The Vanishing Hotel Room

I had always loved traveling, but my last trip changed me forever.

It started in Paris. My connecting flight was delayed, and exhaustion forced me to book a small hotel near the airport. The taxi driver seemed hesitant when I gave him the address, but after a long silence, he nodded and drove. The streets grew darker, emptier, and quieter. We stopped in front of an old building—faded red bricks, ivy crawling up its walls, and an old wooden sign that read: Hotel Celeste.

Inside, the lobby smelled of damp wood and old perfume. The receptionist, a pale woman with striking blue eyes, smiled too widely as she handed me a brass key. “Room 6,” she said in a voice that felt rehearsed.

The hallway was silent. No footsteps, no voices. Just me and the flickering light bulbs that buzzed overhead. When I opened the door to my room, I froze.

The room looked… wrong. The wallpaper was peeling, the bed was antique but freshly made, and a giant mirror covered the far wall. My reflection seemed delayed, like it wasn’t keeping up with me. My stomach knotted, but exhaustion won. I lay down on the bed, telling myself I’d leave in the morning.

At 3:17 AM, I woke to whispering.

Not outside. Not in the hall. Inside the room.

I scanned the dark, my heart pounding. The mirror caught my eye. My reflection was standing. I was still lying in bed, but the me in the mirror was smiling.

I shot up, grabbing my bag, fumbling for the door. It wouldn’t open. The brass handle was ice-cold. Behind me, the reflection stepped closer, raising its hand as if pressing against the glass. Then, the glass rippled like water.

I don’t remember how I got out. I must’ve blacked out. The next morning, I woke up in a taxi, parked at the airport. My bag was in my lap, and the driver was shaking me awake.

“You fell asleep,” he said.

I told him about the hotel, about the key, about the mirror. He frowned. “Hotel Celeste? That place burned down 40 years ago. No one’s been there since.”

I checked my pocket. The brass key was still there.