Rhonda and Steve were awestruck as they stared unblinking at the magnificent interiors of the Airbnb.
The walls were covered with such grand paintings that it looked like they were in the Louvre.
Add Bach’s Goldberg Variations playing in the background, and they felt as if they’d been transported to another century.
“We simply love it,” Rhonda cried out, ecstatically, “I don’t ever want to leave this place, Doctor.”
“I’m sure that can be arranged, my dear,” replied their host with an indulgent smile, a picture of old world charm, just like his home, “And please call me Hannibal.”
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Written in response to the Carrot Ranch Flash Fiction challenge.
jagahdilmein 
Uh-oh… I never did catch the whole story of Mr. H… but I know it’s not a nice one!
Very cool. Staying at someone’s house makes you re-evaluate your own.
This one has quite the bite!
Ha, ha! Old world culinary arts, I’m not sure but I suspect I know the menu. Great framing to place Dr. Lecter in an airbnb.
Well, this story delivers on my innermost silly fears of airbnbs — what if your host turned out to be the most notorious axe murderer of all times? Or Dr. Lecter? 🙂 Love the last line…I can almost see him saying it!
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