Look, before I get into what happened, I just want to preface this by saying I know how mundane the title sounds, okay? I know all hotel workers claim their place of work is haunted, but this one was different. If it didn’t sound so stupid, I’d say the place was possessed, or even a demon itself, somehow taking on the form of a building.
I started working there the summer I finished school; I’d gotten my A-Level results and I have to admit, I hadn’t put in enough work for them. I’d scaped two C’s and a D - barely passes and not good enough to get into any of the universities I’d applied for. My mum was disappointed in me (surprise, surprise) and gave me two options: try and get a uni place through clearing, or get a job and pay her rent, until I could afford to move out.
Obviously, I picked the latter.
The hotel was called Grimhale and was less than an hour’s drive from home. I was interviewed by a short balding man, with tired eyes and a weirdly pink scalp, as if his hair had been pulled and not fallen out naturally. He introduced himself as Ned and seemed eager for me to start; I’d been a little suspicious of this, at first, in case the desperation for staff was something I should be concerned about. God, I wished I’d listened to my gut.
Grimhale itself was less of an eyesore than you’d expect. It had 5 floors, with 24 rooms on each, splitting off of snaking corridors, carpeted and wallpapered in fading shades of red and brown. Each room was basic: double bed, en-suite bathroom, closet, desk, heater and full length mirror. Strangely, none of the rooms seemed to have windows, despite the fact many of them had external walls, and the building itself appeared to have windows, from the outside.
At first, the experiences were minor; the front desk phone would ring and when I’d answer, no one would be on the other end; requests would come in from rooms for extra towels, or to make a complaint about something not working, only for the room to be empty when I’d get there; freshly replaced light bulbs would burst within hours; random objects would seemingly disappear and then reappear again in the most obvious of places.
Of course, I was nervous to start with, caught off guard by these strange happenings. Being the youngest and newest staff member, I was hesitant to mention anything to any of my coworkers, in case they laughed at me, or brushed me off as some anxious kid.
It wasn’t until my third month on the job, that things began to ramp up a little. It was past 2am and I had been sat in the back office - with the door open, in case anyone came to the front desk - when an animalistic shriek rang out through the lobby. I sat bolt upright in my chair, needle-like prickles running down my spine. For a moment, I wasn’t sure what to do: I knew I should check the lobby, but the dread creeping over me told me I should hide and definitely not go investigate.
Choosing my job duties over my fear, I crept out of the office and into the reception area. Everything was as still and quiet as it should be. Part of me desperately wanted to slip back into the room behind me and lock the door, but instead I picked up my flashlight and skeleton keys and started making rounds through each floor, poking my head into every unoccupied room and darkened stairwell.
I found nothing.
After that, I couldn’t seem to go a week without hearing the scream during a night shift.
Oftentimes, when I worked a morning shift, guests would come by the reception on their way to breakfast and complain about seeing someone in their room the night before. They usually described a dark figure, with a slim build, standing in their room, blocking the door, or looming over them, before fading into nothing. These sightings only seemed to happen on floors 2 and 4, most frequently in rooms 2, 7, 15, 19, 21 and 23, and more often than not, with women.
Every time I was sent to clean one of these rooms I would try to wrangle someone else into coming with me - not because I was lazy, but because I hated being in those rooms alone - but normally, there weren’t enough workers on shift to allow two people to go do a single person job.
It would be fine when I’d first enter the room, but the longer I’d be in there, the seemingly heavier the atmosphere would get. I’d feel like someone was staring at me constantly, a pressure building in my head until a migraine would begin to burn behind my eyes. Plus, I could guarantee I’d lose something every time I cleaned one of those rooms. Even if I had emptied all of my personal effects before I entered, I’d leave unable to find a spray bottle, or a cloth, or on one occasion, my whole belt.
Of course, there were lots of smaller happenings, too, just like any haunted place. Hanging lights would swing with no breeze, doors would open by themselves, the front desk bell would ring with nobody around, clatters and bangs would emanate from the kitchen hours after it had closed for the night, and invisible something would tug sharply on my hair and clothes, as well as trip me up.
Honestly, whilst it did all freak me out, I just put up with it. Yes, I was struggling to get more than 5 hours of sleep a night and my mental state had definitely taken a toll, but for some reason the idea of quitting hadn’t really crossed my mind, other than in the form of a fleeting thought. I was oddly drawn to the hotel, as if under some kind of spell or curse. Almost like I couldn’t leave.
The final straw, however, was when the apparitions started appearing (I don’t count the shadow man on floors 2 and 4, as I never actually saw anything, myself).
The first one was a woman, dressed muddied grey, crying in the lobby. It had been another tiresome nightshift, and my nerves already felt frayed by 3am, when the sound of someone sobbing rang out through the reception area. I had rushed out to the front desk, heart pounding and desperately hoping whoever was there was okay and uninjured.
Sitting in the middle of the maroon carpet, was a woman, in a dirty grey tracksuit; the fabric was torn at the knees and I could clearly see blood seeping through the ragged edges. Her face was buried in her hands, her dark hair spilling like waterfalls over her trembling shoulders. I approached and tentatively touched her upper back, in an attempt at comfort. I was 19 at this point, and while I like to think of myself as pretty socially competent, consoling a crying adult was still beyond me.
“Ma’am, what’s wrong? Has something happened?” I lowered myself and allowed my full palm to make contact with her shoulder blade.
A grotesque shudder ran through her body, almost like a convulsion. She began to rise, sitting up more fully and turning towards me. Then she pulled her hands away from her face and I recoiled in horror. It couldn’t even be said she had a face anymore, really - just a gaping maw where her lips should met over her teeth, below a ripped nose and eye sockets filled with some kind of goo. The jagged teeth wrenched further apart as a scream erupted from the thing’s throat, and I flinched back, shielding myself from the sight.
After several agonisingly long seconds, I peeked through my fingers and found she had vanished, leaving me cowering on the old carpet alone.
Once the floodgate opened to them, they never seemed to stop.
That’s as much as I can bear to recount, for today. I know the nightmares will be back tonight, I’m sure of that. But, I know some people are really into this kind of stuff, so ask away. I’ll try to remember as many details as I can.