When the dark green eaves of the opera house loomed above her, the old woman was right to be afraid. Because she had never noticed the hurricane lamps in the windows before, or the way they smoldered in the fog. And tonight, she thought, my heart will empty out like a bottle of milk and drift away…. An usher waited near the door, grinning in his red velvet suit. The halls behind him were dim and twisted like the neck of a harp.

Kristina Marie Darling has written on contemporary literature for The Boston Review, The Colorado Review, New Letters, The Mid-American Review, Third Coast, and other journals. Her most recent book is Strange Gospels (Maverick Duck Press, 2008).

To link to this story directly: http://wigleaf.com/200903hotel.htm

Detail of photo on main page courtesy of Michael R. Swigart.

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