"Room No.222"

"Room No.222"

I checked into the Lakeside Inn, a tiny, ostensibly attractive motel tucked away by the edge of a peaceful lake, in the middle of July. The kind of area where tranquility and quiet are expected. After a lengthy drive, the thought of spending the night in a peaceful village before continuing my journey seemed ideal. Dark wood paneling, a roaring fireplace, and the aroma of pine and ancient books gave the foyer an aura of the past.

With a gentle smile, the receptionist, an elderly woman with a slender, stoic face, gave me the room key. I got a strange chill as I took it from her because her hands were so cold—almost unnaturally so.

With an unusually hushed voice, she said, "Room 222." "That is a beautiful room."

Without giving it much thought, I nodded and headed for the stairs. The air smelled somewhat of dust and something else I could not quite identify—something stale, like something had been left to decay just out of sight—and the hallway was softly lit.

As soon as I got to the second level, I became aware of how strangely quiet the corridor was. No voices, no footfall, none of the sounds of everyday hotel life. There was only a heavy silence that seemed to loom over the atmosphere.

At the very end of the hall was room 222. I turned the handle and inserted the key into the door. The room was poorly illuminated when the door slowly cracked open. The wallpaper was flaking around the corners, and the bed was covered with a faded flowery duvet. It had the appearance of a room from a place that had seen better days—distant recollections of elegance and comfort that had been gradually replaced by deterioration.

After throwing my stuff on the bed, I moved to the window that overlooked the lake. The landscape was eerily still, even though the moonlight shimmered across the sea. No sound of wind rustling the trees, no soft ripples. Nothing but quiet.

I first became aware of something odd at that point.

When I first walked in, I did not notice the door at the far end of the room, close to the closet. It had no handle, was heavy, dark wood, and was rather old. Just a tiny, corroded keyhole.

I thought it was a storage cupboard of some sort, but I was uneasy because there was no handle. That door had a certain something—something off.

I made an effort to shake it off. After all, I was exhausted and simply wanted to sleep. I pulled the heavy duvet up to my chin and lay down after changing into my pajamas. But it was difficult to fall asleep. I kept thinking about the door. I needed to know the reason.

Eventually, I was unable to handle it any longer. I got up by swinging my legs over the side of the bed. The shadows in the corners had grown deeper, and the room felt colder now. I moved toward the door, and as I got closer, I could feel the air getting more oppressive. I felt a chill creep up my spine as I gazed at the keyhole.

I crouched down and looked through the keyhole, though I am not sure why. It turned my stomach to see what I saw.

Initially, there was only blackness. Then I noticed a movement. Slowly, the shadows change. Then, eyes. Through the keyhole, dozens of eyes were looking back at me. The pupils were dilated, broad, and unblinking. With a cry, I staggered backward, my heart racing. I retreated from the door, breathing in short, harsh gasps.

However, the room appeared to change as I staggered out. The shadows in the corners grew darker and more oppressive as the walls appeared to close in. The bed was not where I had left it when I turned back to it. It was pointed toward the entrance, toward the shadowy room I had not opened, and in a new position.

I felt a wave of panic. The chilly air choked me as I hurried to the door and grabbed for the doorknob. However, I froze right before my fingers touched.

In the back of my consciousness came a guttural, deep voice. "It was wrong of you to open the door."

With my heart pounding in my chest, I whirled around, but nothing was there. Just the room, waiting, quiet, and empty.

I was so terrified that I could not even tell how long I stood there. The room seemed to be closing in on me from all sides, and the air was heavy now, oppressive. I was having trouble breathing. I was immobile.

The door then opened.

It made a steady creaking sound, akin to a thousand nails scuffing wood. At first, all I could see was utter blackness. Slowly, however, something emerged.

A towering, shadowy creature with a dark hood covering its face. It approached me in silence, its footsteps so soft that there was no sound on the ground. I fell to the ground as my legs buckled under me.

The figure's icy, pallid hand was the last thing I saw before everything turned black. It was reaching for me.

The time was morning when I awoke. The room appeared to be unaltered, and I lay on the floor beside the bed. The door was closed, there was silence in the corridor outside, and sunlight came in through the window. My heart continued to race as I sat up, confused.

I ran to the door and froze as soon as I opened it.

Room 222 was not there. Just a smooth, cool wall.

I went to the front desk, but the receptionist was gone. She was nowhere to be found in the motel.

I also could not get rid of the impression that I was being observed as I walked out of the motel. And that Room 222 remained, waiting just outside the curtain.

-I hope the spooky story was enjoyable! If you require any changes or another story, please let me know. Thank You.-