The Man in the Fog

David had been driving for hours through the winding, fog-covered roads of the countryside. His GPS had stopped working miles ago, and his phone had no signal. Rain began to pour heavily, making it nearly impossible to see. Just as panic set in, he noticed a dim light in the distance.

An old inn stood at the side of the road, its wooden sign swinging in the wind. "The Hollow Oak Inn."

Relieved, David parked his car and hurried inside. The place was eerily silent, but a warm fire crackled in the fireplace. A guestbook lay open at the front desk. He called out, "Hello?"

No answer.

Deciding he’d settle in for the night, David signed his name in the book and picked up a room key. Room 207.

The hallway leading to his room was dimly lit, the floor creaking under his steps. The air smelled of damp wood and something else—something metallic.

Inside Room 207, the bed was neatly made, but the wallpaper was peeling, and the furniture looked untouched for years. Exhausted, David locked the door and lay down. The rain pounded against the window as he drifted into sleep.

At exactly 2:07 AM, he woke up to a sound.

Footsteps.

Slow, deliberate footsteps echoed in the hallway. Then, a knock at his door.

David froze. "Hello?" he called.

Silence.

Then came another knock—this time, louder.

Gathering his courage, David walked to the door and peered through the peephole. A tall figure stood outside, shrouded in mist. Its face was obscured, but its eyes—dark and hollow—stared directly at him.

David stumbled backward. The knocking grew more violent, shaking the door. Panicked, he grabbed his phone, but the screen was black. The power in the room flickered.

Then, the knocking stopped.

For a long moment, there was only silence.

Cautiously, David opened the door. The hallway was empty. But at the end of it, he saw something that made his blood turn to ice—the guestbook at the front desk was now open to his name.

And below it, a new entry had appeared.

"Room 207. He arrived. He never left."

David spun around as the light flickered one last time. The last thing he saw was the tall, shadowy figure stepping toward him.

The next morning, the inn was empty. David's car was still parked outside, covered in mist. His name remained in the guestbook.

And Room 207 was ready for its next guest.