The Whispers in Room 306

It started with a dare.

Maya had never believed in ghosts or haunted hotels, but when her friends dared her to spend one night alone in the infamous Room 306 of the old Whitmore Inn, she accepted without hesitation. The inn had been closed for decades, abandoned after a series of mysterious disappearances. Locals whispered about strange noises, bloodstained floors, and shadows that moved on their own. But Maya, a rational-minded journalism student, chalked it all up to urban legend.

Armed with only a flashlight, her phone, and a recorder, she entered the creaking building just before dusk. The interior smelled of mildew and dust, the kind that sticks to your clothes and clings to your lungs. She climbed the stairs carefully, each step groaning beneath her feet. The silence was thick, like a blanket muffling the world outside.

Room 306 was at the end of the third-floor hallway. The door was warped but yielded under her push with a loud, echoing creak. Inside, the room was surprisingly intact—bedframe, nightstand, cracked mirror, all still in place. The air, however, was heavy and cold, despite the summer evening outside.

She set up her camera on the dresser, pressed record on her phone, and spoke into her recorder. “Test, test. Night one. Whitmore Inn. Room 306. So far, just dust and creaky wood.” She laughed softly to herself.

As darkness settled, she sat on the floor with her back to the wall and began writing notes in her journal. That’s when she heard it—the first whisper.

It was faint, like wind sliding under a door, but distinct enough to make her stop writing. She held her breath. There it was again. A voice, too low to decipher, murmuring in the corner near the closet.

“Hello?” she called out, her voice slightly trembling.

No response

Maya stood slowly, flashlight beam dancing nervously across the room. The closet door was ajar. She approached it cautiously, reaching for the knob. With a sudden creak, it swung fully open on its own.

The inside was empty.

She laughed nervously. “Old hinges. That’s all.”

Returning to her spot, she checked her phone. The screen was black. Dead. She was sure it had been fully charged. She tried her flashlight—also dead.

The room was now engulfed in shadow, lit only by the fading moonlight filtering through the grimy window.

Then the whispering returned—closer now, louder.

Maya...

Her breath caught. That wasn’t just any whisper. It said her name.

“Maya... come... closer...”

She stumbled back, heart racing. “Who’s there?” she demanded, but her voice cracked, barely louder than the whispers.

From the corner of her eye, she saw movement. A figure, pale and flickering like a projection, standing near the bed. It looked like a woman—long black hair, torn nightgown, head tilted unnaturally to one side.

Maya couldn’t move. The figure slowly raised an arm, pointing at the closet. The same one that had opened earlier.

“No,” Maya whispered. “I’m not going back there.”

The figure flickered, and suddenly, the closet door slammed shut with a bang.

Maya screamed and bolted for the hallway. She tried the doorknob—it wouldn’t budge. It was as if something was holding it closed from the other side.

Behind her, the whispering turned into screaming—dozens of voices, all shrieking her name, overlapping in anguish and rage.

She backed away from the door, heart hammering, when she noticed something written on the wall in dark red—fresh and wet.

“Join us.”

She pounded on the door. “Let me out!”

Suddenly, it flew open, sending her sprawling into the hallway. The screaming stopped. The air returned to stillness. She didn’t wait—she fled down the stairs, out of the building, and into the cool night air.

The next morning, Maya returned with the police and her friends. Room 306 looked the same—dusty, old, undisturbed. But her phone, found in the middle of the room, contained a three-hour video. It showed Maya sitting silently, staring into the corner, occasionally whispering to herself. At one point, she stood, walked to the closet, opened it, and stood inside it for a full thirty minutes without moving.

She didn’t remember any of it.

Even now, weeks later, Maya wakes in the middle of the night to the sound of whispers—soft, insistent, and coming from the closet.

Room 306 never really let her go.

Thanks For Reading.