"I guess you don't have any rooms left," I said.
"Oh, no. We have one room left." The clerk looks at his computer, and then leans forward a little as he looks at me. "But you may not want this room."
"Uh... what's wrong with it?"
Because the possibilities are endless.
Is this the room with the serial killer in the closet?
The room with the ghostly wailing?
The one with the unsettling smell of decay, and the mysteriously recurring bloodstained bedsheets?
The one with the vortex that sucks people into the world of Evil Spock?
"Nothing," he says. "It's just handicapped accessible."
"You mean, I might not want the room because there's aluminum bars in the bathroom? Who does that?"
He looks out the door after the woman who had just left. "Lots of people. You'd be surprised." He shrugged. "People are weird."