Page 34 of Pick Me Up On Tuesdays

I groaned, yanking my hood over my head, clutching my research tablet like a lifeline. How was I supposed to concentrate when Ethan was trying (and failing) to hit high notes like a drunk siren?

Across the aisle, Mia was recording everything, looking absolutely delighted. Her shadow crystal camera hummed softly as it absorbed the scene, capturing every terrible note for future blackmail material.

Next to her, Shun was humming along mildly while scrolling through her phone, probably liking memes from some meme lord’s comedy page. How she could do both at once was beyond my comprehension.

Mr. Dax? Dead to the world. As usual. Just slumped against the window, snoring like this wasn’t the worst performance in the history of worst performances.

After an eternity, the disorder finally died down. The once-roaring jocks devolved into muttering, groaning, and the occasional off-key hum. By the time we stopped, the bus was eerily silent except for the rustling of snack wrappers and engine vibration. Mr. Dax was awake, saving my poor ears from any more bleeding.

Then, I saw a hotel.The hotelfrom the map.

And instantly wished I was anywhere else. The images online were definitely from the century when dinosaurs existed. I only chose it because of the affordable pricing. I guess we were paying more with our lives than cash, huh.

“Welcome to the hotel from my nightmares,” I whispered to myself.

The hotel stood against the backdrop of a star-dusted sky, its once-grand stone walls crumbling with age. The wooden sign, carved with glowing runes that flickered weakly, read: The Sleeping Dragon Inn.

It did not look like it had housed a dragon.

It barely looked like it had housed people.

The windows were foggy despite the dry night air, and the door creaked open before anyone touched it—an unsettling invitation. The lanterns on the porch cast long, eerie shadows that danced against the cracked stone steps, moving like they had minds of their own.

"Uhh…" I hesitated. "Did anyone check if this place is cursed?" As if anyone else cared to check anything.

Joy patted my shoulder. "Clark, everything is cursed if you think hard enough."

"That doesn't make me feel better.”

The moment we stepped inside, I knew we had made a mistake. The place smelled like damp stone, old wood, and utter regret. A crooked sign above the counter read: "Welcome! Pay in advance, or be hexed in your sleep."

"Charming," I muttered.

An old elven innkeeper, wrapped in too many cloaks, emerged from the shadows. "Adventurers," she croaked. "You’ll be wanting food and rooms."

Mr. Dax handed over some coins. "Dinner first."

I prayed it would be edible.

Spoiler alert: It wasn’t.

We stepped into the dining hall. It was questionable at best—wobbly chairs, mismatched plates, and a massive stuffed basilisk head watching us from above the fireplace. Then the food arrived.

A vintage cauldron of something brown landed with a thud. The innkeeper ladled it out, the consistency somewhere between glue and mildly sentient.

"Uh… what is this?" I poked it with my spoon. It jiggled.

"Stew," the innkeeper said.

"Stew of what?" Joy asked.

She just grinned.

Ethan took a bite. "Not the worst thing I’ve eaten."

"You eat people’s souls, Ethan," I quipped, trying to make it look like I had forgotten everything from Mt. Cain. "Your opinion is invalid."

Max shrugged and dug in. "It’s hearty."

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