The Silence in Room 616

Jordan was initially struck by the smell of aged wood, mildew, and a faint metallic undertone at the Briarwood Inn. The kind of place that felt untouched by time, like it had been quietly rotting behind a curtain of ivy and rain for the past hundred years.

He hadn’t planned on staying there. The glowing "VACANCY" sign of Briarwood was a welcome light in the gloom as his car had broken down halfway through a trip across the country. His phone was dead and a storm was approaching, so it was dark. An elderly man at the front desk handed him a brass key without asking for payment. “Room 616,” the man said. "At the hall's end. Don’t mind the noise.”

Jordan hesitated. “What noise?”

But the man only smiled, revealing yellowed teeth, and returned to his crossword puzzle.

The hallway to 616 was strangely long. The lights flickered at random intervals, and faded wallpaper peeled at the corners. Jordan passed a series of closed doors, none marked. As he reached his room, thunder cracked outside, and the hallway light died completely.

He turned the key in the lock and stepped into the darkness.

The hallway was warmer than the room. The air inside felt… thick, like it resisted being breathed. Dust coated every surface, and the bed looked like it hadn’t been touched in decades. Still, it was a roof over his head, and he was too exhausted to be picky.

As he unpacked, he heard it—a soft tapping. Faint. Rhythmic. Coming from the wall behind the bed.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Jordan paused, listening. It ceased. He chalked it up to old pipes, wind, maybe even a tree branch.

But then it came again. Tap. Tap. Tap. This time, closer. He leaned against the wall, pressing his ear to it.

Nothing.

But when he pulled away, he saw it: a handprint smeared on the wallpaper in something dark and brownish-red. It had never previously been there. He stepped back.

The bathroom light then turned itself on. His chest tightened as his heart raced. He pushed himself forward and turned the switch off again. The tapping resumed, now more audible, as soon as the light faded out. Urgent. Angry.

Tap. TAP. TAP.

He switched on the light once more. Silence.

Off. Tapping.

On. Silence.

He left the light on.

That night, he slept with the bathroom light casting a dim glow through the cracked door. But sleep was thin, broken by the sound of something moving in the walls. A whisper that sounded like insects were just below the plaster. When morning came, Jordan dressed quickly, grabbed his bag, and headed for the lobby.

However, the hallway was distinct. Longer. The wallpaper was no longer peeling—it was gone, replaced by rough wooden panels covered in deep gouges. Scratches.

And all the doors were gone.

One exception. His.

He turned and ran, feet pounding against the warped floor, breath hitching in panic.

However, the hallway continued. Endlessly. He could feel the inn bending around him as it had changed in some way. Eventually, out of breath and nearly sobbing, Jordan returned to Room 616.

The door was open.

Inside, the room was darker than before, as if light refused to enter. Just beyond the reach of the bathroom's glow, there was something waiting in the corner. an outline. Human… almost.

It stepped forward.

It had transparent skin, hollow eyes, and a mouth that stretched out in a constant, silent scream. It pointed at him, slowly raising one bony finger toward the bed.

Jordan shifted. The bedcovers had been pulled back, revealing the shape of a person beneath the sheets.

He moved closer, shaking, and peeled them away. It was him.

Pale. Lifeless. In horror, mouth opens. There was no light.

Tap. Tap. Tap.