By some sheer, miraculous stroke of inconceivable good fortune, the door I chose at random just happened to be the actual entrance to the front lobby. As there was no overhead sign or any other indication of where I was supposed to enter, I had anticipated an embarrassing process of repeatedly trying locked doors — or worse, actually entering and having to wander the halls until I found my way to the reception area.

But luck was on my side.

The lobby was small, cozily furnished, and spacious — by which I mean, the actual footprint was a rather small square, lined with chairs, exotic potted plants, and occupied by a large, low table, and it would probably feel rather cramped and claustrophobic if not for the ceiling.

Or rather the lack of one.

Glancing up as the door finally clattered shut behind me, I couldn’t help but be impressed by the design. There was nothing but open air overhead for at least four stories, at which point the whole thing was ultimately capped by a paned glass dome. Well, pyramid, actually.

Each story had a balcony that wrapped all the way around, giving the impression of a staircase.

Actually, no, it was a staircase. How fascinating…

I changed my mind — I liked the building now.

In fact, such was my enamor that I failed to notice the receptionist for several more moments, even despite our close proximity.

I wasn’t sure if the prim, middle aged woman noticed me either, as she seemed rather preoccupied by a newspaper puzzle.

Approaching the broad, heavy desk, I set my briefcase down at my feet and took a peppermint from the little painted clay dish beside me. She finally noticed my presence when I began to unwrap it unreasonably slowly and noisily.

“Oh hi there!” Folding up her newspaper, she set her pencil down on top of it and adjusted her cat’s eye glasses. “Sorry dear, I didn’t see you come in.”

“Oh, no worries. Just came to check in before heading back out to dinner.”

She adjusted her glasses again. “I see. Would you happen to be the owner of the trunk Mr. Ralph brought in earlier?” She paused. “There’s only one, so if he took yours, it would have to be you.”

I nodded. “In that case, it must be me indeed.”

She smiled while simultaneously opening a drawer and pulling out a thick binder and a fountain pen. “Right then. You said you wanted to check in, so would you like to look at the different rooms we have available?”

Setting the binder before me, she flipped it open to a particularly worn page. Upon skimming over it, I saw that it didn’t show individual rooms, but rather prices for several different tiers.

After a moment, I looked back up. “Which would you recommend for a single guest who’s willing to shell out for the highest grade of luxury?”

No point in beating around the bush there.

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Tilting her head, the receptionist frowned and twirled her worn pencil between her fingers. “Well… out of the thirty rooms we have available at the moment…” she chewed her lip. “For the highest degree of luxury, I would recommend the Imperial Suite — but it’s really more set up for special events. I don’t know that you’ll need the bar, or —”

“It has a bar?”

She paused briefly, before twirling her pencil again. “Yes, it has a full bar, as well as a miniature kitchen.”

“Sounds perfect, I’ll take it.”

In all honesty, I really didn’t need a bar or a kitchen during my stay, but I had suffered too much grief on prior jobs that I just couldn’t pass it up. In fact, it was rather ironic — the one town where I wasn’t going to put on the hero act was the same one that was generous enough to provide me with a makeshift laboratory right in my own room.

Well, I could make some nifty drinks, at the very least.

“Right then.” The receptionist nodded, taking out some additional papers. “If you could read this over and then sign here, mister…”

“Tristan.” Taking the paperwork in hand, I began to skim it while also calculating the expected cost of my stay at the same time. After flipping to the last page, I quickly filled in my information before handing it back.

“Thank you, Tristan,” she said as she clipped it into a second binder and opened another drawer. “I’ll send your trunk up to your room. And here’s the key.”

As I took it from her, I idly noted how large and solid it was. It was an old style of key, not the modern machine cut standard, and it was heavy.

“Thank you, Miss…”

“Melissa.”

“Melissa, got it.” I paused. “By the way, is there anywhere you recommend where I could just pop in to get a meal? Something hot, preferably.”

She had been about to go back to her newspaper puzzle, but she paused midway through to consider my question. “Here,” she said after a moment while pulling out a little slip of paper from an overstuffed folder, “folks ask that a lot, so now I keep a little list.”

Taking it from her, I began to scan the half dozen or so names as she continued.

“Although, our own restaurant is open right now, actually. Normally you would have to make a reservation — during the off times, we keep the kitchen closed unless someone calls ahead. But we have another young gentleman tonight who should be dining…” she glanced over at the grandfather clock in the corner, “right now, actually.”

I nodded slowly. “Sure, why not? Less walking that way.”

Melissa laughed as she stood from her seat and rounded the desk. “Yes, you could say so. Folks definitely don’t like walking after dark around here. Anyway, let me show you to the dining hall.”

I frowned at that, but followed her anyway. Something about her remark about walking at night sounded off to me — it wasn’t that strange of a statement, but there was something in her inflection that bothered me.

I decided I would take note of it but not let it bother me. By now, I had learned not to dismiss my instincts, but not to read too deep into everything either. It was a bit of a balancing act.

After winding through several richly carpeted, beautifully wallpapered, and oddly narrow corridors, we reached what I would describe as a cozy little bistro lined on two adjacent walls with tall, curtained windows.

There was exactly one other person present — a serious looking man about my age, with short cropped hair, a perfectly clean shaven, sharp chin, and wearing a sheriff’s uniform — minus the cap and the jacket. He was seated alone at a table for two with nothing but what I think was a glass of cranberry juice.

He looked up as soon as we entered.

“Officer Hank!” Melissa greeted him warmly, and he gave a slight, tight lipped smile in response. “Our third guest here, Mister Tristan, has just checked in and has decided to capitalize on your reservation.”

The officer nodded politely at me before speaking to Melissa. “I see.” Turning slightly to face me specifically, he continued. “You’re welcome to join me if you’d like.”

Seeing no reason to turn down company, I silently thanked Melissa and took my own seat across from the sheriff.

“My husband Jacob will serve you shortly,” Melissa informed us before turning away and heading back down the hall.

Officer Hank watched her leave with an unreadable expression. Finally, he turned back to me, fixing me with a neutral, if somewhat curious gaze. “So, this is your first day in Phantasmagoria Falls.”

I nodded. “Arrived at noon.”

“Last week for me — no, I haven’t been Sheriff of this town for very long.” He paused. “But even so, I think there are a few things I should tell you.”