The Inn

The Inn was old and unkempt. The porch sagged slightly, and the paint was faded and peeling, exposing its brick-red foundation to the world. The windows were covered with cobwebs that made them look like dark eyes glowering at passersby. The front yard was overgrown with tall grass and clumps of weeds that had shriveled in the hot sun. The house itself was merely a skeleton of decay - boards broke from their nails, hinges hung loose on rotting frames, and shutters leaned away from their homes.
The innkeeper, an old man with a long, grey beard, stepped out to greet them. He welcomed them warmly and handed them a key, telling them that the room was ready for them. The family thanked him and followed him inside.