I didn't look in Joe's book every night. I hardly looked in it at all, actually. For weeks – months even – I'd forget about it altogether. But Death's story made me remember it that night.
The black rabbit hadn't returned to the picture on the front. I peered at the house in the distance. There was nobody in any of the windows. But the house seemed closer now. I could make out details I hadn't seen before, like the brass bell that hung above the front door, and the weather vane on the roof that was shaped like a crowing rooster, and it occurred to me that the house hadn't crept closer to me - I was closer to it. Strange. I opened the book, and sure enough there was a new chapter there.
YOU ARE READING
Hotel Ambrose
FantasyTwo runaway children steal a baby and attempt to raise it themselves in the world's most haunted hotel. To Ben and Sophie the abandoned hotel seems like the perfect place to hide. No adult will ever find them there. Within its strange walls they ca...
