She couldn’t pinpoint exactly when she started doing it. It was just something she did every day. Like a hobby. Some girls like makeup. Others play sports. Alice was into something a little different. Burying roadkill wasn’t a choice for Alice. It was an addiction. A moral compulsion. All God’s creatures deserved a respectful memorial and she was called to preside over their little funerals. Now Alice was used to seeing mangled piles of limbs and blood-soaked fur, but she had never seen anything like this before. But Alice didn’t discriminate. She buried anything and everything no matter how strange. We all look weird when we’re dead. An eerie, feeling washed over Alice as she walked away from the fresh grave. But that emotion quickly evaporated when she stumbled upon something else in the cemetery. A ticket to the movies. Werewolf Wednesday at the Brazos Cinema. Some cinematic escapism was just what Alice needed. She wasn’t feeling quite herself lately. The solitude of the cool dark theater would alleviate the discomfort. It was getting late. Alice was expected home by now. Just stick to the road she told herself. She soon realized that would be impossible. Alice always wondered what the old hotel looked like inside. It was gutted and slowly rotting. She feared she might suffer the same fate. Growing up, she heard the ghost stories surrounding the hotel. But those spirits were no match for what was following her. Alice knew her fate was inevitable. She carved her own cross with her addiction. She didn’t give that strange creature peace when she buried it in the cemetery, she pissed it off or so, she thought. Alice never left the theater that afternoon the monster was a hallucination a figment of her imagination. Probably an effect of the rabies she contracted weeks ago from one of her animals. Let this be a cautionary tale. Good intentions pave the way to hell.