Maid of Sker begins in earnest as you walk under a burgundy banner advertising the Sker Hotel’s grand reopening. The ivy-covered building looks more castle than inn, with gray stone walls and a central spire flanked by turrets. It’s an imposing piece of architecture, starkly distinct from the sun-bleached wilderness that surrounds it. Passing under that banner and into the dark and secluded inn is the playable version of that moment in a horror flick when things in idyllic suburbia go sideways, or when a shark shows up to wreck a perfectly nice day at the beach. The banner is the dividing line between Maid of Sker’s “before” and “after.” Unfortunately, much of the evocative promise of the before disappears the moment you enter the after.