My friend Leo traveled to a mountain town last autumn. He said the place was known for its stunning views and cold air. Leo stayed in a grand, old lodge nestled in the pines. He never shared the lodge’s real name, wanting to keep its reputation intact.
On his first evening, Leo felt a strange unease in the quiet halls. He kept it to himself, not wanting to seem odd to the other guests. That night, he slept in a finely decorated room. He was woken by a sound like dragging furniture. He thought it was his travel mate, Ben, rustling about. “Ben, please be quiet, I need to sleep,” Leo whispered into the dark. There was no answer from Ben.
Then, he heard the distinct clatter of plates and raised, angry voices from below. Leo assumed it was a late-night party in the dining room. The noises grew so loud he called out again. This time, Ben stirred awake. Ben sat up, his face pale. He confessed he had just had a terrible dream. In his dream, the lodge was full of guests arguing fiercely, and someone had thrown a tray of silverware onto the floor.