I wasn’t sure where the resort part came from, as the place looked more like the Brady Bunch house than a fancy resort. The building was lit outside with flood lamps, revealing an exterior decorated with holly leaves and wreaths.

I walked around the house and knocked at the side door. I was met by a middle-aged woman who I assumed was the “resort’s” owner.

“May I help you?”

“I need a room for the night.”

“Welcome,” she said, smiling broadly. “My name’s Dawna. Come in.”

I stepped inside what looked to be the home’s living room. The room had dark red shag carpet and forest green walls, covered with framed prints of Christmas-themed watercolors.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Alan.”

“Pleased to meet you, Alan. We have five rooms available and a cabin out back. I’ll show you around and you can tell me which room you’d like.”

“Are your rooms haunted?” I asked.

She looked at me with a strange expression. “Not that I know of. Did you need a haunted room?”

I grinned. “No. Unhaunted is fine.”

Dawna led me through all five of the rooms, beginning with the Western Room, which featured a replica of Wyatt Earp’s revolver, the USA Room, the Bridal Suite, the Harley Room (undoubtedly patronizing the annual motorcycle event in Sturgis), and the Victorian Room, which was decorated with Dawna’s mother-in-law’s christening dress and a working, antique Victrola.

The rooms all looked nice and I didn’t care much about which room I stayed in, so I selected the Western Room for the pragmatic reason that it was closest to the front door. That and I liked its tub, which was just about large enough for a cowboy and his horse.

“Fine choice,” Dawna said. “For breakfast tomorrow I’ll be serving my festive breakfast casserole. What time do you think you’ll be wanting to eat?”

“I usually get an early start,” I said, pleased at the offer of something festive for breakfast. “Maybe seven. Possibly earlier.”

“I’ll have breakfast waiting for you. Have a good night.”

I went to my room and turned on the television while I let the jetted tub fill. The television was tuned to a reality show about people bidding on the contents of abandoned storage units. They should do a show about a guy walking across America, I thought. Just not me.

I turned off the television, undressed, then soaked in water hot enough to turn my skin red until I was ready to go to sleep.

Chapter Four

C H A P T E R

Four

To say that one doesn’t know when to

quit is either an insult or a compliment,

depending on the outcome.

Alan Christoffersen’s diary