Room 403

She had been working there for less than a year, the Hotel was nothing to write home about, but she couldn't complain it about either. It was an honest living. The building was old when she started, but as she gained skills and evolved, the place went under some remodelling, almost in tandem.

As time went on, she saw the old entrance cold and empty turn into a vibrant modern lobby. And the building that first hosted a shy and silent girl now saw a competent and proud worker, not afraid to share her opinion nor hesitating to help a customer.

The team would usually rotate shifts, and most would avoid the graveyard shift. The cold, long, empty nights would either mean trouble or boredom. Little to no movement, almost nothing to do. There was the occasional guy that would waltz in with his mistress, or with a lady of the night, a couple of rowdy teens shouting in the streets. But again, most nights were empty and cold. The lack of heating systems didn't help.

She didn't mind the shift, and it is calm -she would say- almost peaceful.

She would start each shift by sparking a cigarette, taking it all in, the foggy road, the empty buses passing by and odd car passing by. She was grateful, in a way - It could be worse- she reminded herself. Then a spot of coffee while the computer would warm up and decided to work. Burnt dark coffee. Eventually, the machine would start working as she finished her cup.

Most nights, she would take her bureaucratic responsibilities by two in the morning, several hours before her breakfast duties began.

This dead period was the reason her colleges would steer away from the shift. A time where if one was not careful dark thoughts would taint the mood. It is known as graveyard shift for a reason. Somehow similar to when a kid wakes up in the middle of the night frightened by the shadows and shapes in the room. Ghastly figures and sinister forms that are nothing more than his toys and tree branches outside his window.

In this witching hour, everything seems different, during the day someone crossing the road is just another person walking by, now its cause for concern, or at the very least it is something that raises one's pulse. The same with sounds, a creaking floorboard is unnoticed during the day, now it can make you stop on your tracks.

Truth be told the more shifts you do, the less you notice these things, but that underlying restlessness never really stops. Not in the early hours of the day.

Even thou the place was still being remodelled and had a strong scent of sawdust and fresh paint, there was a feeling of eternity in the air.

Shifts would start and end, and everything would seem to stay the same, a routine that shifted as much as it remained untouched.

Even in the dark of the night, the seasons changed, clients came and went. But the stillness of the night shift remained. That eerie silence, that was seldomly broken.

This until the day the phone rang. It was around four, and only three rooms were occupied. There was room 203, room 207 and room 109. And yet the phone rang

BRIIIING.....BRIIIING....BRIIIING

BRIIIING....BRIIIING....BRIIIING

BRIIIING...BRIIIING...BRIIIING

This completely froze her, although a possibility a call this late is almost unheard of, but before she could pick up the phone the ringer stopped - maybe a mistake, perhaps a misdial - she said under her breath. She walked to the sink to get a glass of water. As soon as she walks off

BRIIIING.....BRIIIING....BRIIIING

BRIIIING....BRIIIING....BRIIIING

BRIIIING...BRIIIING...BRIIIING

Another call that hangs before she can get to the receiver. Her body starts shaking ever so slightly, and beads of sweat form on her forehead. She swallows the water in a single gulp and heads out to check the calls. And as she reaches the front desk, it happens again...

BRIIIING.....BRIIIING....BRIIIING

BRIIIING....BRIIIING....BRIIIING

BRIIIING...BRIIIING...BRIIIING

This third time she refused to pick up the phone, as now she sees the room that is calling, 403.

The fourth floor is empty, and due to the remodelling, the storey hasn't been operational in over a year.

Now fright has taken over her, every detail around her seemed to be enhanced, and brighter, from the ticking of the big clock by the lobby to the constant um of the air conditioner. Even the rustling leaves on the street sounded as loud as a first-row seat on a music show.

But the loudest sound was without a doubt the racing thumping of her heart, she ould hear it, she could feel it, it seemed her whole body vibrated with each beat.

It didn't take long, for curiosity to take hold of her, and fear took a back seat.

She then called the number back. She had to risk it, and it was stronger than her. She quickly typed the numbers in the terminal, to be greeted with a robotic voice.

"The number you are trying to call is not connected. Please check the number and try again."

And just as the action took over her, so did confusion, how could she mistyped three simple numbers. She hung and picked the receiver once more, and hit redial on the missed call.

This time the call connected, there was a beep, the sound of an accepted call, and painful silence after that, the call ended. The whole ordeal took nothing more than seconds, but it felt like hours to her.

Not one to business undone, she ventured up the elevator, she was going to enter the room.

First Floor.

Second Floor.

Third Floor.

Forth Floor.

There it was, 403, the room right in front of the now opening doors. She gulped and pressed on.

"Uhm... Hello, I'm from reception, you called in earlier?" She called before placing the hand on the knob. Just like that the door gave away and opened before her eyes, a place where she was.

It opened to the place she was. Walking in made her walk out.

In the graveyard shift, the shadows do slip into your mind. The inherited darkness of the world comes and plays. This was her last shift, as from that moment time stood still, and she fell into the room she so desperately tried to enter, a that akin to her preferred schedule was peacefully and solitary, a place where time stood and shadows played. After all, she had been working there for less than a year, the Hotel was nothing to write home about, but she couldn't complain it about either.