I opened a B&B, and every resident had a secret.
On a rainy night, a retired teacher died mysteriously in Room 207, which was locked from behind. A small, blackened handprint protruded from the crack of the door.
When the police were checking the ward, the internet celebrity's live broadcast captured figures flashing across the attic. The man with the scar always ran towards the back hill late at night.
The forensic report showed that the deceased's internal organs had been replaced with ashes.
The phone vibrated suddenly, and a text message came from an unknown number: "It's your turn next, forest ranger."
My whole body was cold - only a child who died in the fire twenty years ago would call me father that way.
