The Last Room in Hillshade Inn

The Last Room in Hillshade Inn

There’s an old roadside inn on the outskirts of Hillshade…Most people pass it without a second glance, but locals know — it’s been there for over a hundred years.

They also know never to ask for Room Six.

[Scene 1 – Arrival]

It was a stormy night when Farhan’s car broke down on the empty road.

With no signal and rain pouring down like nails from the sky, he spotted the flickering sign:

Hillshade Inn – Rooms Available.

Inside, the reception smelled of damp wood and dust.

An old man sat behind the desk, his eyes pale and glassy.

"One room?" he asked, voice dry like paper.

Farhan nodded.

The old man hesitated… then slowly reached for a key.

But before handing it over, he whispered,

"Every room but Six. Don’t even touch the door to Six."

Farhan smirked.

"Sure… I’m just here for the night."

[Scene 2 – Curiosity begins]

His room was small but warm, the storm outside still roaring.

But as he unpacked, he heard it — a faint tapping sound… like nails against wood.

It was coming from the room next door.

Room Six.

At first, he ignored it.

But as the night went on, the tapping turned into a slow, dragging sound… and then… whispers.

Not one voice. Many.

"Let us out… we’re so cold…"

Farhan froze.

He told himself it was the wind, but deep down… he knew wind didn’t sound like that.

[Scene 3 – Breaking the rule]

By midnight, curiosity ate at him.

He stepped into the hallway, lightning briefly flashing through the dusty windows.

The door to Room Six stood at the far end — old, swollen from years of dampness, the brass number hanging crooked.

His hand reached for the knob.

It was cold. Not cold like metal… cold like ice from a grave.

He twisted it.

Unlocked.

The door creaked open, revealing a blackness so deep it seemed to swallow the hallway light.

The air was thick… damp… and reeked of rot.

[Scene 4 – Inside the room]

Farhan stepped inside, phone flashlight trembling in his grip.

The beam cut through dust motes, revealing…

A bed frame with no mattress.

A broken mirror with deep cracks like spiderwebs.

And…

Scratches.

Hundreds of scratches along the walls… some high up, as if someone had been climbing, clawing.

Then he noticed… the door behind him had closed.

On its surface… fresh scratch marks appeared.

One by one.

From the inside.

[Scene 5 – The whispers become screams]

The whispers returned, louder now.

"It hurts… it hurts… let us in…"

The mirror’s cracks began to widen, and in the reflection, he saw something moving — pale hands pressing from the other side of the glass, faces stretching, mouths open in silent screams.

Farhan backed toward the door, fumbling for the knob — but it wouldn’t turn.

Behind him, the mirror shattered… but nothing fell.

Instead… they stepped through.

[Scene 6 – The figures]

They weren’t solid.

Shadows wearing the shape of people.

Skin like wet paper, eyes black and hollow.

One moved close enough for Farhan to feel its breath — freezing, smelling of earth.

A voice hissed right against his ear,

"Now you’re one of us."

Cold surged through his veins. His vision blurred.

He felt his body go weak, as if something was… pulling the life out of him.

[Scene 7 – The morning after]

Farhan woke to sunlight.

He was lying in the hallway, the door to Room Six firmly shut.

His bags were in his room, untouched.

Downstairs, the old man at the desk didn’t look surprised.

"You opened it, didn’t you?" he said quietly.

Farhan tried to speak, but his voice was barely a whisper.

And when he looked in the lobby mirror…

his eyes were pale.

Glass-like.

Just like the old man’s.

[Ending – Dark fade-out]

The next stormy night… the key to Room Six waited for its next guest.