Chapter 1- Mysterious Hotel
The rain lashed against the windshield as Taehyung’s car wheezed to a final halt, right in front of the gates of an old, forgotten hotel.
He cursed under his breath, pulling up the collar of his coat before stepping out into the downpour. His limbs ached, not from the cold, but from exhaustion. Since his parents had died in that horrific plane crash, he hadn’t stopped working, not even for a moment. Maybe this breakdown was the universe's way of forcing him to rest.
The hotel stood silently, almost like it had been waiting for him. Faded walls, moss-covered bricks, and windows that seemed to peer into his soul.
Inside, at the reception desk, sat an old man. His head was bent low, scribbling something into a tattered leather-bound book titled “Mysterious Hotel.”
Taehyung cleared his throat.
The man slowly looked up, scanning him from head to toe with unreadable eyes.
“I need a room,” Taehyung said.
Without a word, the old man slid a rusty key across the counter.
“Room 303,” he mumbled.
“I’m starving. Do you have a restaurant here? Or any food delivery?” Taehyung asked, his voice hopeful.
“No use,” the man muttered. “No one delivers here. No staff. No guests. Just... silence.”
Something about his tone was unsettling, but Taehyung was too tired to argue. He grabbed the key, picked up his luggage, and made his way toward the staircase. The hallway echoed with each of his steps. The silence was unnerving. For a brief moment, he had a strange sensation like someone was following him. But when he turned around, there was no one.
Room 303 greeted him with a musty odor, the scent of time long forgotten. Dim lighting struggled against the gloom, a flickering lantern casting uneasy shadows that danced across the cracked, peeling wallpaper. Dust clung to every surface like a second skin, undisturbed for what felt like decades.
The room was cold when Taehyung stepped inside.
Not just chilly, but hollow.
Lifeless.
As if the air hadn’t been stirred by breath or warmth in years.
The silence was oppressive, wrapping around him like a heavy, invisible cloak.
Then he saw it.
A painting on the wall, a girl, her face hauntingly beautiful yet oddly familiar. Her head was slightly tilted, eyes looking to the side, as if watching something... or someone.
Taehyung stared, blinking slowly. Something felt off.
He turned away for a moment, then back again.
His heart skipped a beat.
The girl’s head... it was no longer tilted.
Now she was staring straight at him.
He rubbed his eyes furiously. I must be hallucinating. Probably just hungry or overworked.
He shook off the chill crawling down his spine and stepped into the bathroom for a quick shower. But when he returned, he froze.
A hot meal was neatly placed on the bed.
He hadn’t heard a knock. No footsteps.
No sound at all.
His thoughts immediately went to the old man at the reception. Maybe he brought it while I was in the shower, Taehyung reasoned. Too tired to question it, he sat down and ate.
The warmth of the food calmed his nerves , until the lights were off and he lay in bed.
That’s when he heard it.
Whispers. Soft, but clear. Right next to his ear.
He bolted upright, heart thudding in his chest, scanning the room wildly.
But the only thing staring back at him...
was the girl in the painting.
When night falls, the painting speaks. Are you ready to listen?
Stay tuned for next part.
