MISDIRECTION IN A HAUNTED HOTEL

I don’t know why I stayed at this hotel. On the first night, I was the only guest. But when I retired to my room, I felt a presence. Despite the humid temperature, I felt cold and snuggled under the duvet to keep myself warm.

I heard creaking sounds and footsteps outside my door. I tried to ignore it, thinking it was just the old building settling. But the feeling of being watched never left me.

Unable to sleep, I explored the hotel. I walked down the corridor and came across a slightly ajar door. Curiosity got the better of me, and I pushed it open. What I saw inside made my blood run cold.

An icy shiver ran down my spine as I stepped into the room. It was devoid of any life, yet it was not completely silent. It was as if the air was thick and oppressive, trying to suffocate me. The smell of stale air and dust filled my nostrils, making breathing hard. The only sound I could hear was the soft creaking of the floorboards beneath my feet. It was as if the room held its breath, waiting for something to happen. I could feel a sense of foreboding as if something terrible had occurred within those walls. It was a feeling I couldn’t quite shake off.

No matter how hard I tried to distract myself, the feeling remained like an unwelcome guest. It was a mix of unease and restlessness as if something were off-kilter in my world. I couldn’t pinpoint the source of this feeling, which only made it more frustrating. Was it a nagging sense of anxiety or a suspicion of something terrible about to happen? I couldn’t be sure. All I knew was that I couldn’t shake it off, no matter how much I tried to ignore it. It was as if this feeling had taken root, and I refused to let go.

As I walked through the dimly lit hotel, the shadows appeared to be stalking me with every step. My footsteps echoed off the walls, adding to the eerie atmosphere. The air was thick with the scent of musty carpets and old furniture, making breathing difficult. The feeling of being watched sent shivers down my spine, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that something sinister was lurking in the darkness.

Despite my efforts to convince myself that it was only my imagination, the uneasiness in my gut persisted. I constantly looked over my shoulder. I felt like I was being hunted, like prey stalked by a predator.

I took a deep breath to calm myself down and reminded myself that my paranoia was taking over. But deep down, I knew that something was watching me with an intent that I couldn’t fathom. As I turned the corner, I saw a silhouette in the distance. It was too dark to make out any details, but I could feel the intensity of its gaze.

My heart was pounding, and my palms were clammy with sweat. It felt like being hunted like prey, stalked by a predator.

I ran, not daring to look back until I was safely inside my room.

Once inside, I locked the doors and windows and shut the curtains. I felt like a prisoner in my room, trapped by the fear of what was outside. The feeling of being watched never left me, even as I tried to convince myself that it was all in my head.

There came a knock on the door. Not a quiet tap but a heavy thud with a clenched fist. The sound startled me. I cautiously approached the door and peered through the peephole to see who was knocking. Darkness surrounded my room, except for the dimly lit hallway. I hesitated momentarily before slowly unlocking the door and opening it just a crack.

“Who is it?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

No one answered. Instead, the knocking grew louder and more insistent, as if the person on the other side was getting frustrated. I could hear heavy breathing and the sound of someone shifting their weight from foot to foot.

“Hello?” I said again, feeling a growing sense of unease. “Who’s there?”

There was a pause, and then a deep, gruff voice spoke. “Open the door,” it said. “I need to talk to you.”

I hesitated again, my heart pounding in my chest. Something about the voice didn’t sit right with me, and I didn’t want to open the door to a stranger in the middle of the night. But the knocking continued, louder and more urgent than before.

Finally, I took a deep breath and opened the door a little wider. As soon as I did, a prominent, shadowy figure pushed inside, knocking me off balance and sprawling onto the floor.

When he closed the door, he revealed himself with a candlestick, holding three burning candles.

“You!” I said, breathlessly.

The flickering candles cast a warm glow across the dimly lit room. Yellowed teeth were visible in the intruder’s wrinkled face, which had a wide, toothy grin. The atmosphere became more unsettling because of the creaking floorboards beneath his feet. The air was thick with the scent of musty old books and burning wax. As he stepped closer, his heavy breathing echoed in the silence, making the hairs on my neck stand up.

“I have followed your trail across Eastern Europe,” the voice sounded like sandpaper. “And now I have found you.”

I held up a hand in supplication.

“But I am not he,” I pleaded.

His skeletal hand disappeared into the folds of his sweeping, dark cape. When it reemerged, it held an aspergillum, a liturgical tool used to sprinkle holy water. With a flick of his wrist, the mace-like ball on the end of the aspergillum sprayed the liquid at me. The sacred water sizzled as it hit my skin, sending up wisps of smoke that curled and twisted like tendrils of fire. The acrid smell of burning cloth filled my nose, and I could feel the heat of the liquid searing into my clothes.

Before I could respond, the door flew open with a loud bang, startling me. In the doorway stood the proprietor, her sheer white nightdress clinging to her curves, illuminated by the bright light pouring in from the hallway. The scent of lavender wafted in from the open window, mixing with the overwhelming smell of incense. She held a massive gold crucifix in her right hand, glinting in the light.

“Begone Demon!” She shouted, her voice echoing through the room. I felt a shiver run down my spine as she repeated the command, her eyes fixed on the presence in the room.

With a guttural hiss, the man dropped the aspergillum and raised his arm so he couldn’t look straight at the crucifix.

“Begone!”

With a swift motion, the older man turned and ran towards the window. He met glass and curtains full-on and flew out into the chilly night air with a loud, crashing crescendo of sound.

The woman ran to the window and looked out.

“He’s gone!” She announced.

I raised myself gingerly to my feet. My clothes were still smoking.

“What did he use in the aspergillum?”

“Acid,” she explained. “He was trying to make out that you were the vampire terrorising the village.”

“Be careful with that,” the woman said. “That might still contain some acid.”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” I said, flicking the mace-like ball in her direction.

“What are you doing?” the woman shouted, leaning back to protect herself.

“This contains holy water,” I said, smiling, revealing my two extra-long eye teeth in my mouth. “You chased away the wrong vampire.”

The woman’s mouth hung open as she tried to scream, but no sound escaped.