When they drained the pool they found him sitting there in scuba gear looking very pissed off.
“In the dream,” she said, “the plane was in a cloud. But when we came out of it, we hadn’t gone anywhere, we were still sitting there on the tarmac. And I think we were lizards or something.”
Wallpaper peeling. Water stains. Mummified mice caught in ancient traps. Old sardine tins. It was like Airbnb but promised specializations for the miserable and the gothic.
Crawling back through the bathroom window he caught his belt on the hinge. As he dangled there he considered the death of his father in the war.
When he looked back the pattern of the Hawaiian shirt had completely changed. Instead of waves and pineapples, now there were volcanoes and grenades.
The portraits on the wall were a progression of malcontents, perverts, embezzlers, and one very angry looking scofflaw.
The train pulled away and he suddenly remembered he’d left the valise next to the Frenchman. Going back to the bureau was now impossible.
The hotel was built hundreds of feet down into the earth. The complex navigational system required maps that were impossible to refold once opened.
He was handed a thousand page treatise called “Commentary” referencing a novel he’d never heard of.
When applied in small amounts the effects are reproducible. But in large doses symptoms range from lycanthropy to unpredictable telekinetic outbursts.
Hiding in the crawl space, she heard them dragging something heavy. Soon the Overseer would arrive.
After placing each card down on the table, she genuflected then took a slug from the bottle of wine.
The assassin regretted everything. Almost everything. That guy was an asshole and deserved it.
The stone sculpture on the shelf was obscure and initially innocuous. By the end of the week however, it throbbed with some covert purpose.
They dozed off staring at the odd wallpaper. In their dream they teetered on the edge of a stark cliff, obscene flowers growling below.