Seaside

 

The Seaside Hotel sat in the center of the desert, surrounded by sand and depression.

Abandoned for over fifty years, rumors were that anyone who entered the Seaside never came out.

He stood in the parking lot, watching the “Vacancy” light flickering with no power to the building.

Shrugging, he entered the hotel.

Padding down the musty carpet of the single hallway, he read the signs on the rooms.

“Mediterranean, Caribbean, Bering, Adriatic, Tasman, Arabian, Aegean, Java.”

As the door to the Tasman Sea closed behind him, the scent of mimosa and call of a Butcherbird lingered in the hallway.