They Took the Wrong Road in America — By Morning, the Entire Village Wanted Them Dead
Chapter 3
Ethan couldn’t sleep.
At 2:11 a.m., he left the motel room.
Maya was asleep.
He walked downstairs.
The reception desk was empty.
The guestbook was still open.
Ethan picked it up.
He turned through the pages.
The names continued.
Every entry had the same pattern.
Two travelers.
Room 6.
Two nights.
Then nothing.
No checkout.
Ethan’s pulse quickened.
He reached for his phone.
A sound came from behind him.
He turned.
The hallway was empty.
Then he heard footsteps upstairs.
Slow.
Heavy.
Someone stopped outside Room 6.
Ethan hurried back.
The door was open.
Maya was standing beside the bed.
“Where were you?”
“Downstairs.”
She looked frightened.
“Someone was standing outside.”
Ethan closed the door.
“Did you see them?”
“No.”
“What happened?”
“I heard a knock.”
She pointed toward the door.
“I opened it.”
“Why?”
“I thought it was you.”
Ethan looked down.
Something had been pushed underneath the door.
A photograph.
He picked it up.
It showed Bellweather’s main street.
The photograph looked decades old.
But standing in the center were two people.
Ethan.
Maya.
Both wearing the same clothes they had on now.
Maya’s face went pale.
“That’s impossible.”
Ethan turned the photograph over.
There was writing on the back.
WELCOME BACK.
He stared at it.
“We’ve never been here.”
Maya whispered:
“Have we?”
Ethan looked at her.
“What?”
She shook her head.
“Nothing.”
Then they heard a car start outside.
Ethan looked through the window.
A black SUV disappeared down the road.
Its license plate was covered in mud.
But the driver had stopped long enough for one thing to become visible.
A small metal badge hanging from the mirror.
Sheriff.
