Room 210

Night crept into the small town of Seaside Bay. With a population of over a thousand, and most residents only being elderly, the streets and neighborhoods became quiet. Too quiet, in fact. You couldn’t hear the late night televisions on, the lazy folks who tidied up at the last minute and were now putting their trash outside, or even the dogs barking at a squirrel down the street.

No. It was completely silent.

And this was what Becky thought as she drove her beat up truck through the roads of the small mainstreet, trying to get her way to Bonèview Inn, a quaint B&B hotel that overlooked the ocean, sandwiched between a forest. Becky, being a lonely traveler, was only here for the night. Up north, about three hours away, was her destination: her sister’s house. But because she had been 0n the road for the whole day, it was time to call it quits and settle down. Wait for the morning to head back on the freeway.

She thought nothing of it. Her sister could await her arrival for one more day and Becky could get rest and be energized for the next day.

As she made her way through the town’s neighborhoods, trying to follow her GPS, she ventured closer to the outskirts of civilization. Bonèview Inn, according to her phone, was about ten minutes out of town and separated from everything else by the trees that clumped together on each side of the road.

Finally, she made it. A mansion looking house came into view with a black, iron fence that surrounded the perimeter. The mansion had three floors and windows covering every inch of the wall. On the sides of all the outer wall, underneath the ground floor windows, were shrubs, cut and designed as if they were planted there on purpose and well maintained daily.

Bonèview Inn was the only hotel in town, or otherwise, she would have to drive an extra hour to get to normal hotels. How dumb, she thought, that I’d have to drive another forty miles away for one. Ugh.

But it was what it was. She couldn’t complain as this came at a far cheaper price than what she would’ve spent over at branded hotels, and she didn’t have to travel much further to get there. As Becky parked the truck in the small parking lot, she took notice of how vacant it looked. Besides her car, there was only two others. A guest and an employee? Or was it two guests? Or two employees? Whichever was the combination, it told her that she wouldn’t have to deal with many issues from other guests.

She turned the ignition off, stepped outside, and walked toward the hotel, closing the car door behind her. With a click of a button on her keys, the truck beeped, telling her the doors locked.

She had luggage, but there wasn’t much of a need to bring it, especially if they were to give her a room on the top floor. As it was only a bed and breakfast hotel, they probably didn’t have elevators and Becky didn’t want to drag her suitcase or carry her heavy duffel bag up the stairs. She already showered today, so she didn’t need to here. She could wait for when she got to her sister’s.

Falling asleep as soon as she stepped into the room sounded nice, and it was her only desire.

The lobby door creaked open. As Becky inched herself inside, heading straight for the front desk, she took notice of how small the room was compared to the photos she’d seen online. They depicted a large space filled with couches, tables and chairs, a piano, fireplace, bookshelves . . . and yet, most of that wasn’t in here. There was a couch and a few side tables with lamps, but everything else was bare. Boxes replaced the space where the tables and the piano had gone, and a plastic covering lined the wall where the fireplace stood.

Becky knitted her eyebrows in confusion, but shook it off. They might had been remodeling. When she reached the desk, she leaned into the tall counter with a tired smile on her face. “Hello. I would like a room.”

The short and petite woman on the other side of the counter nodded with a small grin, placing the book she was reading prior to Becky’s arrival face down, its pages spread out. The woman swiftly took the needed information to put inside the computer and gave her a skeleton key. “Room 210 is up the stairs and to the left. Breakfast will be from eight to eleven.”

With a nod, she headed for her room, following the directions the front desk lady gave her, noting the other room numbers as she passed them.

208.

209.

210.

When she stepped in front of the door, an odd chill slithered across her body. Becky shook it off, thinking it had to be the air conditioner kicking on. The halls did feel a little stuffy, at least. She placed the key inside its lock and turned it, twisting the handle in unison. The door groaned, widening toward the wall, welcoming her to a dark room.

With a sigh, she paced forward, her hand scanning the wall for a light switch. When her fingers finally grazed something tiny, she tried to flick it up. Nothing. Becky furrowed her brows, confused. Shouldn’t it turn on? She tried again. The darkness continued to consume the room.

As much as she wanted to storm back down to the lobby and demand another room, she decided to give up. It wasn’t worth her time or effort. It was already so late, and it wasn’t like she needed the light in the first place. She wanted nothing more than to climb into bed and sleep. She could complain about it in the morning.

On a deep inhale, she closed the door behind her, engulfing herself in the pitch black room. She inched her way in, arms out like a stereotypical zombie. She noted part of the layout as she made her way through the maze of uncertainty. A dresser. A chair. A desk.

Finally, she made it to the edge of a bed. Becky smiled as she slipped the shoes off her feet and crawled her way to the head of the mattress, buried herself in the sheets and duvet, and smashed her face against the pillow. She tapped on the edges beside the headboard, noting two nightstands on both sides, and took out her phone from her bra and placed it on the table. When she felt comfortable enough that it wouldn't fall, she closed her eyes.

Sleep began to consume her. Her brain focused on the silence that filled her ears, allowing her mind to drift off. The warmth of her body encircled her within the sheets as her mouth fell below the hem of the duvet and her hot breath absorbed under the covers. Her breathing slowed, chest rising and falling in a rhythm, lungs inflating and deflating steadily.

As she drifted away, the laughter of a little girl echoed in her room. Becky opened her eyes. Was that in her dreams? No. It sounded too real. But why would there be a girl in here? Surely, she wasn't in someone else's room? And wasn't the hotel vacant, anyway?

The girl laughed again, this time the sound coming right next to her. Becky snapped her head toward the sound, wide eyed and alert. But she couldn't see anything. It was too dark, even though her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she couldn't see a thing!

The laughter came again, but on the other side of the bed. Becky's head turned toward it again, and still saw nothing. She grabbed her phone off the nightstand and put her flashlight on, twisting all around the room, shining the light on every object.

There was no little girl, though. Just a room filled with furniture and herself. But she heard the girl! She was in here . . . she had to be. Otherwise, what else could it be? A prank? Could the people who ran this bed and breakfast placed speakers in the room and replayed a girl laughing on a recording? That was the only other logical thought, but even then, it sounded too far fetched. That kind of thing would've dragged their business in the mud because no guest would like that unless they knew what they were signing up for. And because of that, they wouldn't make enough money to run this hotel. So there had to be another explanation.

The floorboards creaked, the sound of footsteps making their way across the room, causing Becky's train of thought to vanish. She furrowed her eyebrows, wondering if there was another explanation, one she didn't think would be possible. The footsteps made their way to the other side of the room where an ottoman stood in the corner, and stopped near it.

If this hotel was haunted, Becky didn't want to be a part of it. With her then calm heart now spiking in beats, she grabbed her shoes, not daring to put them on to spend any extra time in the room, and dashed to the door. She twisted the doorknob every which way, but it didn't budge. As if it was locked from the outside. How could that be? Did the employees want to murder their guests? Was this why the hotel was haunted?

Thoughts flooded her mind, going in every direction imaginable and still clouded her train of thought. She couldn't figure out what to do. She had to get out of here. The only thing she could come up with was banging on the door, and that was what she did. With her shoes and phone still in her arms, she pounded her fist against the door. "Help!" She banged again. "Is anyone out there? Help! I can't get out! Please help me!" Becky waited for a moment, hoping to hear another person in the hall, but only silence remained.

Wait, couldn't there be a phone in the hotel room? Most come with one where you could dial the front desk. She checked the nightstands and the desk, but came up with nothing. Okay, she thought. What about using my phone? She pulled up Google and typed in the hotel's name. A phone number came up, but when she dialed it, no answer. She tried a few more times, but still nothing.

Now she was screwed.

Laughter came again.

Perhaps these . . . ghosts—should she even call them that?—weren't evil? Thus far, they hadn't tried to hurt her. Only scare her with their footsteps and laughter. Was Becky overreacting? She could try get through the night.

With her heart still pounding against her ribcage, she paced herself back to bed. "Hello?" she called out as she inched closer to the edge of the mattress, wondering if she could contact whoever was in here. "What do you want?" Maybe she could try to figure out if these spirits were malevolent, though she hoped they weren't. When she finally reached the bed and crawled on top of it, though not within the covers, she sat with her back against the headboard, flashing the light from her phone across the room. Though an idea came to mind. Instead of moving her phone around the room to see, she placed it on the nightstand, the screen against the wood. The light illuminated the ceiling which stretched to all corners of the space. Now . . . now she was able to see the room in full view.

And still, she was the only one here.

If she couldn't leave out the door, she had to think of something else. But her mind came up blank, even with the gears going into overtime as exhaustion overwhelmed her. All she wanted was to sleep, and now, she couldn't do that.

Or, maybe she could? If . . . whatever it was was doing this, maybe it wasn't malicious and she was fine? Or a joke from another guest? Or maybe this was all inside her head.

She wanted to believe these footsteps and laughing children were nothing more than figments of her imagination or it had to do with something logical. But there was nothing. She was alone in her room and while she didn't look through the furniture, she didn't have to. These sounds couldn't have come from a recorder, as much as she wished it had.

"Anyone there?" she whispered, now glancing from side to side, wondering if there'd be a sign of sorts.

The laughter started up again.

"Hello? What's your name? I won't hurt you." Like I would, anyway? You're a ghost! I can't even touch you!

The bed began to vibrate, and at first it wasn't that noticeable, but then it went from a light shake to an earthquake vibration.

"Stop!" It didn't stop. "Are you trying to scare me?"

The bed stopped shaking. And after a moment of silence, a voice whispered in her ear, "I just want to play." A quick chuckle followed suit. The voice, however, came off clear and high pitched, so Becky instantly knew it came from the little girl. And all she wanted was to play? That didn't sound scary or malicious. Just a lonely girl who wanted a friend.

Becky, letting go of her guard, had a rush of emotions and thoughts. How did she die? Why was she stuck here, of all places? Was she truly alone or did she want to play with someone who was alive? She didn't know what to say, or how to react. This was an unexpected question with a tongue twisting answer.

"Come play with me," the voice said, now in her other ear.

"I can't." Becky didn't mean to say this. It slipped through her teeth. But now that she said it, she had to proceed her answer with an excuse, an explanation. "I have to go to bed, sweetie." Maybe the nickname to a little girl would keep her upbeat and happy.; "We can play tomorrow."

"No!" The dresser drawers opened and slammed shut, the ottoman moved a few inches, the black-out drapes to the windows rustled . . . all at once. "I want to play now!" The little girl's voice echoed in the room this time.

"But . . ." She didn't know what else to say. That yes, she could play with her but didn't because what, she was alive and the girl was dead? How could that have gone? But another thought struck Becky's mind at the same time. "Okay." If she controlled, or tried to anyway, the girl's temper, nothing bad would happen. The girl would be happy and wouldn't cause any other mischief, right? "What do you want to play?"

"Hide . . ." The voice began in one ear. "And seek." And finished in the other.

This didn't sound good. Playing hide and seek with a ghost? Or had Becky already lost it? But she complied anyway. If it shut the girl up and let her sleep, she would play a dumb round. "Okay, but one game." Although, she wasn't sure how to play it with an invisible entity. Did she have to count or close her eyes? On second thought, she decided against the normal way, as this was way beyond normal, and she slowly stepped onto the floor. There wasn't much to work with in the room, though.

Becky started with the bathroom. It was small, only containing the obvious fixtures, and nothing was behind the curtain to the small shower or door, so she moved on. She checked behind the window curtains, and came up empty. The last place was the only hiding spot that felt ominous: under the bed.

It was a classic "gotcha" spot in horror movies, where bad things happened all the time. But Becky had to remind herself that this wasn't a horror movie. Those were scripted that way, this wasn't. This was real life, and she was playing hide and seek with a spirit . . . thing? Entity? That was her reality, even though it made her sound insane. Becky took a deep breath and kneeled, lifting the small curtain that covered the box-spring so she could see the layout of the floor better.

Her flashlight, while it brightened the room a bit, didn't help at all when it came to the dark crevices inside here. All she could make out was a pitch black space, but the longer she stayed there, trying to adjust her eyes, the creepier it made her feel. Chills slithered down her spine and right as she began to get back on her feet, movement came from her left, where the wall and headboard was. Curious but also cautious, she paused to focus her sight, trying to piece together what it was that caught her attention.

A pair of eyes stared back at her. Blood shot red. As they observed her, Becky became dazed. She couldn't move. She couldn't look away. These pair of eyes, whatever color they were, hypnotized her. Somehow, someway. And a pair of large hands stretched toward her, grasped onto her wrists, and pulled her deep underneath the bed.

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O N E | M O N T H | L A T E R

A man wrapped a chain around the iron fence that surrounded the Bonèview Inn's entrance, and linking them together with a thick lock. As he did so, a young woman who strolled through the streets came up behind him. "They're closing it today?" she asked.

"Looks like it." The man finished locking up and put the key inside his pocket. "They kept losing business from the strange disappearances. No one wants to step foot inside that place, and I don't blame them."

"But surely the police had some leads, don't you think?"

"I don't know what to tell ya. I've worked here most of my life as the gardener. Got nothing to tell, and nothing to know. As far as I've heard, the cops found nada on anything, just like they have on the twenty other cases. There's only one connection, one lead . . . and that's the room every person stays in."

The woman nodded. "Yeah, room 210. It's what everyone's saying that's haunted."

"I wouldn't say it's just haunted. Probably cursed, or somethin'." The man shrugged, turning on his heel to the golf cart on the street. "My advice?" He hopped on the cart and turned the keys. "Stay away from this building. Lord knows what evil goes on in there." The man gave a nod goodbye and drove away.

The woman, on the other hand, watched him leave and turned the corner of the street. She then stared back at the bed and breakfast hotel, the mysterious place that kept taking people left and right. She wanted to know where they'd gone, if they're still alive, but knew she'd never find out. So, she sighed, and walked away.