Room 404: Do Not Enter

Part 1: The Check-In

The Fairhaven Hotel was old but elegant—an aging five-story building nestled quietly in a forgotten corner of the city. Its marble floors, vintage wallpaper, and brass chandeliers whispered of a long-lost golden age. Ethan, a travel blogger known for reviewing haunted and abandoned places, had heard about Fairhaven from an obscure Reddit thread.

One comment caught his eye:

> “Don’t ask about Room 404. Trust me. Just… don’t.”



Naturally, that made him curious.

At check-in, Ethan wore his usual polite smile.
"Hi. I’m here for three nights. Ethan Keller. Reservation under that name."

The elderly receptionist scanned her logbook, her face pale and tired.
“Room 405,” she said after a moment. “Fourth floor. Elevator’s to your right.”

Ethan leaned in, lowering his voice. “What about Room 404?”

Her hand froze on the key. “There is no Room 404.”

He arched a brow. “But isn’t that standard in tech buildings? Hotels don’t usually skip that number.”

The woman’s eyes turned cold. “There is no Room 404,” she repeated. “Do not ask again.”

Part 2: The Missing Room

That night, curiosity gnawed at Ethan. He paced the hallway of the fourth floor. Room 401, 402, 403... 405. No 404. Just a plain wall between 403 and 405.

He knocked on it, lightly. Hollow. There was a door once—he could see faint seams in the paint. As if it had been sealed.

He brought out his phone and used the flashlight. Something was scratched faintly into the wallpaper, almost invisible. Letters:

"D O N O T E N T E R"

His heart thumped. A challenge.

By the next morning, Ethan had bribed a janitor with $100 to talk.

“You didn’t hear this from me,” the janitor whispered. “Room 404 was closed in the ‘90s. A woman named Violet stayed there. She was... odd. Came in every night with fresh lilies, always talking to someone who wasn’t there.”

“What happened to her?” Ethan asked.

The janitor hesitated. “One night, the guests on either side reported screaming. When staff opened the door, they found Violet sitting on the bed... rocking... talking to a mirror. There was blood everywhere. Hers. Others'. But no bodies.”

“They closed it?”

“They sealed it. Management doesn’t even keep records anymore. But... sometimes guests on the fourth floor hear knocks. And whispers.”

Part 3: The Door Opens

That night, Ethan set up his camera in front of the blank wall. He started recording, whispering updates to his followers.

At 3:04 a.m., something happened.

A soft click. A seam in the wall slid open.

There it was: Room 404.

The door was old, wood cracked and stained. It swung open without a sound.

Ethan, breathing heavily, stepped inside.

The air was freezing.

Inside, the room looked untouched since the 1990s—rose-colored wallpaper peeling at the corners, an old rotary phone, a broken lampshade, and a huge cracked mirror above the bed.

Ethan whispered, “Hello?”

The door slammed shut behind him.

Part 4: The Reflection

The mirror drew him in. Something was wrong with it.

In the reflection, the room looked... cleaner. Brighter. But there was a woman on the bed—sitting, rocking.

Violet.

She turned, slowly. Her eyes were pure white.

"Finally... someone to talk to," she said.

Ethan spun around. No one was there. But in the mirror—she stood, inches behind him.

He tried the door. Locked.

The rotary phone began to ring.

Riiinnng... Riiinnng...

Trembling, he picked it up.

A voice whispered: "You're next."

Then a sharp pain hit his chest—he collapsed.

Part 5: The Cover-Up

Three days later, police arrived after Ethan’s followers reported him missing.

The hotel staff claimed he left early. Paid in full. Nothing unusual.

His camera was never found. His room was empty.

But every so often, a guest in Room 405 complains.

They hear... knocking.
Soft crying.
Sometimes a man’s voice begging, “Let me out...”

And when they look into the hallway mirror outside Room 405…

They see a second door.

Right where Room 404 used to be.


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The End.
Or is it?