As Barry pulled up outside of the inn, he saw a short, bald man racing back to his car. Getting out, and completely confused, Barry called to the man, who he could only assume was the appraiser he was supposed to meet.

"Mr. Murray?" he called as the man, who, Barry noticed, looked terrified, jerked his car door open and scurried inside. "Wait! Where are you-" It was of no use, thought. Mr. Murray backed out of the driveway and took off down the road. Barry sighed in frustration and looked at the inn. It was beautiful, old, and covered in a thick layer of snow. Curious, Barry made his way down the driveway and up to the front door, which was still ajar from Mr. Murray's swift departure. Barry climbed the steps and pushed the door further open. He walked inside and took in the beauty before him. The interior was just as beautiful as the exterior. It all looked original, gorgeous hardwood everywhere. This place looked like it must have back in its glory days.

"Hello?" he asked tentatively. Sure, he was supposed to be here, but he still felt like he was trespassing. Barry stepped through the foyer and into the next room. A piano sat in one corner of the room, but it was the mantle above the fireplace that caught his attention. Or, rather, the pictures on the mantle. All of the pictures were old, black and white, Barry noticed. He walked down the length of the mantle, taking in each picture on his way. He stopped, however, when he reached the middle one. It was a man standing outside in the snow. He was very handsome and wore the tiniest of smiles. Barry stared for a moment, picking the picture up. He wondered what color the man's eyes were. They were so sincere.

"May I help you?" came a voice from behind him. Barry gasped and jerked around, holding the picture in front of his body like a shield. He barely kept from screaming. There was a man standing in the doorway, tall and muscular. Barry took a moment to catch his breath.

"Hi. Sorry, the door was open." The man stepped further into the room.

"It isn't actually. I'm in the middle of closing the inn for the holidays." That perplexed Barry.

"Closing? Isn't it high season for an inn like this? Why would you be closing now?" The man looked down at the ground then back up at Barry as he took the photo the younger man was still clutching away from him.

"Tradition." He then stuck his hand out to Barry. "I'm John Diggle. I take it you're Mr. Allen."

"Barry, with the attorney's office." he said shaking the proffered hand. "I'm here for the property appraisal."

"Yes, Mr. Murray arrived early. Left early, too."

"What happened?" Barry asked. Diggle sighed.

"It was probably the ghost." he said in all seriousness. Barry's eyebrows shot up and he began to smile, feeling the need to laugh.

"The ghost?"

"Usually is when they leave like that. Though, Oliver's never harmed anyone, every once in a while, he does...assert himself." Barry couldn't believe what he was hearing. This man was talking about a ghost as if it were a scientifically proven fact. Was everyone around here looney?

"Oliver." he repeated the name slowly. "Mmhm, you're on a first name basis with the ghost?" he asked. Diggle shrugged.

"Well, when you've worked here as long as I have..." he trailed off with a laugh. He looked back down at the picture in his hand with a smile. "Oliver Queen." he said, placing the picture back on the mantle. "He once owned this inn, many years ago. It was of the utmost importance to him." Barry just smiled at the larger man like he was crazy. He couldn't help but wonder if something in Starling's water caused mass hallucinations. "Now, I'm sorry your trip has been a waste of time." he said, turning and walking back into the foyer. Barry furrowed his brow, following him.

"No, I'm not done." he said, catching up to Diggle. "I just got here. There has to be some appraiser somewhere who's not going to let a silly ghost story scare them off." he said with a smile. Then, he turned to the inn at large and spoke. "Sorry, Oliver." he said loudly.

"And, where will you stay until then?" Diggle asked.

"Well, this is an inn, so I figured that I would stay here."

"Not possible." Diggle said immediately. " As I said, we're closed until December twenty-sixth. The staff's already gone and I'll be leaving within the hour." Barry smiled and hummed, nodding his head. He was always said to be quite stubborn.

"Well, as executor of the estate, I have a set of keys, so not impossible." Diggle quirked an eyebrow at the brazen man in front of him.

"Inadvisable." he amended.

"Because of the ghost?" Barry asked. "I don't scare easily."

"I'll be leaving soon. You will be alone." Diggle said, as serious as he could get. Barry huffed a little laugh.

"I'm a big boy, Mr. Diggle. Besides, it's only for one night and I'll lock up the place when I leave. But, you know what? You're welcome to stay here with me, if that would make you feel better." Diggle shook his head and smirked.

"Not remotely. I'll be gone, as I always am, by December thirteenth." he said, turning to walk away. Barry, however, followed after him, still asking questions.

"Why December thirteenth?" Diggle stopped and turned around.

"Tradition." he said, walking away. Barry stared after him for a moment before turning and walking back into the room they had previously exited. Why was everybody here so superstitious? He walked over to the mantle and picked the picture of Oliver back up. Something told him this was going to be quite the experience.