacket, but not a coat. There’s only a few more days until Halloween, which is The Hollows’ time to shine.

Murphy comes out, pushing open the unlatched screen door with his nose, and plops down with a contented sigh next to my chair.

Rebecca Lowden can take her time.

I’m perfectly fine.

*

Hours later, I’m still on the porch, but I need to get going.