Alex pulls his car into the gravel lot, wipers straining against the downpour. The reception window is fogged, the lobby lit by a single flickering bulb. Water drips from his jacket as he steps inside, shivering. The man at the desk, gaunt and indifferent, slides a tarnished key across the counter without a word.
"Just for the night," Alex mutters, taking the key marked 313.
Alex hesitates before the door, noticing deep scratches around the lock. The room beyond is frigid and stale, the air thick with the scent of wet earth. His duffel thuds onto the sagging bed, dust motes swirling in the pale lamplight. He tries to laugh off his nerves, blaming the old building for the unsettling atmosphere.
Alex freezes, eyes darting to the battered dresser and the closed bathroom door. The lamp flickers, its light wavering but holding steady. When the light goes out, the knocking resumes, this time louder, coming from the closet. Heart pounding, he approaches, hand trembling as he grabs the handle.
"Who's there?" His voice is barely above a whisper as he flings the closet open. There is nothing inside but a musty coat.
Alex[/@ch_1] backs away, he stumbles and falls to the floor. On the wall above the bed, words appear, scrawled in jagged script.]
Alex blinks, certain he hadn’t seen them before: "Leave. Before she notices you." The message glows faintly, as if etched in phosphorescent chalk. Scrambling for his phone, he finds it dead, the screen black and unresponsive. Suddenly, the overhead light dies and the door slams shut with a deafening bang.
Alex[/@ch_1]. Her mouth is sewn shut with coarse thread, and she moves on all fours, limbs bending at unnatural angles.]
She points at Alex, her head tilting with a sickening crack. The air grows colder, each breath frosting in the gloom. Alex tries to scream but no sound escapes. Shadows twist, swallowing the last traces of light as the figure crawls closer, her gaze never wavering.
Desk Clerk: "We closed that room after the girl disappeared. No one gets that key. Not ever." Inside, the room is empty, the bed undisturbed, the closet door ajar. The only sign of Alex is the message scratched into the wall, over and over: "I’m still here."