The Biting Tide Motel

I am the resident of the Biting Tide Motel. I am not the caretaker. I am not the manager. I am not the owner. None of these roles exist. The motel has no sign bearing its name. I call it The Biting Tide because, at every full moon, the tide comes in high and sweeps up into the motel, soaking everything in at least a foot of sea and sand. When the tide recedes, it takes with it the unusual circumstances that had plagued the motel the twenty-eight days and nights prior. But something new always starts after the tide goes away. The motel is easy to get to but hard to leave. You are welcome to stay a night or two, but you will not be welcome to return—not that you’d want to.