Who Is The Enemy

What struck him as odd was the stairs he traversed while following behind the elderly woman who acted as both the inn owner and keeper. 

As each of the carpeted steps unleashed a drawn-out groan beneath the weight of each, slow step, he felt sweat roll down his skin. 

What's up with me? I'm completely on edge. It's definitely a weird night, but why am I suspicious of this sweet old lady, too? He thought. 

"I never asked you, dear," the old woman said.

All he could see was her hunched over back as he walked behind her, "Yeah?"

"What's your name?" The question left her lips in a particular way; one he couldn't quite put his finger on at first. 

"My name?" He repeated her question with a smile. 

As they reached the summit of the surprisingly windy, lengthy stairs, he watched as the old woman came to a stop at the very top. 

It was dark. 

"Yes. Your name," she affirmed his question.