Mike and Roger decided to take the afternoon at a slower pace than usual, wandering through town and chatting with the locals to learn more about its history. They discovered some fascinating tidbits: once upon a time, when the mine was still active and silver flowed like a river, the town was a hub of activity. It thrived on the wealth the mine brought, with traders and travelers coming from far and wide to exchange their money for finely crafted silver items. It was no surprise that so many of the townsfolk were skilled artisans—jewelers, silversmiths, and crafters. But when the mine ran dry, so did the town’s lifeblood. Without the silver to sustain it, many of the artisans left, and those who remained struggled to make ends meet.

These days, the town relied mostly on its modest farming industry. The rocky, arid soil wasn’t ideal, but the locals had made do, cultivating hardy crops like potatoes, onions, and squash. Still, it wasn’t enough to restore the town to its former glory. The faded signs over closed shops and the quiet streets were evidence of its slow decline. Yet there was a certain resilience in the people they met – a quiet pride in what little the town still offered.

As they strolled down the main street, Mike and Roger passed a handful of weathered storefronts. A small bakery offered warm, fragrant loaves of bread, and an elderly woman sitting outside greeted them warmly. Roger paused to ask her about the mine. She smiled, a wistful look in her eyes, and told them about how her father used to work there, crafting ornate silver rings and chalices for traveling merchants and tourists.

Further down the street, they stopped by a general store where a middle-aged man told them about the town’s shift to agriculture. “We grow what we can,” he explained. “Potatoes mostly. Squash too. Nothing fancy, but it keeps us fed. The silver brought us the world, but now… now we make do with what we’ve got.”

At one point, they passed an old blacksmith shop, its sign dangling on rusted chains. Inside, the forge was cold and silent, but a few tools and trinkets were still scattered on the workbench – a frozen snapshot of what once was.

Everywhere they went, there was a mix of nostalgia and quiet determination. Roger couldn’t help but notice how slow-paced the town seemed, almost stuck in time. Mike found the slow pace relaxing and was also unconsciously slowing down which made Roger a bit nervous at times.

“See, Roger? It’s not so bad here. Quiet, sure, but kind of charming in its own way.”

Roger snorted. “Charming, maybe. Creepy? Definitely.”

“Come on, they’ve been nothing but nice to us,” Mike replied, gesturing to the shopkeeper they’d just spoken to.

Roger didn’t respond, his gaze lingering on a group of locals across the street who seemed to pause their conversation whenever he glanced their way. The feeling of being watched hadn’t left him since they arrived in town. He shook it off and quickened his pace to catch up with Mike.

By the time they’d finished exploring for the afternoon, the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows across the gravel streets. As they made their way back to the hotel, Roger couldn’t help but think that while the town seemed quaint on the surface, it had secrets buried just beneath it – secrets he wasn’t sure he wanted to uncover.

***

That night, the town was as quiet as it had been all day. The sky was clear, and the moon hung low, casting a pale glow over Silverton. No clouds, no wind—just a serene, undisturbed stillness. Inside the hotel, the faint creaks and groans of the old building settling were the only sounds.

Roger stirred in his bed, half-awake, when he heard it: a faint squeak, like a door slowly closing, followed by distant footsteps. His eyes snapped open, his heart beating faster as he strained to listen. For a moment, there was nothing but silence, as if the night had swallowed the sound. But it had been real – he was sure of it.

He got out of bed, careful not to make a sound, and walked to the door. Slowly, he turned the knob and opened it, peering into the hallway. Nothing. The corridor stretched out before him, dimly lit by the soft glow of old-fashioned wall sconces. No movement. Just stillness.

Roger let out a small breath and stepped back into his room, muttering to himself. “It’s just an old building… probably the wind or something.”

Then it came – a scream, sharp and piercing, cutting through the night like a knife. Roger froze in place, his breath caught in his throat. He rushed to the window, pulling the curtain aside, his eyes scanning the quiet streets below. Nothing moved. No figures, no lights, just the same eerie stillness as before.

“Roger!” Mike burst into his room. “Did you hear that?”

Roger nodded, still glued to the window. “I heard it. I woke up because of some footsteps and then… that scream. What the hell is going on?”

Mike took a deep breath, his voice quieter now. “I heard it too. A while before the scream, actually. I stayed still to listen. There was… something out there.”

Roger pulled on his jacket. “We need to check it out.”

Mike nodded. “Grab your boots. Let’s go.”

The two of them moved quickly but cautiously through the dimly lit hallways of the hotel. Their footsteps echoed faintly against the wooden floors, and every creak of the old boards made Roger flinch. The place felt larger at night, the shadows stretching further than they should. There was no one out there.

When they reached the foyer, their search turned up something unusual. Scattered across the floor were several items: a small vase, a single glove, newspaper pages and – most surprising of all – a pocket mirror. Mike froze as his eyes landed on it.

He knelt, carefully picking up the mirror. The ornate frame was unmistakable – it was the same one they had found in the cave. His mind raced, connecting fragments of the evening. Someone had dropped it here. Why is it here? Who brought it here?

Mike slipped the mirror into his jacket pocket, glancing at Roger to make sure he hadn’t noticed. His friend was busy examining the other items, muttering to himself about how strange this all was. Mike’s grip tightened on the mirror. He didn’t want to alarm Roger, not yet. He needed time to think this through.

As they continued their search, the sound of soft sobbing caught their attention. They followed it to the far corner of the foyer, near one of the large armchairs. Under a small side table, partially hidden in the shadows, was a woman. She was one of the housekeepers, trembling and clutching her knees to her chest.

Mike crouched down, his voice gentle. “Hey, are you okay? What happened?”

The woman looked up, her tear-streaked face filled with fear. “I… I saw him,” she whispered.

“Saw who?” Roger asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

“A man,” she stammered. “He was running through the corridors. I thought he was a guest, so I called out to him—‘Hello, can I help you?’ But he… he didn’t stop. He shoved me aside and ran out the front door.”

Roger exchanged a glance with Mike, then gestured toward the scattered items on the floor. “And this? Was it him?”

The woman nodded weakly. “He knocked them over as he ran. I didn’t know what to do. I just… hid.”

Before either of them could respond, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed from the hallway. Two other staff members appeared – a middle-aged man with a worried expression and a younger woman holding onto an umbrella she picked up to defend herself.

“There you are, Nora,” the man said, his voice soft but firm as he crouched beside the housekeeper. “Come on, let’s get you to the reception desk. You need to sit down. Elly, help me!”

The younger staff member offered a glass of water and helped the trembling housekeeper to her feet. As they began to guide her away, Roger stepped forward.

“Wait,” he said. “Has something like this happened before?”

The housekeeper hesitated, her gaze locking with Roger’s for an uncomfortably long moment. Her lips parted as if to speak, but no words came. Instead, she shook her head faintly, her eyes darting away.

“Come on,” the man urged, his tone signaling the end of the conversation. The staff escorted her toward the reception desk, speaking in low, soothing tones. Roger and Mike watched as the trio disappeared down the hallway.

Roger crossed his arms, glancing at Mike. “Did you see that? She was going to say something!”

Mike nodded, his expression unreadable. “I saw, but let’s not jump to conclusions. People get shaken up in weird ways. That doesn’t mean…”

“That doesn’t mean what?” Roger interrupted, his voice sharp. “Mike, we just heard mysterious footsteps in the night, this psycho running through the halls, the poor lady screaming and acting like she’s seen a ghost. You really think this is normal?”

Mike sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I’m not saying it’s normal, but we don’t have enough to go on. Let’s think this through.”

The two of them lingered in the foyer, the scattered items still lying where they had fallen. The silence of the hotel felt heavier now, almost suffocating. Roger began pacing while Mike leaned against the wall, arms folded, deep in thought.

“So, what do we do?” Roger finally asked. “Just pretend like nothing happened? Go back to bed and hope we don’t hear another scream?”

Mike shook his head. “No. We can’t ignore this. I say we talk to the sheriff in the morning.”

“Morning?” Roger threw his hands up. “Why not now? What if something else happens?”

“Because it’s the middle of the night,” Mike replied, his tone calm but firm. “We’ll wake him up, and what are we going to say? ‘Hey, Sheriff, someone walked through the hotel and scared all of us? We need more than that, Roger. Let’s give it some time, gather our thoughts, and head to the station first thing.”

Roger frowned, still pacing. “Fine. But I’m not getting any more sleep tonight.”

Mike smirked faintly. “Who said anything about sleeping? Let’s stick around the foyer for a while, see if anything else happens.”

Roger stopped pacing and nodded reluctantly. “Deal. But if I hear one more weird sound tonight, I swear…”

Mike clapped him on the shoulder. “Relax, Roger. We’ll figure it out. Besides, I have a feeling this is just the beginning.” He paused, his eyes drifting toward the restaurant. “Hey, look—there’s a bottle of whiskey over there.”

They sat down and poured themselves a glass, the amber liquid glinting faintly under the dim lights. Mike swirled his drink slowly, the pocket mirror weighing heavily in his jacket. His thoughts raced. Why had the mysterious man brought it here? Was it just a coincidence, or was it something more deliberate? He didn’t have answers – only questions that spiraled deeper the more he tried to piece them together.

Roger stared into his glass, his mind equally restless. The hotel, the town… Roger clenched his jaw.

The two friends sat in silence, the whiskey calming their nerves but offering no clarity. Outside, the town remained quiet and still, its secrets buried in the shadows.