Disclaimer: I am not Dan Schneider.
AN/: Words in Italics = Sam's thoughts. Words in Bold = Freddie's thoughts.
Sam sat in the hatchback, staring boredly out her mosquito graveyard of a window; wondering when the road trip would end and she'd get to relax at the bed and breakfast. Ms. Puckett turned the car into a long, hilly, driveway lined with trees and cryptic statues that seemed to be staring Sam right in the eye. A huge powder blue Civil War era mansion was perched atop the hill looking down on a manicured graveyard. The silver "Mom-Mobile" came to a halt at a cracked parking brick, allowing Sam and her mother to walk into the striking mansion. An elderly man stood at the front desk, with an organized board with room keys hooked on it behind him.
The man smiled softly. " Hello," he creaked, "And which party would you be?"
"Puckett," Ms. Puckett announced clearly. Sam began absentmindedly running her fingers through her long blonde curls, something she always did when something didn't feel right. Like the time when she first tried to ride a bike. She crashed in the first ten seconds because she kept running her fingers through her hair. Or the time when Carly tried to- Sam's thoughts were cut clean off by her mother's question.
"Samantha! Would you like your own room or not!?" Rebecca Puckett questioned her daughter.
"I'll take my own room," she answered briskly, desperate for privacy. The old man handed her the room key and room number. " Thanks," Sam mumbled quickly to the clerk. She ran up four flights of stairs total, six endless corridors, and passed ten doors until she found hers. The door creaked slowly open, and what Samantha Alesandra Puckett saw made her drop her suitcase and emit a scarcely audible yelp.