The Witch the Ghost, and the Demon

The Ghost 

The dim lantern light of discretion shadowed the hallway with the veneer of privacy. Behind the numerous closed doors sin was the practice of the lodge, nestled on the outskirts in the darkest stretch of town. Here’s where hoodlums and bums fed off the less cautious of society, — those foolish enough to venture the dangerous streets in want of heart. A place where the practice of indulgence was the norm and a house of less than respectable purpose could make a killing.

Imported-paper decorated the walls of the corridor. Beautiful wool rugs cushioned the footfalls of many a patron. The oldest profession had a facade of respectability. Music and talk issued up the stairway from the first floor. Below —— liquor, dance, and gambling: the pretense of why men ventured the storm outside to pass the evening in company,— Shanty‘s Well was a blight to the local religious thumpers; but the winds and rain from the pulpit on Sunday did little to curb the number of cliental visiting the establishment every night. 

Tonight,— though,— was different. The weather pounding the dirt roads and flooding the alleys — had reaped its toll on many of the regulars:— unwilling to brave nature’s reprisals,—— accomplishing what the church could not.

Giggling,— a scantily clad woman stepped from behind an unlocked door into the hall.

“Get back here Rosy.”

“I’ll be right back,” she whispered seductively pulling the knob closed. Shivering the woman looked down the corridor as a draft ruffled the thin veneer trappings hanging from her shoulders, concealing little to nothing. 

 The window at the end of the breezeway flew up with a bang as the wind and rain ripped through the opening, tossing the curtains into a billowing rage.

“What the hell?” —— Rosy crossed her arms to her...