Part 1: Welcome

???: Thank you so much! I've been trying and trying, but no one was willing to give me a ride.
???: I met another lady just now, but she seemed to be in a hurry, or maybe she was just wary of taking a stranger. Either way, it's understandable.
???: She called me "Miss Sheep," but even a sheep could be dangerous on a long, desolate road like this.
The little sheep follows close behind her companion, like a cloud skirting along the ground.
Barbara: Ms. Tuesday. That's your name, right?
Barbara: Are you familiar with the area? I have a question about this path we're walking.
Tuesday slows down to come side by side with Barbara.
Tuesday: I surely am, missy.
Tuesday: It's a shortcut to the motel. Most prefer to follow the highway.
Tuesday: I don't blame them for sticking to the main road. The rumors around Route 77 couldn't be more terrifying—eerie sounds, sudden fog ... Who knows what could happen on a muddy trail like this?
Barbara: Oh, that strange sound! I heard it on my way here. That's what scared off my driver.
Tuesday: That explains why a child like you was standing by the road all alone. How cruel-hearted your driver is!
Tuesday: It's dangerous out here. Even a local like me wouldn't wander the roads alone at night.
The baby in her arms pushes against its swaddle. She quickly tucks it back in.
Tuesday's cheeks flush red, perhaps from the effort of carrying the child in the Texas heat.
Barbara: Oh, miss. I'd be more than happy to hold the baby for a while. If you'd trust me to, that is.
Tuesday: Oh, don't you worry, dear. The little one just fell asleep. It'll make a fuss if we accidentally wake it up.
Tuesday: And shouldn't you be worried about whether YOU can trust ME?
Barbara: Sorry?
Tuesday: There you are on a deserted road, and up comes a friendly stranger who offers a place for you to stay the night.
Tuesday: I claimed to be a motel maid who just happened to be passing by, but why would a maid have a baby in her arms?
Tuesday: You've come all this way with me, missy, and now you're worried if I can trust you?
Tuesday: Have you heard this baby in my arms make a single sound? I could be cradling a butcher's knife, a monster, or the skull of that terrified driver, his eyes still wide with fear.
Tuesday draws nearer, looking Barbara in the eye. The little sheep dares not look away. Her nose gives an involuntary twitch of fear.
Tuesday: Oh, look!
She raises her arm and sweeps Barbara's shoulder.
Barbara: ...!
Tuesday: Oopsie daisy.
A gunshot echoes, and a flock of birds takes wing. Barbara's heart is pounding.
Tuesday: There's dirt on your clothes. Oh, and they're such nice clothes, too. I'll clean them up for you when we get to the motel.
She shakes her head apologetically.
Barbara: Thank you.
Tuesday: Heh, I should be thanking YOU, dear. So many of my guests are running from the law or smuggling something—you're like a rose among thorns.
Tuesday: I was just making a little joke, is all. I didn't mean to scare you.
Tuesday: In fact, I went to the roadside to wait for a customer, but they never came. And my baby's been fussy lately—won't sleep unless I hold it in my arms. So I took it along with me.
Tuesday: Anyway, we're almost there. But do be careful outside alone in the future, won't you?
Tuesday: This way, please.
Barbara: Oh, it's beautiful.
Tuesday: I'm glad you like it. I've put a lot of effort into running this place.
Her face is pale with fatigue, but she still manages a grin.
Tuesday: You see that sign?
Barbara narrows her eyes as she tries to read it.
Barbara: "Tues—day's—MOTEL"?
Tuesday: Yes. My mama used to run it. I took over after she fell sick.
Tuesday pushes the door open as she speaks.
Tuesday: Welcome.
Tuesday: Are there any requirements for your room? I'm sure I can find one to suit your needs.
Barbara: Well, a quiet room with a little sunshine and a table for me to write at would be more than enough.
Tuesday: Ah, I've got just the room for you.
Tuesday: Could you wait here a moment? I just need to set down the baby and go check on the room. Then I'll come check you in, alright?
Barbara: Sure, I'll just take a look around here, if that's okay?
Tuesday: Of course, make yourself comfortable.
Tuesday strides away with swift, soft steps.
Barbara, now alone, unclips her notebook from her chest.
The notebook is in the shape of a heart, with a scarlet cover and white paper inside.
It's a unique and delicate design.
Barbara: No, not this page.
Barbara: Not here, either.
Barbara: Bonnette definitely told me about her parents and their restaurant. It should be around ...
Barbara: When was it we talked about that? The last time I saw her?
Barbara: Maybe near the back? Hm, but I haven't written much here.
???: Hi? Hello?
Barbara: Oh, hello!
Barbara jumps at this sudden greeting, her heartbeat quickening.
She nervously clips her notebook back onto her chest and takes a deep, calming breath.
Young Guest: Whoa!
Barbara: ...
This isn't the first time she's received a reaction like this. In fact, this one is rather tame.
Barbara: There's no need to be scared. I'm not an illusion or some kind of monster. It usually takes people a moment or two to get used to the way I look.
Young Guest: Oh my! You must be one of those arcanists! And not just any old one, either—the most special kind! If only the sheep on my farm could talk and walk like you!
Young Guest: You just check in today? Anything I can help you with?
Young Guest: Ah, but I've got some jobs to do first. I'll catch up with you later, alright? Oh, I'm Kayla, by the way.
Barbara: You can call me Barbara.
Kayla: Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Barbara!
With a basket under her arm, Kayla walks briskly out of the motel.
Barbara: ...
Barbara: This place must be nice to have such energetic guests.
Tuesday: We always provide the best service, despite the limited conditions.
Barbara doesn't jump this time.
She's becoming used to the sudden appearances of new figures.
Barbara: Thank you very much, Ms. Tuesday. You walk really quietly.
Tuesday: All part of the service I provide. You wouldn't want me stomping around the halls at night now, would you? Anyway, your room's ready. Please follow me.
Tuesday: You must be tired coming in so late. Why don't you drop off your bags and take a rest? You can check in later. I trust you won't jump out the window to avoid paying me, right?
Barbara: Actually, based on my past interviews, it's more common for a guest to kill the owner, take anything of value from the place, and leave behind a messy, empty building.
Barbara: Then the ghost of the owner haunts the motel, waiting for future guests to check in so they can tear them apart. At least, that's how the stories go.
Tuesday: Hahaha!
Tuesday: Well, now, aren't you a hoot? Talking of ghost stories in such a serious manner!
Barbara: I'm sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you. I was just retelling the stories I'd recorded. That's the job of an editor, you see.
Tuesday: Don't you worry, missy. I love these kinds of stories.
Tuesday: What would life be without a few ghost stories to keep things interesting?
Tuesday: Your room's just at the end of the hallway. We provide one free meal of a sandwich and hot milk per day.
Tuesday: This is the room. The door's unlocked. Go ahead and open it.
Barbara steps forward and reaches for the door handle.
It's a door like any other. It's painted a simple color and a little worn and rotting at the edges.
Tuesday suddenly leans forward, staring at the wall between Barbara's door and the previous one.
Tuesday: What's going on?!
Barbara: What is that ... Bonnette?!
She turns to Tuesday, not realizing in her panic that she has blurted out the name "Bonnette."
How did they not notice it before?
Right there, before Tuesday, stands a crimson door.
Barbara moves closer to Tuesday, reaching to pull her away from it.
Barbara: Stay away from that door. Whatever's behind it doesn't seem friendly.
Barbara: Wait—
The door creaks open.
Tuesday puts her hand on Barbara's back. Barbara can't tell if she's trying to support her or push her in.
Tuesday: Child, be—
Barbara: What?