The Whispers in Room 306

Arif arrived at the Riverside Grand Hotel late at night, drenched from the unexpected rain. The receptionist, an elderly woman with sunken eyes, barely looked at him as she slid the key across the counter.

"Room 306," she muttered.

There was something unsettling about her tone, but Arif was too exhausted to care. He took the creaky elevator to the third floor, his shoes squelching against the faded carpet. As he walked down the dimly lit hallway, he couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching him.

The moment he stepped inside Room 306, a cold gust of air wrapped around him. The wallpaper peeled at the edges, the furniture looked decades old, and the air carried a faint scent of mildew. He locked the door and tossed his bag onto the chair, eager to get some sleep before his morning meeting.

As he reached for the television remote, the screen flickered to life on its own. Static filled the room, followed by a whisper—soft, almost a breath against his ear.

"Get out."

Arif’s stomach twisted. He turned off the TV and looked around. The room was empty.

Convincing himself it was just exhaustion playing tricks on him, he changed into his nightclothes and slipped under the covers. But sleep didn't come easy. The air felt heavier, the silence too sharp. Then, at 3:06 AM, a scratching sound echoed from the closet.

Arif sat up, heart hammering. "Hello?"

No response.

The scratching grew louder, more frantic. Then came the whispers—many voices overlapping, speaking in a language he couldn’t understand. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead as he slowly got out of bed and approached the closet. His fingers trembled as he reached for the handle.

The door burst open on its own. Nothing was inside—just empty shelves. But the whispers didn’t stop.

Then, he felt it. A breath on his neck.

Arif spun around, but no one was there. The room’s atmosphere grew suffocating, the air thick with an unseen presence. He grabbed his phone to call the front desk, but there was no signal. The whispers turned into a low, guttural growl.

The bathroom door creaked open.

With a sinking feeling, Arif stepped toward it. Inside, the mirror had fogged over, and words slowly appeared, as if written by an invisible finger.

"You took my room. Now, I take you."

The lights flickered, and suddenly, the mirror shattered. A shadow rose from the shards, tall and featureless, its hollow eyes locked onto him. Arif stumbled back, but invisible hands clamped around his wrists, yanking him toward the bathroom.

He screamed.

The next morning, the receptionist sighed as the housekeeper approached her, trembling.

"Room 306 is empty again," the housekeeper whispered. "But there are claw marks on the walls. And… blood."

The receptionist nodded, unsurprised. "He’s taken another one."

She picked up the key and placed it back on the hook, waiting for the next unfortunate guest.