The Last Message from Room 403

I never thought I’d get an eerie text from an abandoned hotel. But on a cold, rainy night, my phone buzzed with a message that changed everything:

“Room 403. Midnight. Come alone.”

I checked the number. No caller ID. Just a random string of digits. And as far as I knew, The Mariner Hotel had been shut down for decades.

Curiosity turned to obsession. I couldn't shake the thought. That hotel had been famous for strange disappearances, whispered rumors of rooms that locked people in, strange sounds at odd hours. Room 403, especially, was at the heart of every ghost story in town. But no one knew why.

Chapter 1: Crossing the Threshold

The lobby smelled of mildew and old wood, the air thick and quiet, like it was holding its breath. Dust motes floated in the dim glow of my flashlight as I navigated toward the staircase. Each step echoed like a countdown, marking the seconds before I’d reach the fourth floor. I wasn’t sure if I’d find a prank or a ghost—or something far worse.

When I arrived at Room 403, the door was slightly ajar, a sliver of darkness beckoning. My flashlight flickered, casting shadows on the peeling wallpaper. Taking a deep breath, I pushed the door open.

The room was empty, but it felt… occupied. Like someone had been waiting for me. On the small, dusty table by the window lay a single object: an old rotary phone. It looked out of place, like it didn’t belong in this century, much less in an abandoned hotel. And then, as I stood there, it rang.

Chapter 2: A Voice from the Past

Heart racing, I lifted the receiver.

“Hello?”

A static crackle filled the line, and then a voice, faint and familiar. “You’re late,” it whispered. “But you still have time. Look under the floorboard near the bed.”

The line went dead, and my hand shook as I lowered the phone. That voice—where had I heard it before? I searched my mind for a memory, any memory, that could explain this feeling.

Slowly, I moved to the bed and knelt beside it. The floorboard felt loose. I pried it up and uncovered a small, leather-bound journal. The cover was worn, the pages yellowed, but the handwriting was unmistakable. It was mine—my handwriting, yet I’d never been here before, never written these words.

Chapter 3: The Journal of Secrets

Flipping through the pages, I found entries that felt like memories but were wrong, memories of things that had never happened—at least not to me. They detailed my supposed life in this hotel, day by day, and on the last page, a note:

“You’ll forget it all soon. But don’t worry; you’ll be back.”

My head spun as I realized what this meant. I’d been here before, maybe countless times, returning to Room 403 over and over. I didn’t remember, but the journal did. It was as if the hotel was keeping me on a loop, drawing me back, trapping me in a memory that I could never keep.

Then, just as suddenly, the pages began to crumble in my hands, disintegrating to dust. I watched helplessly, my only link to the truth vanishing.

The room’s temperature dropped, and I felt a presence behind me. I turned to see a shadow—a figure, smiling, with eyes that looked just like mine.

“You’ll forget,” it said softly, as if soothing a child. “You always do.”

The shadow reached out, and I felt myself slipping, memories fading, consciousness dimming, as though my own life were being rewritten in real time. I tried to cling to a single thought, a single truth.

But by the time I stepped out of the hotel, I didn’t remember why I’d come. All I had was a vague feeling, a distant whisper, warning me to stay away from Room 403.

Epilogue: The Final Loop

Some nights, when I can’t sleep, I hear my phone buzz. I glance at the screen, but there’s no message. Yet a strange urge always nags at me, whispering, “Room 403. Midnight.”

And somehow, I know… I’ll be back.