The receptionist is standing behind the hotel desk, his back towards me. An uncomfortable moment passes as I wait for him to register my presence. He doesn’t move. A giant, Father Christmas-bearded man with colourful braces appears from a side door and silently sits in a tall chair. He looks directly at me, then his eyes flick to the bell on the reception desk. I ring it.
Slowly, the receptionist turns around, revealing round, dark glasses, crooked teeth and a lined, almost cruel face. He speaks in a slow, vaguely unsettling drawl, seemingly mistaking me for someone called Miss Ray, who is apparently here for her “final night”. I mumble in surprise. He pauses, removing his glasses to reveal unseeing eyes. He’s suspicious now, polite but threatening. He asks why I’m here. What do I tell him?
