The night draped itself over the city like a soiled blanket, heavy and oppressive, and the Hotel Acheron loomed in the distance, a dark monolith that seemed to suck the very light from the street lamps lining the cracked pavement. As I approached, footsteps echoing against the cold stone, I felt an unsettling shiver ripple through me, like a warning crackling in the static air. I had been summoned by a case — the disappearance of a guest — and though I was a seasoned investigator, the weight of dread settled in my stomach, a foreboding that gnawed at my nerves.
The exterior of the hotel seemed to breathe with an eerie life of its own. Windows, blackened and unwelcoming, stared down at me like the unblinking eyes of some ancient beast. The ornate wrought-iron sign above the door creaked ominously in the wind, its letters chipped and peeling, as if time itself had conspired to erase the establishment’s former grandeur. I hesitated on the threshold, my heart a tumultuous drum in my chest, the kind of echoing anxiety that can render a man mute. Yet duty compelled me forward.
Inside, the lobby was a chilling horror of shadow and dust. Musty chandeliers hung low, their once-glimmering crystals dulled by years of neglect. The air reeked of mildew and despair, clinging to my skin like some insidious specter. I approached the front desk, a hulking piece of dark wood that groaned as I leaned on it, and was greeted by a clerk whose eyes were sunken, rimmed with fatigue. He was a peculiar man, dressed in an ill-fitting suit that seemed to swallow him whole, a specter of professionalism in a grotesque caricature.
“I’m here about the missing guest,” I said, my voice strained, the weight of my profession—of human life and its complexities—hanging heavy like an albatross around my neck.
The clerk’s expression barely shifted, though I caught a flicker of something—annoyance or perhaps fear?—that passed over his features. “Room 312,” he said, almost too softly, as if fearing the walls might overhear. “She hasn’t checked out.”
I took the key, an archaic object that felt too warm, and made my way upstairs, the carpet beneath my feet swallowed in an unsettling silence that turned every footfall into a ghostly echo. The walls closed in, and I could feel the building breathing, sighing and shifting as I climbed. The oppressive dread multiplied with every step, each landing a reminder of how isolated I was from the outside world.
Room 312 sat like a gaping maw in front of me. The door was slightly ajar, an uninviting invitation that beckoned me closer. Taking a breath, I pushed it open, the hinges creaking a reluctant welcome.
The room was dimly lit, the curtains drawn tight against the outside world, and I could feel the stale air cocooning me. It was a reflection of my own mind, cluttered and shadowy. A nightstand spilled trifles—a forgotten book, a broken watch, a glass tipped over with remnants of a drink. The bed was unkempt, sheets twisted and rumpled, and upon a closer examination, I noticed dark stains that sent a jolt of horror through me.
“Hello?” I called, my voice almost swallowed by the thick atmosphere. “Is anyone here?”
Silence responded.
Cautiously, I stepped further into the room, noting the overbearing sense of abandonment that reeked from every corner. The bathroom door stood ajar, and as I approached it, I caught a glimpse of the mirror. The reflection was disconcerting — my sunken cheeks, the nervous twitch of my lip — I looked like a man haunted by his choices, a vessel for every nightmare I had ever encountered.
I turned to face the bathroom and froze.
The tub, a once pristine white now stained with unspeakable grime, sat starkly at odds with the rest of the room. I could almost hear the faintest whisper of water lapping gently against porcelain. Focusing, I edged closer, the dread pooling in my core, and there, lying at the bottom, was a swirl of dark water that seemed to pulse with a life of its own.
It was then I noticed the glint of something metallic—a bracelet with charms that had once belonged to the missing woman—the last tangible trace of her existence. My heart quickened as I reached for it, the cold touch of steel sending an electric jolt through my fingers.
In that moment, the lights flickered, and a chill swept through the air, wrapping around my throat like a noose. I turned sharply, the room seeming to shift its weight around me, shadows lengthening and curling. There was something in the air, a palpable thickness, like the breath of some lurking creature ready to pounce. The sensation of being watched prickled my skin as my breath quickened.
I could feel the hotel’s history in these walls, the weight of agony and despair that seeped from the very bricks. They whispered to me, stories of those lost within its confines. Guests who had entered and never returned, their souls trapped in this purgatory. The air grew dense with past lives, suffocating and intoxicating, as I inched back toward the door, my instincts screaming for escape.
As I hesitated, transfixed on the darkness around me, I felt an icy grip on my arm. It squeezed, an intimate yet malevolent presence, and I gasped, spinning to confront what I knew was not merely my imagination.
But there was nothing. Just shadows drawn tight against the walls, mocking me as they danced with the flickering light. I stumbled into the room beyond, nearly crashing into the dresser, and the door slammed shut behind me, locking me in with whatever malevolence lingered in the air.
Panic clawed at my throat. I struggled with the door, but it wouldn’t budge, as if the hotel had decided I was part of the story now, a new chapter in its grim anthology. Suddenly, I was acutely aware of the sound—soft padding footsteps echoing in the distance, approaching steadily, inexorably.
Drawing in a sharp breath, I turned back to the tub, the swirling dark water still rippling as if stirred by an unseen hand. I felt a surge of turmoil, an urge to release the bracelet, to cleanse this wretched place of its burden. But as my fingers hovered over the cool surface, something broke through—a face forming in the water, pale and contorted, eyes wide in terror.
I stumbled back, gasping, and the vision flickered like an old film reel, replaced by darkness. The room seemed to narrow, the walls closing in, pulsating with an alien rhythm. I could feel the presence grow, a faceless silhouette hovering just beyond the fringe of my vision, seeping into my consciousness, weaving into my thoughts.
“Help me!” it breathed, the voice a rasp of despair that tugged at the edges of my sanity. “You can’t leave me here!”
With a shock, realization clawed at my mind. The missing woman—she lingered still, trapped like the rest, her very essence entwined with the Hotel Acheron, and I was drawn into the dark, twisted mystery that enveloped her fate.
The walls shrieked in protest as I pressed against the door once more, adrenaline surging through my veins, compelling me to break free. I could hear the footsteps growing louder, an inexorable march closer. My breath came in ragged gasps as I slammed my body against the door, desperation pushing me forward until, finally, with a creak that echoed like the howl of the damned, the door swung open.
I was met with the hallway, blessedly empty yet still steeped in cold silence. I sprinted through the shadows, heart pounding, nearly colliding with the opposite wall as I took a sharp corner. The lights sputtered above, flickering like dying stars, and whispers began to rise, ghosts of the hotel chattering in angry tones.
The clerk stood at the end of the hall, still as a statue, gaze fixed on me with a knowing dread. “You shouldn’t have done that,” he said, his voice a low murmur, a warning.
I charged past him toward the exit, each step an act of defiance, but the air grew heavier, thickening around me like a shroud. The whispers crescendoed, rising from the depths of the hotel, each phrase laced with fear and sorrow. They would not let me leave, I understood that now; to escape, I would have to confront the darkness that dwelled here.
As I burst through the doors into the night, the cool air hit my face like a slap, and I stumbled onto the desolate street, panting. I turned to look back at the Hotel Acheron, its malevolent presence looming over me, still breathing, still hungry for secrets. The darkness I had encountered clung to me, shadows tracing my footsteps, my heart racing with the knowledge I could never escape it completely.
In the distance, the echoes of that anguished plea remained etched in my mind, a specter I could not outrun. The hotel, a sentinel of sorrow, had claimed another, and I was now intertwined in its web, forever haunted by the curse of its existence. With each flash of lightning splitting the night sky, I felt its pull, a reminder that my own demons had found a home within its walls, and try as I might, there was no escaping the truth—I had become a part of the darkness.
Author: Opney. Illustrator: Stab. Publisher: Cyber.
