Room at the end of the corridor

Do you have that feeling?

At a certain moment, although it is the first time to come to a place, it feels extremely familiar, as if a dusty corner deep in the memory has suddenly been awakened.

This hotel is like this.

That evening, the sky was gray, and I dragged my luggage into this small hotel that seemed to be falling apart. There was an old man sitting at the front desk, and the wrinkles on his face were as deep as if they were carved into his face. He did not ask me why I chose this place, but only handed me a heavy key with a rusty copper plate hanging on it: 317.

I remember clearly that I could have asked for a different room. But when I held the key, my fingertips trembled slightly, as if some part of my body had remembered something, but my consciousness was still in the dark.

The corridor was quiet. The carpet had faded, and the air was filled with the smell of old wood and dampness. I dragged my suitcase slowly forward, and my heart beat a little heavier with every few steps.

Room 317 was at the deepest end of the corridor, and the wall lamp next to the door flickered. The moment I pushed open the door, a cold air hit me, mixed with an indescribable smell - like old newspapers, moldy roses, and... a little bit of rust.

The furnishings in the room were simple and almost shabby: a bed, a dressing table, and a wardrobe against the wall. There was also a rocking chair in the corner, gently rocking, as if someone had just left.

I stood at the door and hesitated to step in.

The strange feeling of oppression in my chest became heavier, as if some invisible weight climbed onto my shoulders. But reason told me that this was just an illusion of the old building. So I forced myself to walk into the room and closed the door.

At night, I slept very lightly, almost half asleep and half awake. The sound of the wind outside the window was like a whisper, and every time the floor downstairs creaked, I thought someone was walking. But what really made me wake up completely was the faint knocking sound.

"Dong, dong, dong."

It was very light at first, as if it was an illusion. I opened my eyes, and the room was dark, except for the faint indicator light at the head of the bed. I listened carefully, and the knocking sound came again - this time it was closer, as if it came from the end of the bed.

I lay motionless, and my breathing became shallow and rapid.

Then, I heard breathing, not mine.

Low and slow, like a long-sleeping existence waking up in the darkness.

My heart almost jumped out of my chest. I wanted to shout, but my throat seemed to be filled with lead, and I could only make a faint gasp. I forced myself to turn my head and look over. There was no one at the end of the bed, only the rocking chair rocking gently in the moonlight, making a "creaking, creaking" sound.

I don't know how I made it to dawn.

In the early morning, when I hurriedly checked out with my luggage, the old man at the front desk asked lightly: "Did you dream?"

I was stunned, my mind was blank. The old man sighed and pushed a yellowed photo in front of me.

The photo shows what the hotel looked like decades ago, with corridors, stairs, and - standing at the door of Room 317, a little girl wearing an old-fashioned dress, with empty eyes and a barely perceptible smile on her lips.

On the back of the photo was a sentence scrawled in pencil:

"Some guests never really leave."

🔦 Thank you for stepping into the unknown with me.

If you enjoyed this story, leave a ❤️, share your thoughts in the comments, or simply keep an extra light on tonight…

Until next time, stay curious 👁️‍🗨️ and stay safe.