Room 314

The taxi driver seemed embarrassed to find there was no one – not even a clerk behind the reception desk – waiting to welcome me. He wandered across the deserted lobby, perhaps hoping to discover a staff member concealed behind one of the plants or armchairs. Eventually, he put the suitcases down beside the elevator doors and, mumbling some excuse, took his leave of me.

Alone in the oppressive silence, I scanned the faded grandeur of the lobby. Cobwebs clung to the neglected corners. The once-plush carpets were threadbare, whispering tales of a bygone era of luxury. Dust motes danced in the shaft of sunlight filtering through a grime-coated skylight, casting long, skeletal shadows across the marble floor.

Ignoring the unease creeping up my spine, I hoisted my luggage and trudged towards the elevator. Its brass buttons were tarnished, some bearing the scars of countless frustrated pushes. The doors groaned open with reluctance, revealing an interior lit by a single flickering bulb. Stepping inside, a stale, metallic scent assaulted my nostrils, sending a shiver down my spine.

The elevator ride was slow and uneventful, the silence punctuated only by the strained groans of the ancient machinery. When it finally opened on the third floor, the ding announcing its arrival felt more like a death knell. The hallway that greeted me was a replica of the lobby – dimly lit, echoing with emptiness. Ornate wallpaper, once vibrant, now hung limply, peeling at the edges like shedding skin.

Navigating the labyrinthine corridors, I finally reached my assigned room, 314. As I neared it, a sudden gust of icy air whooshed past, extinguishing a nearby wall sconce and plunging me into near darkness. Heart hammering, I fumbled for the keycard slot, my fingers numb with a mix of cold and nervous sweat. The door clicked open with a finality that made me hesitate.

Behind it lay a scene that mirrored the unsettling beauty of the lobby: a four-poster bed, draped in heavy velvet dominated the room. Cobwebs adorned the ornate carvings on the headboard like macabre lace. The air hung heavy with the same metallic tang, a scent that felt strangely familiar. Just then, a flicker from the single bare bulb cast a grotesque shadow on the wall – a distorted silhouette that seemed to writhe and contort in the darkness.

Despite the chill, a bead of sweat rolled down my temple. Shaking off the growing feeling of dread, I fumbled for the light switch, desperate to dispel the unsettling shadows. As the room flooded with harsh fluorescent light, the distorted figure vanished. But the oppressive silence remained, broken only by the erratic thump of my own heart.

There was something off about this place, something that didn't sit right with me. But dismissing it as mere paranoia, I unpacked my belongings and settled in for the night.

As the hours passed, I found myself unable to shake the feeling of being watched. Every creak of the floorboards, every whisper of the wind outside seemed to heighten my senses, leaving me on edge. This luxurious retreat, once promised as a haven, now felt like a prison. The strange chill, the metallic tang, the fleeting shadow – all conspired to weave a tapestry of unease. Despite the absurdity of it all, a primal fear gnawed at the edges of my sanity.

Just as I was about to drift off to sleep, a soft knock echoed through the room. Heart pounding, I glanced towards the door, half expecting it to burst open at any moment. But, when nothing happened, I chided myself and buried deeper under the covers.

But the peace was short-lived. As the night wore on, strange noises began to fill the room – whispers that seemed to emanate from the walls themselves, shadows that danced in the corners of my vision. Panic began to rise within me, threatening to engulf me in its icy grip.

Desperate for escape, I reached for the phone on the bedside table, intending to call the front desk for help. But as my fingers brushed against the receiver, a cold realization washed over me – there was no dial tone, no sign of life on the other end.

Trembling with fear, I stumbled out of bed and made my way to the door, determined to flee this place of horrors. But as I turned the handle, I found it locked tight, as if mocking my feeble attempts at escape.

Trapped in this nightmare, I sank to the floor, tears streaming down my face. How had I ended up in this waking hell? And more importantly, would I ever make it out alive?