Mike and Roger slept like babies. After their trip to the abandoned mine, they returned to the hotel, sat down for dinner at the restaurant, and quickly realized how exhausted they were. In hindsight, heading out for such a long adventure without a proper rest had been a poor decision.

The next morning, they were greeted in the lobby with a steaming pot of coffee, which they were both exceedingly grateful for.

“Hey Mike, don’t you think the staff here, while super polite, seem… I don’t know, kind of gloomy? Yesterday, I thought I was imagining it, but now I’m sure of it,” Roger said, his voice low.

“Hm… I hadn’t noticed, but you might have a point,” Mike replied. “Although, have you seen anything remotely exciting happen in this town?”

“Exactly my point! This hotel could easily host thirty guests, but there are, what, four or five of us here, tops? That’s why I said this place gives me the creeps.”

“Relax, Roger. We finally got a good night’s sleep—don’t start getting paranoid first thing in the morning. Let’s take a walk, see if anything catches our attention.”

Roger sighed and nodded, gulping down his coffee a little too quickly, wincing at the bitterness. The hotel lobby wasn’t particularly large, but it had no shortage of things to look at. The walls were covered with decorations—paintings and photographs of people posing with shovels and pickaxes, shelves displaying polished silver tea sets, and gleaming utensils that caught the morning sunlight.

One photo in particular caught Roger’s eye. Beneath it, a handwritten caption read: “Silverton, 1978”. He frowned slightly, stepping closer to inspect it, then turned his attention to a nearby display of silverware.

Behind them, a housekeeper passed by, smiling warmly as she greeted them. Roger waved her over.

“Excuse me,” he said politely. “I know you’re busy, but may I ask you something?”

“M-me? Oh, of course. How can I help you?” the woman replied, her smile faltering slightly.

“These decorations are amazing,” Roger said, gesturing at the walls. “This photo here—Silverton? I’m guessing it has something to do with the mine across the hill?”

“Exactly,” she replied, her voice soft. “Back when the mine was still active, our town was thriving. That’s how it got its name.”

“Oh, because it was a silver mine?”

“That’s right. But that was over thirty years ago. Ever since the mining stopped, the town’s been… quieter. Some people might even say it lost its spirit.” She glanced at her watch. “I’m sorry, but I need to finish cleaning the rooms before 11. Enjoy your day.”

“Thanks, you too,” Roger said, watching her walk away, lost in thought.

“Hey Mike, did you hear all that? Mike? What are you staring at?”

Mike stood a few feet away, engrossed in a display case near the reception desk.

“What? Oh! Look at this map. Apparently, the cave we visited yesterday was once the entrance to the silver mine!”

Roger rolled his eyes. “Yeah, if you’d been listening to my conversation with the housekeeper, you wouldn’t have to squint at that map to figure it out.”

Mike gave him a mildly annoyed look before gesturing toward the door. “All right, enough. Let’s get outside before the fog rolls back in.”

As they headed out, Mike cast one last glance over his shoulder at the wall. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed two people whispering to each other. The moment they saw him looking, they turned away abruptly. Mike shrugged it off—locals gossiping about hotel guests wasn’t exactly unusual.

---

The town wasn’t large, and the area around the hotel was considered the center. Mike and Roger had chosen it hoping for some local vibrancy, but instead, they were greeted with stagnation. The atmosphere seemed stuck fifty years in the past. Wooden storefronts creaked under the occasional gust of wind. Crooked signs hung over closed shops, and the gravel roads kicked up dust that stung their eyes. The few people on the streets walked slowly, their clothes slightly tattered, their movements unhurried.

Mike and Roger exchanged a look, shrugged, and continued their walk.

“Well, I guess we’re not bringing back a fridge magnet from this trip,” Mike joked.

“Seriously?” Roger laughed.

“How about this: let’s check out that park over there, sit under the trees for some fresh air, and then find something to eat. I can feel the effects of last night’s dinner wearing off.”

They followed the plan, and an hour later, they returned to the hotel just in time for lunch. Sitting down in the restaurant, they chatted about past trips, reminiscing about strange situations they’d encountered, and lost themselves in laughter.

Roger, however, remained a little on edge. While Mike was immersed in their conversation, Roger’s eyes darted around the room, scanning the other tables. A drunken man caught his attention. Sitting a few tables away, the man was already tipsy and acting strangely. Roger frowned, wondering how the staff had let someone like him into the restaurant, but his train of thought was interrupted when the town sheriff walked in and approached their table.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen. I hope I’m not interrupting your lunch, but I’d like to borrow five minutes of your time,” the sheriff said with a friendly smile.

Mike and Roger exchanged confused glances but nodded politely.

“No need to worry,” the sheriff added quickly. “You haven’t done anything wrong. We just don’t get many out-of-town visitors these days, and I got bored. Thought I’d come say hi.”

“Well, it’s good to know we’re not in trouble,” Mike said with a laugh. “How can we help?”

“Just be good guests and don’t cause any trouble for your hosts,” the sheriff replied with a playful wink. “That’s all. Enjoy your lunch, and remember—we like to keep things peaceful around here.”

With a chuckle, the sheriff turned and wandered toward the reception desk, where he began chatting with one of the staff members. Roger watched him go, his expression uneasy.

“Hey Mike, was it just me, or was that… a little strange?” Roger asked.

Before Mike could respond, the drunken man from the other table staggered over to them.

“Sheriff Morgan likes to mess with people,” he slurred. “Don’t mind him. But there’s a reason for it!”

Roger winced as the man’s alcohol-soaked breath hit him, and Mike chuckled.

“The man’s just doing his job,” Mike said. “Has there been trouble before?”

“Trouble? No…” the man said, swaying. “A presence. YES!”

Mike laughed. “What do you mean by ‘a presence’?”

“Ever since the miners dug greedily into the silver mine, strange things have happened in this town,” the man whispered. “They say the spirits of the dead miners come back to take revenge. If you hear footsteps at night… that’s them.”

Before Mike or Roger could respond, the sheriff called out from across the room. “Victor! Are you drunk again? Leave those folks alone and get over here.”

Victor turned to go but tripped over a chair and fell to the floor. The receptionist rushed to help him up, and the sheriff sighed.

“Elly, please help him wash up and sober him up,” he said.

With the commotion settled, Mike and Roger found themselves alone once again. They exchanged a look, then laughed and clinked their beer glasses together.

“Cheers to this weird little town,” Mike said.

Roger smiled, but the unease lingered at the edges of his mind.