Young Adult
Something keeps calling the front desk asking for Room 112
I work night shifts at a mid-tier hotel — you know, the kind that sits right off the interstate and smells like coffee, carpet cleaner, and lost hope. My shifts are 11 p.m. to 7 a.m., which basically means I babysit an empty lobby and listen to the building breathe.
By V-Ink Stories2 months ago in Fiction
[FINAL UPDATE] The night clerk who posted about Room 112 is gone.
Hey, I work at the same hotel as the guy who wrote those posts about the phone calls asking for Room 112. I wasn’t sure if I should post this here, but I found something last night that I can’t stop thinking about.
By V-Ink Stories2 months ago in Fiction
Every night I take the elevator to the basement… even though we don’t have one
Hey everyone. I work nights at a mid-range hotel off the highway. It’s not fancy, but it’s clean, quiet, and usually empty after midnight. I’m the night porter — basically, I clean up the lobby, restock towels, handle laundry, and do any random maintenance jobs that come up.
By V-Ink Stories2 months ago in Fiction
The cameras don’t catch who’s walking the halls at night.
(Posted by u/NightShiftWatcher – r/TrueOffMyChest) I work night security at a mid-range hotel in Colorado. It’s one of those places that’s been remodeled a dozen times but still somehow feels old — too many corners that don’t line up, too many flickering lights that maintenance “can’t find a reason for.”
By V-Ink Stories2 months ago in Fiction
The Private Room
It was hard saying goodbye to the old house. So many memories were tied up here. Like the time Greg placed the fake rat in the kitchen and scared Mom instead of Molly. Or when Moses dared Megan to run over his foot with her bike. He walked around with a broken foot and didn’t tell anybody until the next day. Or the time we had that huge blizzard. All of the kids climbed onto the roof from the third-story window and jumped off into the snow below. Timmy sank three feet down. We had to dig him out.
By David E. Perry2 months ago in Fiction
My Dead Best Friend Won't Stop Texting Me
Three years ago my best friend Jessica Moore died in a car crash. We were supposed to go to this graduation party together but she never picked me up. Next morning I found out she'd wrapped her car around a tree on Highway 9. The cops said she fell asleep at the wheel.
By Maxim Dudko2 months ago in Fiction
The Archives. Top Story - October 2025.
The Archives Walking to her post she noticed her manager shuffling through papers. “What’s wrong?” She asked. The stern stare in her manager’s eyes made her forget she showed interest. Her boss has always been a hardcore man, when he walked you can tell he was going somewhere important. When he talked you can tell he meant business. He was always dressed and had a significant amount of respect throughout the company. He was mean but in the right way, a way that earned him the title of boss. Lately, she has noticed this has been disorganized, and she strolled in today to see what was going on, his desk was messy, he didn’t smile like his usual self, and he smelled like he hadn’t showered in weeks.
By Charelle Landers2 months ago in Fiction
Echoes of the Soul: Urdu Stories That Awaken the Heart
Urdu literature is a garden of emotions — filled with fragrance, sorrow, love, and reflection. Every story carries a heartbeat, a hidden lesson, and a whisper from the soul. These timeless tales are not just about characters; they are about life itself — about forgiveness, honesty, sacrifice, and kindness. They awaken something deep within us and remind us that to be human is to feel, to care, and to grow.
By hamad khan3 months ago in Fiction
