Room 13

It was one dreadful evening, the rain and wind lashed the Whitmore Hotel like an angry god. Here comes Evelyn Carter stepping inside the edifice with her coat dripping water on the checkered floor. While shivering from being beaten by rain, she could smell old wood, wax, and something faintly metallic.

Evelyn was greeted by an elderly man who happened to be the receptionist. He wore an unsettling smile and wire-rimmed glasses. He gazed at her from over the counter and greeted, “Welcome to Whitmore Hotel, miss. I guess the storm caught you on the way, right?

"Yeah. Luckily I found this place." She replied with a forceful smile on her face.

While sliding a brass key across the counter, with tarnished numbers gleaning under the weak chandelier with the inscription "Room 13", the man said, in reply to her previous statement, "Not luck, miss. Just fate."

"Uh...don't you have a different room?" Evelyn said, with a bit of hesitation echoed through her voice.

"Room 13 is the only one designated and available for walk-ins", said the old man as his smile widened.

There's something about his voice she couldn't quite grasp, as the very sound of it sends a shiver down her spine. But Evelyn was too exhausted to argue. She took the key from him and climbed onto the creaking staircase, her eerie footsteps echoing through the silence.

While walking through the corridor, she saw “Room 13” standing at the very end of the hallway. The door was crafted from an ominous shade of deep mahogany. There are peeling wallpapers in places. She gently slid the key into the hole. Immediately, a cold air passed through the gap under the door.

There was a large, heavy wooden wardrobe in the room, a mirror above a writing desk, and a four-poster bed. The was surprisingly elegant. There's a chandelier swinging slightly as if it was disturbed by an unseen force.

As she settled into the room, shutting the door, she observed something odd. The mirror was dusty, except for a handprint that seemed like a child's hand printed on the glass.

This sent a bit of a knot into her stomach.

Using her sleeve, she wiped the glass and the handprint vanished. She didn't have time to think much about what just happened—chalking it up to exhaustion. She collapsed onto the bed. While the bedsheet smelled clean, something else was beneath the bed—something old. Probably a decay.

A fearful whisper came like that of a child. It was soft and faint.

"Help me."

Immediately, Evelyn bolted upright, her heart hammering.

"Hello?" She said, but there was silence.

Then—thud.

The door to the wardrobe creaked open by one inch.

Evelyn felt a cold sweat breaking across her skin. Maybe just anxiety, or maybe fear.

To console herself, she muttered, "It's just the wind." But you could tell—from her voice—that it was just a statement of mere words.

Climbing out of bed, she headed toward the wardrobe, cautiously, one step at a time. The closer she gets, the more tense she becomes. Every nerve in her body was screaming, "Stop!", but she had to see things for her.

As she got to the scary-opened door, a chilling gust of breeze rushed out. It was a mixed smell of damp earth and something else—rotting flowers.

Looking inside, it was just empty darkness. Nothing in it.

Immediately, she exhaled while closing the door with a firm push.

"Click." The door lock held.

Now, she's back in bed. As she was trying to sleep, she could feel a strange sensation pricking at her skin as though some unseen eyes were watching her.

Eventually, Evelyn woke up with a gasp at 3:13 AM. This time, the wardrobe door was open again. Wide open. This time, something was inside. It was a little figure like that of a child.

Evelyn couldn't grasp the face of the figure she saw, only the silhouette—a frail, still shape in the shadows.

A whisper as cold as death floated through the air.

"Please... help me."

With great fear, Evelyn scrambled for the bedside lamp and flicked it on. Immediately, there was light all over the room. The child disappeared. No trace. Nothing. Even the door to the wardrobe was shut as though nothing ever happened.

There was a sudden silence. It was deafening.

Her breath ragged as she clutched her chest.

Whispering to herself, "It's just a dream." But deep down, she knew better.

The morning was slow to come. Very slow.

It was morning and the time for breakfast. She found the old receptionist polishing a silver bell. The man asked, "Hope you had a good night's rest?"

Evelyn couldn't hold it in. She asked, almost interrupting the old man, "Who...who else has stayed in Room 13 recently?"

"No one, miss." The man chuckled.

"What does that mean?" She asked.

The old man replied, "No one ever leaves Room 13." This time, her blood ran cold.

Pushing her plate away, she rushed outside. A Local newspaper stand caught her attention. Seeing an old edition from thirteen years ago, she hurriedly picked it up and flipped through it.

She gasped for air as she saw the newspaper headline, "MOTHER AND CHILD MYSTERIOUSLY DISAPPEARED IN ROOM 13—WHITMORE HOTEL TRAGEDY.”

A chill slid down her spine as she gazed at a grainy photo of a small boy and a woman. The woman...looked exactly like her (Evelyn). And the boy? That was the exact child she saw last night in the wardrobe.

This sent a massive shiver through her spine, as she turned the paper over to the vendor while her hands trembled. Her eyes were scanning the report as she reminisced on the fact that the woman and her child disappeared without a trace. She recalled that the only thing left in the room was a child's handprint.

Evelyn looked back at the hotel as her knees buckled. There stood the old man watching her, his lips curled into that eerie smile.

Evelyn ran.

As she did farther from the hotel, the edifice seemed to fade into the mist. It was as though no hotel ever existed there. But Evelyn knew the truth, deep inside.

It had been waiting for her. And again, it would wait.