It is gloriously tall. The windows glow in the dark as if rays of sun were trapped inside.

“Top of the evening to you, ma’am.”

A voice pulls me out of my wonder and I turn to find a gardener grinning at me in the twilight. “Evening to you, sir,” I say, noticing the Golden Bridge insignia on his hat. “It’s a bit late to be working in the garden, don’t you think?”

“It is never too late to do what we love,” the man replies. He winks before he turns away to continue pruning one of the hedges.

Confused, I turn and make my way to the vast doors. The frosted glass is engraved with two knights fighting a duel. Two huge pillars stand like sentries on either side.

“Welcome to the Golden Bridge Hotel,” the bellhop says, when the doors swing open. His top hat is straight out of Willy Wonka’s closet.

“Thank you,” I respond, frowning at him, puzzled. “Were you not in the garden a few minutes ago?”

I turn to stare outside, but the gardener is no longer there.

“Oh no,” he responds, his voice as smooth as silk, “that was my brother you saw out there. Do you have any bags that need tending to, ma’am?”

I realise that I have brought nothing with me. Not a bag, not even a cell phone. I look down at the white dress I am wearing. It’s the one that my mother bought me for my father’s funeral. A memory I would much rather forget.

“It seems as if I have brought nothing with me, sir,” I reply.

“Very well, ma’am. You may go to the front desk.” The man gestures forward.

The lobby is like a huge living room with couches and bookcases. Its white walls are filled with paintings that hang like tapestries in a cathedral. The warmth of it feels more like home than a business. A large chandelier hangs above, each arm outstretched like an octopus awakening from slumber.

The man who stands before me has the same Golden Bridge insignia, but his is a broach on the hem of his suit.

“Good evening. I would like to check-in. My name is…”

“Miss Swartz,” the man says, before I can tell him, his voice melodic. “Miss Melissa Swartz. We have been waiting for you to arrive, ma’am.”

Why would they be waiting for my arrival when hotels receive hundreds of guests on a regular basis? What is this place? I scan the lobby; no one in sight.

“Why is the hotel so empty, sir?

“Please, call me Mr Val,” he responds. “We only serve one person at a time, ma’am. A way to minimise error, if that makes sense, and what better way to make our guests feel utterly special?” His smile gleams.

Before I can open my mouth to ask another question, the man hands me a set of keys.

“This is a set of five keys, Miss Swartz. You will be escorted to the fifth floor where you will have a choice of five rooms you can sleep in,” he says.

“That is a first,” I reply.

“There is beauty in choice, Miss Swartz. At the Golden Bridge Hotel, we do offer that luxury.”

The oddity of it all leaves me perplexed. I have never encountered a hotel that not only serves one person at a time but offers five rooms to sleep in. I stare at the keys in my hand. The cold metal brings no comfort. Each key has a number carved into it. I shrug and look up at him.

“Any room, you say?”

“That is correct, but remember, you are allowed to inspect each room, but once you close the door behind you, you may not choose a different room. Be sure about the room before you close the door.”

“I thought that there was beauty in choice,” I say, jesting with him. “What good is it when you cannot change your mind?”

“Indecision is the thief of possibility. The choice you make is defined by what comes after it.”

I follow the bellboy to the elevator. He says nothing until we reach the fifth floor.

“Enjoy your stay, ma’am, and don’t forget what Mr Val said about closing the doors,” is all he says, as the lift door closes behind me. His words are more a warning than an instruction.

Tell us: What do you think of the hotel so far? What do you think is going on?