Readers vote on where this story goes next! Welcome to Briarwich. A sleepy coastal town with a dark history. You are Morgan, a college student on a boating trip with your four best friends. When you and your friends become stranded in Briarwich, you...
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Bright Manor Bed and Breakfast
Standing beneath the iron arch, you stare up at the rusted letters of Briarwich. You are not sure if the chill down your spine is the icy northern wind coming off the ocean, or the weight of the wrought iron B choked with vicious metal thorns. Whoever designed the sign probably once thought it would look elegant, but built it with so many harsh angles and sharp points that it could only ever look foreboding.
"So, where do we want to go?" asks Malcom with a defeated sigh. "The Rose Hotel? Or Bright Manor?"
Malcom might be the fearless leader, but he always defers to you whenever the group appears divided on a decision. You are the rock in the group, and the best mediator. Malcom, Simon, Natalie and Val all stare at you expectantly, waiting anxiously for your response.
You lick your lips, tasting the salt left by the sea air, "I've never been to a bed and breakfast before. If we're going to be stuck here for a couple of days, why not check out Bright Manor?"
"I don't much care where we stay," Natalie says through chattering teeth, "so long as we get moving sometime before I freeze to death."
Tired, cold and more than a little shaken, you and your friends begin making your way up the old stone steps. You walk carefully to avoid tripping over the uneven treads worn unevenly by generations of fishermen's feet until they dip noticeably in the middle.
The street is narrow and clearly predates the modern invention of cars. Either side is lined with shops bearing wooden signs which might have been colorful and eye-catching once upon a time, but decades of sea salt and sun damage have rendered them unreadable. Dusty windows and empty storefronts stare back at you like husks of creatures long dead. You cannot spot a single light beyond the grime on the glass, though you swear that if you squint you can make out silhouettes of people watching you.
The group sticks close together, partially out of a need to conserve heat, and partially because the town feels dead and unwelcoming – like walking through a graveyard.
"This place is like a ghost town," Simon grumbles to you. "Where the hell is everyone?"
"Taking shelter from the storm?" you answer with a shrug, but even you aren't convinced.
Simon shakes his head and gives a sideways nod down one of the streets, "It's overcast, but this place doesn't look like it has been a lick of rain, much less that brutal storm we got caught up in. None of these shops look like they've been open in years."
"A lot of fishing towns like this went through rough times in the depression," responds Malcom. "A place this isolated, I'm willing to bet the people here have been slowly making their way to St. John's or Halifax over the years."
"I sure as hell wouldn't want to stay," Val grumbles. "This place gives me the creeps."
The road slopes sharply uphill as it winds away from the docks. It isn't long before the chilly air and strenuous climb make your calf muscles burn and threaten to cramp. It is difficult to keep up with Malcom's long-legged stride. You're secretly grateful when Natalie and Val begin to fall behind because it gives you an excuse to slow down.
