Tales From the Beyond (Short story collection)

Room 213

At the edge of a quiet town lay the abandoned Larkwood Hotel, a grand building that had seen better days. Its once-vibrant exterior had faded, windows cracked like eyes that had witnessed too much, and ivy crept up its walls like spectral fingers seeking entrance. Among its many rooms, none was as notorious as Room 213.

As the tale goes, a century ago, a young couple checked into Room 213 for their honeymoon. They were never seen again. Their disappearance remained an unsettling mystery that hung like a dark cloud over the Larkwood Hotel. Rumors spread like wildfire, tales of eerie sounds and shadowy figures that seemed to roam the hallways, particularly at night.

One stormy evening, a skeptic named Michael, eager for an adrenaline rush, checked into the hotel. Armed with a camera and skepticism, he was determined to debunk the myths surrounding Room 213. The moment he entered, a chill ran down his spine, and the air grew heavy with a sense of unease.

Night fell, and Michael set up his camera, ready to capture any sign of paranormal activity. As he sat in the dim room, a faint tapping echoed on the window, a rhythmic beat that seemed to match his racing heart. Ignoring the creeping anxiety, he glanced at his camera, only to find it malfunctioning—battery drained despite being fully charged.

The room seemed to close in around him as eerie whispers danced at the edge of his hearing. Shadows writhed on the walls, taking on the forms of elongated figures. He blinked, rubbing his eyes in disbelief, but when he looked again, the shadows were gone. His rational mind began to crumble as he questioned his own sanity.

Then came the footsteps—an unhurried pacing that seemed to come from within the walls themselves. With each step, the floorboards creaked, and the room felt like it was shifting. Michael's heart pounded against his ribcage, and he backed into a corner, desperate to escape the encroaching horror.

In a desperate attempt to regain control, he reached for his camera, but it slipped from his trembling hands and crashed to the floor. The impact sent a jolt of terror through him as a chilling whisper seemed to emanate from the shattered lens, a voice that murmured incomprehensible words.

As the night wore on, the room seemed to warp and contort, its dimensions shifting like a nightmare come to life. Furniture moved of its own accord, and the walls appeared to close in, suffocating Michael in a reality that had become a waking nightmare.

Just when he thought he couldn't bear it any longer, a figure emerged from the shadows—a woman in a tattered wedding dress, her face obscured by dark hair. Her eyes gleamed with a haunting sadness as she reached out towards Michael. He stumbled backward, his screams mingling with the discordant symphony of whispers that surrounded him.

Terrified and disoriented, Michael felt as though he were being pulled into an abyss of darkness. The walls closed in further, and the figure advanced, her ghostly fingers grazing his skin. With a final cry, he collapsed to the floor, consumed by the room's malevolent embrace.

The next morning, when the hotel staff entered Room 213, they found Michael's camera and shattered belongings, but there was no sign of the man himself. From that day on, the Larkwood Hotel remained abandoned, and Room 213's legend grew stronger, a chilling reminder that some secrets are better left undisturbed, and some horrors should never be faced.