Room 13B

Room 13B

By Hasnain Shah

When Julia arrived at the old brick townhouse just outside Boston, she was already regretting her decision to book an Airbnb instead of a hotel. The listing photos had shown a warm, antique charm — mahogany floors, a vintage armoire, and a cozy bay window looking out over the Charles River. But the actual place felt… off.

The air was stale, carrying the faint scent of mildew and something else — like old paper that had been burned, then hastily put out.

Still, she’d driven six hours for her cousin’s wedding, and the price had been too good to pass up. The host, a woman named Clara, had messaged her that morning:

“Door will be unlocked. You’re in Room 13B. Make yourself at home.”

There had been a smiley face at the end.

But when Julia stepped into the narrow hallway, her suitcase bumping along the creaky floorboards, she noticed something strange: the rooms were labeled 10A, 11A, 12A… then 14A.

She frowned.

“Maybe the B rooms are upstairs,” she muttered.

The staircase groaned beneath her feet as she climbed. The house felt impossibly quiet — like the air had weight. Upstairs, she found another hallway. The rooms were marked 10B, 11B, 12B — and then the hall simply ended.

There was no Room 13B.

Julia tried messaging Clara, but the message wouldn’t send. The app just spun, showing “Pending.” She shrugged it off, assuming the Wi-Fi was bad, and chose the empty 12B — it looked like the listing photo anyway.

The bed was neatly made, though the sheets smelled faintly of iron. She unpacked, took a shower, and climbed into bed, trying to ignore the strange scratching sound coming from inside the wall behind her.

That night, she dreamed of someone knocking.

Three slow knocks.

Then, a whisper that came from inside the room:

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

Julia woke with her heart pounding. The room was cold — freezing cold — her breath visible in the moonlight. She grabbed her phone. 3:13 a.m.

Half-asleep and trembling, she went to the door. The hallway light flickered faintly. For a moment, she thought she saw movement at the far end — a shape in a long white nightgown, facing the wall.

She blinked. It was gone.

She closed the door, locked it this time, and crawled back into bed, whispering to herself that it was just exhaustion.

In the morning, she found her phone fully charged — though she hadn’t plugged it in. And on the screen, she noticed a new message.

From Clara.

“Hi Julia, so sorry for the confusion! Just to confirm — you’re in Room 13B, correct?”

Julia frowned.

She typed:

“Actually, I couldn’t find 13B, so I stayed in 12B. Hope that’s okay!”

Almost instantly, the reply came:

“There is no Room 12B.”

A chill crawled up her neck. She glanced at the door. The brass number plate gleamed faintly in the morning light — 12B.

She took a photo and sent it.

Seconds later, another message arrived.

“Please get out of that room.”

The air around her thickened. A soft tap-tap-tap echoed from behind the closet door. Then again. Louder.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Julia’s phone buzzed again.

“Julia, if you’re reading this, leave now. Room 13B doesn’t exist in the booking system. The guest who stayed there last year never checked out.”

Julia dropped her phone. Her throat tightened. Slowly, she turned toward the closet. The tapping had stopped.

Then — a click.

The door creaked open a few inches.

A smell of rot spilled into the room.

Through the gap, Julia saw something — pale fingers curling around the doorframe, nails black and chipped, skin gray like wax.

She bolted for the hallway, fumbling with the lock, slamming the door open. The corridor beyond was empty — except the numbers on the doors had changed.

Now every one of them read 13B.

When the police arrived two days later — called by another guest who had come for check-in — they found the house abandoned. No Clara. No sign of guests. Only a single phone lying on the floor in a dust-covered room with no furniture.

The lock on the door was broken from the inside.

The phone’s screen showed an unsent message, still open in the Airbnb app:

“Please tell Clara I think I found her missing guest.”