I decided to go on vacation. I wanted to head to a small hotel just outside of my city. The hotel was located in a forest, and though there weren’t many pictures of it, it seemed like it was out of a fairytale. The forest seemed to sparkle in the summer sun, and everything about it seemed… majestic.
As I drove down the gravel road to the hotel, the warm light from the sun seemed to dim. The forest suddenly seemed far more sinister than it should have. I was feeling uneasy, but I kept going. I arrived to the hotel in complete silence, not even my car’s radio was on.
As I got out of my car, my uneasiness started to spike. They hotel was old, I already knew that, but it looked as if it was from a dystopian universe. Everything was dull and dead. The walls were cracking and starting to lean. The garden outside was completely dead. As the I walked up from the parking spaces to the hotel, my unease turned to fear. But I decided to ignore it.
The moment I walked into the hotel, I knew my suspicions were valid. The walls were covered in hideous floral wallpaper, now that I think about it, the same wallpaper my grandma used to have. But it wasn’t the wallpaper that scared me, it was the dozens of animal heads hung on the walls. They seemed to… stare at you. But not in the way that a dead animals eyes look through you, their eyes seemed to follow you. The glazed, milky effect most dead eyes had just wasn’t there.
The thing that set me off most though, was the lack of people. The only two (alive) beings I saw were me, and a young man, maybe in his twenties, who had ginger hair. He was standing behind the front counter, browsing his phone. I walked up to him, and asked if there were any available rooms. He looked at me, looked at his phone, and said “Yeah, room 67. Although at this hotel, it’s policy to share a room. There’s a lady in there already, here’s your key.”
I took the key, and headed through the hallway of rooms 50-75, and as I glanced in the mirror on the wall, I could’ve sworn I saw a red-orange glow coming from the front desk. I started wondering why shared rooms were policy, but I didn’t mind a roommate. After all, I live alone in a small apartment. I forgot about it though, as I approached room 67. I opened the door to find a small woman with a large belly, probably at least 6 months pregnant. She seemed a bit put off that she had a roommate, but we both knew the hotel policy was weird, and she said she was happy to at least have a female roommate.
The first night I was there, I learned a lot about my new roommate. Her name was Chloe, and apparently her boyfriend had gotten her pregnant, then left when he realized she was with child. We talked about the hotel for a bit, when she brought up how off-putting the hotel was. I shared my concerns about it, and then we promptly fell asleep.
The next day, Chloe suggested we use the hotel pool, and to our dismay, we only saw two other guests who were staying at the hotel. And the one sole worker we saw was the same redheaded man who gave me my room key. We put the thought out of our minds though, because the pool was surprisingly fun. We made lunch back in our room, and Chloe started telling me how hot I (apparently) looked in a bikini. I laughed it off, even though I found her actually quite attractive. (We both happened to be attracted to women, I’m bisexual and she waspansexual.)
One thing lead to another, and that night we shared her bed, but as she was pregnant, it didn’t go past that. As she fell asleep, I started to worry. The whole day with Chloe was fun, but I couldn’t help feeling uneasy. Everywhere I went, I seemed to see that ginger man. No matter how hard I tried ignoring my concerns, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this hotel wasn’t… safe.
At one in the morning, I woke up to Chloe putting on her clothes to use the washroom. (Our room’s toilet had clogged.) I didn’t think anything of it, and fell back asleep. But the next morning, she wasn’t back. I assumed she went for a coffee, but she wasn’t down at the hotel café. I started to panic. I didn’t believe in the paranormal, but The Shining was written for a reason, right?
Against my better judgement, I found the ginger man and asked if he knew where Chloe was. His exact words were “If I did, it wouldn’t matter.” This absolutely freaked me out. I frantically called her number, but she didn’t pick up. I asked everyone who was currently staying at the hotel (about 5 other people), but no one knew where she was. In a panic. I called the police to report a missing person.
That night, I couldn’t sleep at all. As I lay in bed, I saw a red-orange light come from my window. As I pulled back the old curtains the hotel sloppily screwed to the wall, I couldn’t suppress my scream of pure terror. It was a bonfire. But not a usual fire, it was bright red, and it didn’t seem to be spreading. It was just a circle around a large willow tree. There was something hanging from a branch, but in the dark, it was too difficult to see. I pulled out my flashlight from my bedside table, and I immediately wished I hadn’t. I tried running to the bathroom, but I just ended up vomiting on the floor.
The oddly shaped thing hanging from that tree branch was the lifeless, butchered body of Chloe. Pushing down my nausea, I crept back to the window. I looked at her body once again, and was disgusted by what had happened. She was completely naked, and there was a long, bloody gash going from her stomach to her chest. A thin rope served as her noose, though she had been dead long before she was hung.
I collapsed to the floor in grief and disgust. All I could do was cry. I knew I needed to find who did this, and make sure they would pay. For hours I sat there, on the puke-brown carpet. I felt dead inside. And then I heard my room’s door open.
Honestly, I ignored it. I couldn’t do anything. And that’s when I felt the two cold hands on my neck. As I looked up, I saw the face of the ginger man. That would be the last face I ever saw as a living woman.
As cliché as it seems, I happen to be a vengeful spirit, looking for any form of entertainment I can. I can’t begin to tell you how many people I’ve murdered in cold blood, in the name of the woman I wanted to spend my life with. Now all I can do is watch you, as you read this story, believing that it is just that, a story. How wrong you would be. Digest these words carefully, and pray that I spare you.