The Blackout Hotel

In the heart of the Appalachian Mountains, shrouded in an eternal mist, stood the Ridgemont Hotel. Once a sanctuary for the elite, it had long since decayed into a place of whispered horror. Guests had vanished, leaving only their belongings behind, as if the hotel itself had swallowed them whole. Locals spoke in hushed tones of the power outages that plagued the building, claiming they were not mere accidents but deliberate acts of malevolence.

Rose, a seasoned travel blogger with a penchant for the paranormal, had heard the rumors. Determined to unearth the truth, she decided to stay at the Ridgemont, thinking the stories were just that—stories. When she arrived, the air felt thick, oppressive, as if the hotel was holding its breath.

Dr. Banks, the gaunt manager with eyes that seemed to sink deeper into his skull with each passing hour, greeted her with a thin smile. “Welcome to the Ridgemont. Just a word of caution: the power can be… unpredictable. You’ll want to keep your door locked at night.”

Rose dismissed his warning as a symptom of the hotel’s eerie charm. As she stepped into the elevator, it creaked and groaned, the lights flickering ominously. It jolted to a stop on her floor, and as the doors opened, a frigid gust of air hit her, sending a shiver down her spine.

Room 712 was small and dark, its windows fogged over as if a heavy mist were pressing against the glass. The wallpaper peeled at the edges, revealing the rotting wood beneath. She unpacked her things, trying to shake the creeping feeling of dread that wrapped around her like a vise.

That night, the lights went out without warning.

Rose awoke to an impenetrable darkness. The silence was deafening, broken only by the sound of her own heartbeat echoing in her ears. She fumbled for her phone, but it was dead, its battery inexplicably drained. Then came the scratching—soft at first, then growing louder, as if something was clawing its way through the walls.

Panic surged through her. She swung her legs over the bed and tiptoed to the door, heart racing. The hallway was shrouded in darkness. As she stepped out, the air turned icy, wrapping around her like a shroud.

The emergency light flickered weakly at the end of the corridor, casting long, grotesque shadows. The scratching was louder now, echoing in the silence, followed by whispers that danced around her, rising and falling like a twisted lullaby.

“Rose…”

The voice was a low, rasping whisper that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once.

She froze, the hair on her arms standing on end. The shadows at the far end of the hall began to shift, forming into shapes that were both human and inhuman. They moved with a slow, fluid grace, their eyes glinting like polished stones in the dark.

“Come closer…”

Every instinct screamed at her to flee, but she felt rooted to the spot, terror gripping her. The figures stretched out their long, bony fingers, beckoning her. The whispers crescendoed into a cacophony of laughter, cruel and mocking.

“Join us, Rose…”

With a jolt, she snapped back to reality and bolted back to her room, slamming the door behind her. She leaned against it, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The whispers resumed, more insistent now, seeping through the walls as if the hotel itself were alive, hungry for her.

She huddled in the corner, clutching her flashlight. It flickered and died, plunging her into darkness once more. The scratching returned, this time accompanied by a low, guttural growl that resonated from the depths of the building.

Then she saw it—a shadow sliding under her door, twisting and writhing like smoke. A deep sense of dread enveloped her, and she couldn’t move, paralyzed by fear.

“Rose…”

The whisper slithered beneath the door, wrapping around her mind. It felt personal, intimate—like a long-lost friend beckoning her home.

She screamed, but no sound came out. She could feel the presence pressing against the door, the weight of it almost palpable. It was as if the hotel wanted her, craved her essence, her very soul.

Just when she thought it would break through, the door suddenly burst open, revealing the hallway—but it was empty.

She stumbled out, her mind racing. The air felt heavier now, oppressive, as if the hotel were squeezing the life from her. Every door she passed was ajar, a black void waiting to swallow her whole.

Rose ran back to the lobby, desperate to escape. But when she reached it, she found Dr. Banks standing behind the front desk, staring into the abyss with eyes that had lost all semblance of humanity.

“It’s too late,” he said, his voice hollow. “You’re already a part of it. Once you enter, you never truly leave.”

As the lights flickered back to life, the shadows deepened, twisting into familiar shapes. Faces of the vanished guests stared back at her, their eyes wide with terror, mouths moving in silent screams.

“Help us…”

Rose turned to flee, but the exit had vanished, replaced by a wall of dark figures closing in around her. They whispered her name, their voices a chilling symphony of despair.

“Join us…”

The walls began to close in, the darkness swallowing her whole. She felt cold hands grasping at her, pulling her toward the void, the whispers echoing in her mind.

When morning came, the Ridgemont Hotel stood silent once more. Dr. Banks resumed his duties, a tired smile on his lips as he checked the guestbook. The pages were filled with names of those who had come and gone, but one name stood out among the rest.

Rose.

As the sun rose higher, the hotel basked in a deceptive light, and yet, those who looked too closely would see the shadows shifting, the whispers echoing just beneath the surface.

For once you entered the Ridgemont, you were never truly alone. The shadows were always hungry, waiting for the next soul to wander too close to the darkness. And when the power went out, it was a signal—the game was about to begin.