The Last Guest

As she pushed open the heavy oak door, a chill ran down her spine. The lobby was dimly lit by flickering candles, casting eerie shadows on the peeling wallpaper. A bell rang softly as she entered, and the air was thick with a musty scent that hinted at years of abandonment.

“Welcome,” a voice croaked from behind the front desk. An elderly man with sunken eyes and a crooked smile emerged from the shadows. “We don’t get many guests these days.”

“I just need a room for the night,” Sarah replied, trying to shake off her unease.

“Of course,” he said, handing her an antique key. “Room 13. Just down the hall.”

As she made her way to her room, the creaking floorboards echoed her every step. The walls seemed to close in around her, and she could swear she felt eyes watching from the dark corners. Once inside, she locked the door, hoping to dispel the unsettling feeling creeping up her spine.

The storm raged outside, the wind howling like a tortured spirit. Exhausted, Sarah lay on the bed, but sleep eluded her. Instead, she listened to the sounds of the hotel—the creaks and groans that felt almost alive. Then, she heard it: a soft whispering, just beyond her door.

“Help… us…”

Her heart raced. Was she imagining it? The whispers continued, growing more desperate. “Help… us… don’t let her take you!”

Fear gnawed at her resolve. She crept to the door, heart pounding. Mustering her courage, she slowly turned the knob and opened it a crack. The hallway was dark, illuminated only by the faint glow of candlelight flickering at the end.

“Who’s there?” she called out, her voice trembling.

But the only reply was the soft whispering, drawing her out of her room. As she stepped into the hallway, the temperature dropped, her breath visible in the icy air. The whispers intensified, guiding her down the corridor toward a room at the end—Room 12.

Compelled by an unseen force, she approached the door. It creaked open at her touch, revealing a room shrouded in darkness. Taking a deep breath, Sarah stepped inside.

The room was empty, save for a single candle flickering on the dresser. As she drew closer, she noticed something scrawled on the dusty mirror: “She feeds on fear.”

Suddenly, the door slammed shut behind her. Panic surged, and Sarah turned to find the elderly man standing in the doorway, a sinister smile plastered on his face.

“You shouldn’t have come here,” he said, his voice low and raspy. “The hotel needs guests, and it’s hungry.”

As he stepped forward, shadows began to swirl around him, twisting and coiling like dark tendrils. They slithered toward Sarah, tugging at her mind, filling it with images of despair—faces of past guests trapped in torment, their screams echoing in her ears.

“No!” she screamed, trying to fight against the encroaching darkness. “Get away from me!”

But the shadows pressed closer, wrapping around her, dragging her toward the man. The whispers grew louder, a cacophony of voices pleading for release. “Help us… don’t let her take you!”

With a surge of desperation, Sarah grabbed the candle from the dresser and thrust it toward the shadows. The flame flickered wildly, and with a bright flash, the shadows recoiled, hissing as if burned. In that moment, the door flew open, and she bolted past the man, racing down the hall.

She could hear his furious shouts behind her, but she didn’t stop. As she reached the front door, the storm raged outside, and with one final push, she flung it open and stumbled into the night.

The hotel loomed behind her, a dark silhouette against the lightning-lit sky. She didn’t look back. As she ran into the forest, the whispers faded, replaced by the howling wind.

Days later, when the storm cleared and townsfolk ventured to the Blackwood Hotel, they found it quiet and still. No sign of Sarah, no evidence of her presence—only the echo of whispers drifting through the air, waiting for the next traveler to become the last guest.