The Suicide Hotel: A Portal to Despair

The Suicide Hotel

Prologue

The dilapidated hotel stood at the edge of the forgotten town, shrouded in fog and whispers of untold tragedies. Once a lavish destination in the roaring 1920s, the Sterling Inn was now but a decaying husk of its former glory. Locals avoided it, muttering tales of guests who checked in but never left. They dubbed it “The Suicide Hotel,” a name they had earned through a sinister reputation for claiming lives in unexplained, chilling ways.

Emily was a freelance journalist into dark stories, who arrived one chilling, rainy evening at the hotel. Lured by rumors of the cursed building, she saw it as her ticket to a breakout feature. Little did she know, her stay would unravel horrors beyond her imagination.

Arrival

The moment Emily stepped into the lobby, a chill settled in her bones. Dust coated the ornate chandeliers, and cobwebs hung like forgotten memories. The receptionist—a frail, elderly man with hollow eyes—wordlessly handed her a tarnished key labeled Room 308.

As she walked to the elevator, the hallway seemed to stretch unnaturally, the patterned wallpaper twisting into shapes that looked like faces. The elevator doors groaned as they closed, and the dim light flickered, plunging her into intermittent darkness.

Room 308

Emily's room was modest but unsettling. A bed, neatly made up with faded sheets, sat across from a large mirror framed in tarnished brass. A single, worn armchair faced the window, which looked out onto the shadowy woods surrounding the hotel.

As she unpacked, she noticed strange details: scratches on the floor beneath the bed, the faint smell of something metallic, and a journal left in the nightstand drawer. The first entry read:

“I hear them whispering at night. They want me to join them.”

Emily shuddered but dismissed it as part of the building's creepy charm.

First Night

That night, Emily was awoken by soft weeping. First, she thought it was coming from another room, but as she sat up, she realized it was inside her own.

She flicked on the bedside lamp, and her heart quickened as she saw the armchair now facing her bed. On it sat an indistinct figure—a young woman with stringy hair, her face obscured by shadows. Emily blinked, and the figure was gone.

The mirror, however, showed something she couldn't ignore. Behind her reflection stood several faint, ghostly silhouettes, all staring at her.

The Suicide Ledger

Determined to understand the hotel’s dark allure, Emily spent the next day exploring. She stumbled upon the manager’s office, its door slightly ajar. Inside, she found a thick, leather-bound book titled The Ledger of Lost Souls.

The ledger detailed the fates of guests who had stayed in the Sterling Inn. A date and cause of death followed each name-all suicides. Hanging, drowning, poison-the list went on. One name stood out: Elizabeth Harper, Room 308.

Flipping to the back, Emily found an ominous note:

“The hotel thrives on despair. The rooms feed on your darkest thoughts. No one leaves untouched.”

The Descent

That evening, Emily felt the hotel's grip tighten. As she sat in her room, strange sounds echoed through the walls—scraping, whispering, and what sounded like distant laughter. The journal she had found now lay open on the desk, though she hadn't touched it.

Its final entry read:

“Once you see them, it's too late. They want your sorrow. They want your soul.”

Her reflection in the mirror began to distort, her face stretching unnaturally as if the glass were alive. When she looked away, she felt invisible hands pressing on her shoulders, urging her toward the window.

The Hidden Truth

Desperate for answers, Emily sought out the elderly receptionist. He reluctantly admitted the hotel's secret:

The Sterling Inn was built over cursed ground. Tragedy calls to tragedy and this place. It feeds on pain. The spirits of the lost remain here, dragging others into despair.

“Why haven't you left?” Emily demanded.

He laughed sullenly. “I tried. But the hotel wouldn't let me.”

The Final Confrontation

Emily went back to her room, determined to break the curse. She started an online-researched cleansing ritual with sage and a flashlight in hand. The air grew heavy, and the whispers became screams.

The mirror trembled violently, and through it, she saw a nightmarish version of the room. Shadows writhed like living creatures, and the spirits of the hotel’s victims reached out for her. In the center stood Elizabeth Harper, her face frozen in anguish.

“Help me,” Elizabeth whispered.

Emily realized the spirits weren’t the cause—they were prisoners like her. The true evil was the hotel itself.

Escape

Summoning every last shred of courage, Emily took a heavy lamp and smashed the mirror. Screaming spirits made the room chaotic, and it seemed as though the walls were closing in. She gathered her belongings and ran from the room, down the hallways that twisted and lengthened as if trying to trap her.

She burst through the front doors into the cold night air, collapsing on the steps. Behind her, the hotel groaned as if alive, its windows flashing with an eerie, otherworldly light. Then, it fell silent.

Epilogue

Weeks later, Emily published her story, exposing the hotel's dark history. The Sterling Inn was demolished shortly after, but she knew its curse wasn't entirely gone. The experience had left her haunted by fleeting whispers and shadowy figures in her peripheral vision.

The Suicide Hotel had let her go, but only because it knew she would carry its story onward, spreading its darkness to others.