Normally, the spirit whore would have had them running scared out of the Victorian hotel. But it had been a long time since she had any visitors in he... boudoir. The previous hotel owner had forbid the renting out of her room because people reported being sexually fondled by something they couldn’t see and of hearing light sexual moaning late at night. For now, her name isn’t of matter; only know that she was a harlot working on Maiden Lane in 1848. It was actually known as Morton Alley in those. Tom picked up his phone. He had disconnected it Wednesday or so. It was Just bothersome. Reattaching the line, Tom sat the phone next to the answering machine that constantly flashed that it had eight messages it couldn't wait to tell. Against his better judgment, Tom pressed the play button."Tom, this is Sharon from work..." Tom hit the next button, unwilling to listen to his boss' voice."Tom, Sharon?" NEXT."Hey, it's Sharon again?" NEXT."We're getting worried?" NEXT."Where are you, Tom?". More

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