(Read part one here.)
Hot Stuff and I found a parking spot in a nearly empty lot, then walked over to Park City's Main Street, holding hands.
"Gosh, there's no one here," I mused. We walked up the street for a while, finding to our dismay that most of the shops were closed. A mall-type center advertised tourist information, so we went inside.
Instead of bright lights and bustling (or if not bustling, at least populated) stores, we found the whole building dim, barely lit. Metal grills were pulled down over most of the store fronts, giving the entire place an almost sinister feeling. The escalators, silent and stilled, lead to a second level shrouded in shadow. I shivered as we walked, feeling unseen eyes looking down on us.
I was being silly.
The tourist information center was abandoned. Neat rows of pamphlets and advertisements lined the side, so we perused and took the most promising of the bunch. We had our hearts set on visiting the silver mine, where Hot Stuff's great-grandpa had worked, but oddly enough not a single pamphlet even mentioned it. I glanced up at the chalkboard behind the empty desk. A single handprint disturbed the layer of dust--perfect at the top and then dragged down, as though someone had grabbed the chalkboard and then been pulled away.
Were those faded brown spots on the linoleum floor beneath the chalkboard what I thought they were?
"Let's go back out to the street," I said, frowning. I didn't like this building. Just as we opened the door, I thought I heard one of the store grills rattling. Shaking my head, I braced against the chill that even late May couldn't erase from the mountain air. I needed a happy store.
"Hey, there's a bookstore," Hot Stuff said, pointing across the street. We walked over, both of us moving quicker than normal. Three of the doors were locked, and my heart fell. Was nothing open? Then, to my relief, we found the main entrance. We pulled open the door and a dark shape streaked across the floor toward us, inhumanly fast.
To be continued...