Scary Stories- Check In

On a long, straight stretch of road through the hills of eastern Kentucky, a traveler spotted something that made no sense: a lighthouse. It sat alone in a meadow, black and white stripes spiraling up its length, with no house attached and no coastline in sight. Across the road, an old motel with a buzzing red vacancy sign seemed like the only place to stop. The traveler pulled in, driven by a train of thought he could not later remember.

The woman at the front desk was so ordinary she was almost unsettling—"the rough sketch of a master painter," with features that seemed deliberately unfinished. When the traveler asked about the lighthouse across the street, she looked genuinely confused. She could not see it. She thought he was joking, or referring to a book she was reading. He let the subject drop, paid for his room, and settled in for the night.

The paintings and the fog

The room was unremarkable except for its paintings. They were seascapes—rocky coastlines battered by storms—and they were too detailed, too dark for a cheap motel. One showed a ship sinking in a stormy bay, with a lighthouse on a cliff. The light at the top was off. The windows of the keeper's house were black. The traveler lay down with a splitting headache and fell into a dreamless sleep.