The Hotel Room that Doesn't Exist
- Pishaach
- Mar 11
- 5 min read
Lena sighed in relief as she leaned against the reception desk. The six-hour drive had been brutal, and the rain outside had only made things worse.
"One room for the night, please," she said, glancing at her fiance, Mark, who was stretching his arms.
The hotel receptionist, an elderly woman with deep-set wrinkles and small, watchful eyes, hesitated for a moment before forcing a smile. "We’re nearly full tonight," she said, flipping through the logbook.
"But… there is one available. Room 306."
Lena frowned. "I thought we booked 308 online?"
The woman’s fingers stiffened over the pages before she shut the book abruptly. "I’m afraid 308 is occupied. But 306 is just as comfortable."
Mark shrugged. "Doesn’t matter, as long as it has a bed."
The receptionist slid the key across the counter. Her hands were trembling.
"Enjoy your stay," she said, but her voice lacked warmth.
Lena took the key, ignoring the odd exchange. As she and Mark walked toward the lift, she glanced back.
The receptionist was still watching them.
And behind her, in the mirror hanging on the wall, Lena swore she saw a door reflected that wasn’t there in reality.
The Hotel That Shouldn’t Be
The Alderidge Hotel had been built in the 1930s, a grand structure that once catered to aristocrats and travelling businessmen. Now, it was a quiet, half-forgotten stop for weary travellers passing through town.
The hallways smelled of aged wood and something faintly metallic, like rust. A chandelier flickered weakly in the centre of the ceiling, casting jittery shadows along the floral wallpaper.
Their room, 306, sat at the far end of the corridor. The door was darker than the others, almost black instead of the deep mahogany the rest of the hotel featured.
Mark unlocked the door and stepped inside. The air was thick, and stifling, as if the room had not been aired out in years.
The furniture was old-fashioned. A four-poster bed, a wooden dresser with an ornate mirror, a small writing desk near the window.
Lena ran a hand along the bed’s headboard, shivering at how cold the wood felt. “This place gives me the creeps,” she muttered.
Mark flopped onto the bed. "Come on, it’s just an old hotel."
A floorboard creaked behind them. Lena spun around. The room was empty.
She let out a shaky laugh. "Guess this place is just old and noisy."
But something gnawed at the back of her mind. As if they weren’t alone.
The Knock That Shouldn’t Have Come
By midnight, the storm had settled into a steady drizzle. Mark was already asleep, his soft breathing the only sound in the room.
Lena lay awake, staring at the ceiling, unable to shake the feeling that something was wrong.
Then, there was a knock.
Not at the door. From inside the room.
She sat up instantly, her heart thudding in horror.
The knock came again. Slow. Rhythmic. Deliberate.
She reached over and shook Mark. "Wake up."
He groaned. "What’s wrong?"
Lena pointed toward the wardrobe near the window. "Something’s in there."
Mark rubbed his eyes and sighed. "Lena, it’s an old hotel. Wood contracts and makes noises."
Another knock.
This time, it came from the mirror. The breath hitched in Lena’s throat.
Mark turned to look, his face draining of colour.
In the dim light, the reflection in the mirror showed the wardrobe door… slightly open.
In real life, it was still shut.
The Room That Shouldn’t Exist
Mark bolted upright, staring at the mirror. "That’s—"
A loud bang interrupted him. The wardrobe door flew open.
Lena clamped a hand over her mouth as a gust of ice-cold air swept through the room. Inside the wardrobe, where there should have been nothing but shelves, there was another door.
It was smaller than a regular door, barely tall enough for someone to crawl through. The paint was peeling, and the handle was rusted, but it was unmistakably a door.
"It wasn’t there before," Lena whispered.
Mark’s breath was shaky. "We need to leave."
He reached for the main door handle. It wouldn’t budge.
A sharp, scraping sound came from the wardrobe.
The small door was opened, by itself.
Lena grabbed Mark’s hand, her nails digging into his skin. "We need to go, now."
Mark turned back to the mirror. Their reflections were still standing in front of the wardrobe.
But in the mirror, the little door was wide open.
And something was crawling out.
The Horror That Shouldn’t Be
A hand, thin and skeletal, gripped the edge of the doorway inside the wardrobe.
Fingernails long, yellowed, scraping against the wood as it pulled itself forward.
Lena’s legs refused to move. She was frozen, unable to look away as the figure emerged, slow, deliberate, unnatural.
A thing shaped like a man crawled out. His skin was paper-thin, stretched too tightly over sharp bones.
His eyes were sunken pits of darkness, his mouth twisted into a grotesque grin.
He turned his head towards them.
And laughed.
Mark screamed, shoving Lena towards the door. He yanked at the handle desperately, his entire body weight behind it.
The thing in the mirror moved closer, though in reality, nothing stood behind them.
Its voice was not a whisper, nor a growl. It was both at once.
"This room is mine."
Lena’s vision blurred as the shadows twisted, stretching towards them.
Mark gave one final pull and the door flew open. They stumbled into the hallway, gasping for air.
The corridor was silent.
The door to Room 306… was gone.
There was no door at the end of the hall.
No sign that it had ever existed.
The Hotel That Remains
The receptionist’s eyes darkened as Lena and Mark sprinted towards the lobby.
"Room 306," Mark gasped. "It—It disappeared!"
The woman sighed as if this was not the first time she had heard such a thing.
"You shouldn’t have stayed there," she murmured.
Lena’s breath was ragged. "That room—there was something inside."
The receptionist exhaled slowly. "This hotel was built with 47 rooms. But every few years, someone finds their way into 306.
"It wasn’t on the blueprint. It shouldn’t exist. But it always finds a way back."
Mark shook his head. "That’s not possible."
The receptionist met his gaze. "Did you lock the wardrobe?"
Lena stiffened. Mark’s face paled.
The receptionist sighed.
"Then it’s still open."
The lights flickered once.
And from somewhere deep in the hotel…
A door creaked open.
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