The Final Check-In

"There was only one rule: don’t open the door.” That’s the strange rule the host emphasized when he accepted the last minute airbnb booking at midnight.

Miguel had been driving through the hurricane for hours, fighting to keep his eyes open. Ignoring the strange rule to not open the bedrooms bathroom door he accepted the invitation. Fighting shallow breaths and nerves, he clicked pay.

Since the mother of his child had run away he had grown accustomed to being on the road, and felt safest at a random airbnb or hotel.

Twenty minutes later Miguel was inside the strange house. A cold chill swept over him, leaving marble-like goosebumps on his skin.

He walked to the thermostat to set it, only to find the date and temperature were glitching and not responding.

“Fuck this place.” He said to himself as he walked to the bedroom. He kicked off his shoes and jumped in the large bed.

For a moment it was comforting, then a rotting stench filled his nostrils. He pulled the blanket above his head trying to ignore it, but the pungent odor was still relentless. Then came a faint sob.

Still he ignored everything, until he heard a familiar whisper. “Help me…” He jumped out of the bed, slowly walking to the bathroom.

He paused fearfully, as the putrid smell grew stronger. “Help me.” The sound drove him to toss the door open. His knees buckled and vomit spewed, as he saw a greenish black decomposing child in dark murky water.

His mouth opened failing to scream, as he recognized the figure as his own baby boy.

Next his eyes found the mirror, its reflection showed something even more horrifying. In the bed his own corpse lay pale, colorless, lifeless, and still, with a needle in his arm.