“Agreed. I’m starved.” I rub my stomach longingly. “I could really go for some shawarma.”
He gives me a look.
“What?”
“I seriously doubt they have Middle Eastern food around here, Stitch.”
“The Crooked Goose up the street is open. The owner lives above it.”
I clutch my chest because, fuck, my heart is racing.
Bastian and I turn around to find an old woman sitting on a chair in the corner. Her white and black hair is pulled into a severe bun, and she’s giving us a toothless grin.
“Uh, thank you,” Bastian says carefully, giving me a look like “Where the hell did she come from?”
This town is creepy as fuck.
I open the dryer and pull the clean clothing into a bag.
“You boys from out of town? It’s dangerous here right now. You should leave while you still can.”
I tug the drawstring tight and then look up at her. She still has that crazy smile on her face, and a shiver raises the hairs on the back of my neck.
“Why do you say that?” I ask slowly.
“The weather, of course,” she says with a cackle.
I swallow and nod. I glance at Bastian, who’s giving her a calculating look.
“Thanks again,” I say, hauling the bag of clothes over my shoulder.
“Good luck,” she replies, suddenly solemn, her pale eyes following us out the door.
We walk out onto the icy sidewalk toward my truck, which is parked about a block away in front of the grocery store. I hear the door close behind us, and look back, almost expecting the woman to be following us.
“That felt weird, right?” I whisper, leaning close to Bastian.
“This whole place is weird. It was like this last time I was here too.” He wraps his arms around his body. “I’m sure it’s the time of year, but it’s so deserted.”
“Don’t people ski?” I ask. “You’d think they would make money off the winter sports nuts.”
Bastian shrugs. “Maybe people go farther up the pass to ski since there’s only that one little motel at the end of town.”
We reach my truck, and I open the covered bed and toss the bag in. “So, the Crooked Goose?”
“Yeah, it’s either that, or we buy gas station snacks and sit in your truck.”
I grimace. “My toes are already about to fall off. I’d rather sit somewhere warm and eat warm food.”
“Yeah, okay,” Bastian says through chattering teeth.
We turn and trudge back the way we came, walking shoulder to shoulder as the icy wind gusts around us. When we pass the laundromat, I glance inside. The woman is gone.
The Crooked Goose is thankfully only a couple blocks away. The wooden sign above the door swings in the breeze, creaking ominously. The paint is chipped and faded, but I can still make out a sinister goose with thick, black eyebrows staring down at us as we approach.
“Geese don’t have eyebrows,” I mutter as we walk inside.
“What was that?” Sebastian asks.
