Sunset Motel

The road stretched long and empty, swallowed by the golden hues of dusk. Five friends—Mia, Jordan, Blake, Zoe, and Eric—had been driving for hours, their road trip slowly unraveling into exhaustion and frustration.

"We should've reached the next town by now," Zoe muttered, checking her phone. No signal.

"It's gotta be close," Jordan assured her, eyes darting between the dimming road and the gas gauge teetering near empty.

Then they saw it—a neon sign flickering weakly in the distance: Sunset Motel. Vacancy.

The motel looked abandoned, its cracked asphalt lot empty except for a rusted old pickup near the office. A single light buzzed above the entrance, casting long shadows. The sign on the door read Always Open.

Inside, the air smelled of dust and something faintly rotten. Behind the counter stood an old man with sunken eyes and a permanent grin. His nametag read Mr. Graves.

"Late night travelers?" His voice was warm but carried an unsettling undertone. "Rooms are cheap. And once you stay, you won’t want to leave."

Mia hesitated. "Do you take cards?"

Mr. Graves chuckled, sliding five old-fashioned keys across the counter. "Cash only. But don't worry. Payment comes in other ways."

The friends unpacked their bags into their rooms, the peeling wallpaper and musty carpets doing little to ease their unease. Blake joked about it being straight out of a horror movie.

That night, the nightmares began.

Mia woke up gasping, heart pounding. In her dream, shadowy figures had stood at the foot of her bed, whispering. She turned to wake Zoe, but she was gone.

Panic gripped her. Checking the bathroom, the closet—nothing. Only Zoe’s shoes remained, placed neatly by the door.

The others found her pounding on the office door. "Zoe's missing!"

Mr. Graves appeared from the darkness behind them. "That’s impossible," he said, smile unwavering. "Once checked in, guests never leave."

The motel was not empty.

Through a fogged-up window, Jordan saw movement near the pool. A figure—a man in old-fashioned clothing—stood motionless in the murky water. Another sat in a rocking chair on the porch, swaying ever so slightly, though his eyes were hollow and unblinking.

As Mia, Jordan, Blake, and Eric explored the halls, the motel shifted. The layout twisted, hallways stretching impossibly long. The doors to their rooms were gone. The exit led only to more corridors.

Then, they heard Zoe’s voice.

Faint. Desperate. Coming from behind the walls.

"We have to get out!" Blake shouted, kicking at a door that led to nothing but darkness.

Eric found a stairwell leading downward, deeper into the motel. With no other choice, they descended. The basement was cold, lined with old photographs of past guests—all with eyes scratched out. Some of the faces looked eerily familiar.

"That’s us," Mia whispered, pointing at a new picture pinned to the wall. Their own faces, frozen in horror.

A whisper came from behind them. "You can check out anytime you like…"

They turned.

Mr. Graves stood in the doorway, and behind him, the other guests—the lost ones. Their hollow smiles stretched too wide, their hands reaching.

"But you can never leave."

At sunrise, the motel’s neon sign flickered back to life. A rusted pickup sat abandoned in the lot, five sets of footprints leading inside, but none leading out.

The Sunset Motel sign blinked, its message changing ever so slightly:

Vacancy. Five Rooms Available.