The Last Message in Room 304

Part 1: The Return

It had been two years since Jamie left the motel.

Two years since Lily vanished, since the message on the mirror, and since the cold silence swallowed the hallway outside Room 304.

Jamie had tried everything — therapy, medication, even moving states. But nothing stopped the dreams.

Every night, the same sequence:

A door creaking open.

The sound of soft sobbing.

And then... that typing in the dark.

He knew it was calling him back.

So, on a rainy Tuesday in October, Jamie returned to The Westhill Inn.

But this time, he wasn’t there to work.

He was there to end it.

The place looked mostly the same. A new coat of paint, a different receptionist — but the shadows still clung to the corners like cobwebs.

“Checking in?” the girl asked.

Jamie hesitated, then nodded.

“Yeah. Room 304.”

She looked up. A pause. A slight chill in the air.

“No one ever asks for that one,” she said softly.

Jamie smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes.

“I’m not just anyone.”

The hallway was quieter than he remembered. Carpet worn. Lights dimmer than usual. And when he reached Room 304, he saw the door was already slightly open.

He pushed it.

Same cold. Same mirror. Same window.

And as he stepped inside — that familiar chill kissed his neck.

Jamie placed his backpack on the floor. Inside it:

A journal filled with the motel’s history

Clara Wren’s photo

A voice recorder

A broken pocket watch — the one they found outside Lily’s locker after she vanished

And lastly — a silver locket with a photo of Lily smiling inside it.

That night, Jamie sat facing the mirror, light off, recorder on.

“Clara,” he said gently. “I know you’re still here. I want to help.”

Nothing. Only silence.

He glanced at the mirror.

A faint shape behind him.

He turned.

Empty room.

He faced the mirror again — now foggy.

And then, just like last time, a message appeared:

“You came back. But so did he.”

Part 2: The Watcher in the Walls

The message on the mirror slowly faded.

Jamie’s breath caught in his throat.

He whispered into the recorder, “Second message. Confirmed. No visible presence... but it knows I’m here.”

He pulled the curtains closed, locked the door, and dimmed the lights. The room seemed to hum softly — a sound just at the edge of hearing.

Then, it started.

Scratching.

Faint at first. Behind the wall near the bed.

Jamie crept closer.

The sound stopped.

He placed his ear to the wallpaper. Silence. Then—

Three slow knocks.

Not from the door.

From inside the wall.

Jamie stumbled back.

He remembered the 1997 incident. The couple who heard scratching and whispers.

They had checked out the next morning — white as ghosts — leaving all their belongings behind.

He turned on his flashlight and aimed it at the wall.

“Clara?” he said. “Is that you?”

No response.

He placed his palm flat on the cold plaster.

Suddenly, a section of the wallpaper shifted—a breath from the other side.

He tore the wallpaper away.

Behind it, scratched into the drywall in frantic strokes:

“HE IS NOT HUMAN.”

Heart racing, Jamie checked his journal.

There were no mentions of “he” in Clara’s story. Only “she”.

But what if… Clara wasn’t the only one trapped?

He flipped to a newspaper clipping from 1986.

“Caretaker Missing from Westhill Inn — Body Never Found”

Name: Benjamin Thorne.

Jamie’s hands trembled.

Mr. Thorne... the man who checked in the night Lily vanished.

Suddenly, the air turned ice-cold.

Lights flickered.

Then — the mirror began to fog again.

Jamie reached for his camera, but before he could turn it on — the mirror cracked.

A single word appeared among the fractured glass:

“RUN.”

A loud crash behind him.

The window slammed shut on its own.

Jamie turned — and for the first time — he saw a figure clearly.

Tall. Dressed in that old brown coat.

Face hidden in shadow.

Mr. Thorne.

But his feet weren’t touching the ground.

And his eyes — completely black.

Jamie froze. His instincts screamed to run, but his legs wouldn’t move.

The figure raised a hand, pointing at him. And whispered,

“She’s not trapped. I am.”

And vanished.

Jamie gasped, collapsing to the floor.

Whatever haunted Room 304... was no longer just Clara.

There was something bigger. Older. And it had been watching from the walls all along.