Check-In
The creaking sound from the stairs made the whole hotel feel even creepier. It was an old building, with walls that looked like they hadn't been cleaned in years, and the smell... it was terrible — like something rotten was hiding somewhere. But he didn't have a choice. He had to stay, at least for one night.
His car had broken down in the middle of nowhere, and this was the only place he could find. In a way, he thought he should feel lucky to find any hotel at all out here. Maybe things would look better in the morning.
Still, he couldn't stop thinking about the man at the reception desk — an old guy who barely spoke. He didn't say "hello," didn't smile, didn't even ask for ID. Just slid the room key across the counter and took the money, even though the price was already written on the dusty board behind him. It was like... he didn't really care about the money. Or maybe he just didn't like talking.
When he reached the door to his room, he heard laughter and voices coming from the room next to his. It made him feel a little better — at least he wasn't the only one staying in this strange old hotel.
He didn't want to think about creepy things. All he wanted was to get some rest, wake up in the morning, and get out of here.
He dropped onto the bed without even bothering to take off his shoes. The mattress was hard, but he didn't care. He was just too tired.
Not long after, the hotel went completely quiet. The laughter and voices were gone. Now, the only sound was the wind blowing through the window. For a moment, it was almost peaceful... until something made him jump.
A voice.
It sounded like someone whispering — a soft but sharp "Hey..."
Then again.
"Hey..."
Like someone was trying to get his attention. Trying to bother him.
He sat up quickly, heart pounding, and looked around the room, trying to find where the voice was coming from. But there was nobody else in the room. Just him.
He slowly walked to the bathroom, pushed open the creaky door, and looked around. Empty. The cracked mirror stared back at him, reflecting his tired, pale face. The flickering light above buzzed weakly, then went out for a second before blinking back to life.
Maybe it was just his imagination. This place was falling apart — old, dark, and full of strange smells. It felt like the walls were watching him, like the whole building had a heartbeat of its own. He tried to shake the thought off. I'm just tired. That's all.
He walked back to the bed, rubbing his eyes, and lay down again without even taking off his shoes. The blanket felt cold and a little damp, but he didn't care anymore. He just wanted sleep. The room fell into a deep silence. Not peaceful — unnerving. No more voices. No more wind. Just stillness, like the air itself was holding its breath.
And then...
Something began to move.
Soft. Slow. Just a faint shift under him.
Under the bed.
Something was there.
A pale hand, thin like a skeleton, crept out from the shadows. Its skin was grayish, stretched tight over long bones. The fingers were too long — each one bending strangely, unnaturally, as they curled around the edge of the mattress.
The hand moved silently, inch by inch, as if it was savoring the moment. It reached higher, closer to his back. He didn't see it. He didn't feel it. But the thing under the bed...
It was waiting.
Waiting for him to fall asleep.
Just as the hand was about to touch him, a voice called out again. But this time, it wasn't a whisper.
It was a scream.
"HEY!!"
He shot up in bed, gasping. His heart thudded so loud it echoed in his ears. The room was empty. The hand was gone.
He sat there, frozen, his eyes wide in the dark. He was terrified now. His throat was dry, and his hands were shaking. Something was wrong — very wrong. Maybe something had happened in the room next to his. Maybe someone was in trouble.
Trying to be brave, he walked slowly to the hallway and stood in front of the door next to his. He pressed his ear against it, hoping to hear something.
Nothing. No laughter. No voices. Not even a whisper.
He knocked — once, twice — then a third time, louder.
Still no answer.
Then he noticed something. The door... was already open. Just a little. His chest tightened, but he reached out and slowly pushed it open. The light from the hallway spilled inside — and what he saw made his blood run cold.
It wasn't a bedroom. It was a storage room.
Dusty shelves. Old furniture stacked against the wall. Broken chairs, a cracked mirror, a mannequin with no head. Boxes piled high, covered in cobwebs. There was no bed. No signs of anyone living there. It was almost impossible that someone had been staying in this room.
So then...
Who had been laughing?
Who had been talking?
And who screamed "HEY"?
He returned to his room, still shaken — but what he saw made his heart stop. The bed he had just been lying on was now covered in a thick layer of dust. The blanket was torn, the mattress sunken and stained. The walls were cracked, their paint flaking off in chunks. A foul, damp smell clung to the air.
It looked like no one had stayed in this room for years. Maybe longer. His eyes darted around, trying to make sense of it. The curtains were shredded. The mirror was broken. The lamp lay on the floor, covered in spiderwebs.
He backed into the hallway. But it, too, had changed. The wallpaper was peeling in long strips. The lights buzzed weakly, flickering in and out. The air felt colder. Heavy. Every breath burned in his lungs.
Something was wrong with this place.
Really wrong.
He turned and hurried toward the stairs, heart pounding, feet echoing against the worn floor. The staircase was still there. But it looked ancient — older than before. The wood was warped and blackened, some steps cracked straight through. The railing was loose, like it might break off if he touched it. But it was his only way down.
He gripped the side of the wall, careful not to lean on the fragile railing, and began descending slowly. The lights above flickered and dimmed with every step, until the only sound was the creaking wood beneath him — and something else.
A faint sound.
Dragging.
Somewhere above him.
Something was following.
Just a few more steps and he'd be off the stairs. His hand gripped the wall, the creaking beneath his feet louder now, like the wood was protesting his every move.
And then—he paused.
Something made him turn his head.
At the top of the stairs, where he had just come from...
The old man from the front desk was standing there.
Motionless.
Facing him.
Staring straight down the staircase.
His expression was blank. His mouth slightly open. His arms hanging at his sides. He didn't blink. He didn't move. He didn't say a word.
Just watched.
A cold shiver ran through him. His body froze. He couldn't breathe. Couldn't think.
Then—
"HEY!!"
Something grabbed his leg from behind.
He jolted in shock, nearly stumbling down the stairs. He twisted around— A small boy stood there, grinning. His eyes gleamed in the dark.
"Hahahaahaha!" the boy laughed and darted away, disappearing around the corner like a shadow.
He ran. As fast as his legs could carry him. His footsteps pounded the floor, echoing down the hall as the laughter grew louder behind him—more voices now. Dozens. Men, women, children. All laughing.
It was getting closer.
Closer.
Chasing him.
He clutched his ears with both hands, trying to block it out, but the sound pressed in, shrill and twisted, like it was crawling into his skull. He turned a corner blindly, heart crashing in his chest, breath sharp and panicked—
And then, he fell. Tumbled forward, crashing into grass and dirt.
He lay there, hands still over his ears, eyes shut tight, waiting for the laughter, the cold hands, the dragging voices—
But everything had gone quiet.
Slowly... hesitantly... he opened his eyes.
The hotel was gone.
No crumbling stairs.
No hallway.
No laughter.
No old man.
Just open sky above him. Trees. Silence. He sat up, shaking, and looked around. His car was parked a few feet away, right where he'd left it.
Nothing else.
No sign of the hotel.
Only the wind in the trees... and the sound of his own breathing.
He was alone.
Utterly alone
