I cut into the steak. The meat was masterfully prepared and so tender that, had I been inclined, I could have cut it with my fork. I took a few bites then lifted the menu. The hotel’s history was printed on the back, and I read as I ate.

Hill City was a placer gold mining town, founded during the western gold rush. Its success was short-lived, and the miners quickly moved on, leaving the town to two residents—a man and his hound.

In 1883, the town experienced another boom when tin was discovered, and an English mining company invested millions organizing the Harney Peak Tin Mining, Milling, and Manufacturing Company. The company built the inn—then named the Harney Peak Hotel—as a luxurious residence for the mining executives. Like the town’s previous mining venture, the tin rush didn’t last very long, and the town died again, until Mount Rushmore resuscitated the area, bringing in tourist gold.

In 1974, a German woman named Wally (pronounced Volley) Matush bought the Harney Peak Hotel and renamed it the Alpine Inn. By then, ghost sightings had become commonplace and the new management wasn’t shy about telling their guests that the hotel was haunted. Wally even requested to be buried under the hotel when she died so she could walk the halls with the other ghosts.

Reading about hauntings made me think about Pamela. I wondered what had happened to her since I’d left her behind. For the first time since she’d shown up, my anger had settled enough that I could objectively examine my feelings. In spite of my rage, I felt somewhat conflicted about the situation. Part of me felt that even talking to Pamela was a betrayal of McKale. Another part, perhaps a more civilized part, thought it wrong to not at least let her say what she’d come so far to say.

I pushed the conflict from my mind. Right or wrong, I had no desire to talk to her. If she was hurting, so be it. She had brought this on herself. McKale owed her nothing. I owed her nothing.

I finished eating, paid the bill, then picked up my pack and headed north up the main road in search of the bed-and-breakfast. I stopped at a small market on the way and stocked up on water and supplies: Pop-Tarts, apples, trail mix, salami, oranges, protein bars, jerky, a baguette of hard crusted bread, and a few canned items: soup, chili, and stew.

I asked the cashier if she knew anything about the bed-and-breakfast, but, disconcertingly, she had never heard of it. I wondered how that was possible in a town of this size. I went back outside and continued to walk, worrying that I had unwittingly passed by the house in the dark. I had walked another mile before I came to a sign on the side of the road that read:

The Holly House

A Bed and Breakfast Resort