"the vanishing room"
chapter 1
Mila was always drawn to history, but her fascination with the past often led her into strange places. It was this curiosity that brought her to the edge of a forgotten town in Southern Mindanao, where the infamous Eclipse Hotel stood.
The hotel, abandoned for over fifty years, had become the subject of ghost stories. Locals whispered about a "vanishing room"—a mysterious space that appeared and disappeared at will, luring its victims into a realm beyond comprehension.
Armed with a flashlight, a notebook, and her trusty camera, Mila decided to explore the hotel. She had heard the legends, but her logical mind dismissed them as folklore.
The lobby greeted her with the scent of mildew and decaying wood. Dust coated the once-grand chandelier, and cobwebs draped the walls like a morbid tapestry.
"Room 217," Mila muttered, consulting a faded map she found in an old brochure. According to the stories, this was the vanishing room.
chapter 2
As Mila climbed the creaking stairs, an eerie sensation prickled her skin. The air grew colder, and the sound of her footsteps seemed to echo louder than they should.
When she reached the second floor, the hallway stretched before her like a dimly lit tunnel. Doors lined the corridor, most of them hanging off their hinges.
Her flashlight flickered as she approached Room 217. The number on the door was barely visible, etched into the wood like a scar. Mila hesitated, her heart pounding, but curiosity outweighed her fear.
She turned the doorknob, and the door creaked open. Inside, the room looked surprisingly intact—dusty, but untouched by time. A bed with a neatly made blanket, a dresser with a cracked mirror, and an armchair by the window gave the impression that someone had just left.
Then she noticed the journal on the bedside table. It was open, its yellowed pages covered in elegant handwriting.
"To whoever finds this, beware. This room is not what it seems."
The words sent a chill down Mila's spine.
Chapter 3
As Mila read further, the journal detailed the experiences of previous visitors. They wrote about strange noises, flickering lights, and an overwhelming sense of being watched.
Suddenly, the door slammed shut. Mila spun around, her flashlight beam trembling.
"Hello?" she called out, her voice echoing eerily.
No response. But the air felt heavier, as if the room were closing in around her.
She tried the door, but it wouldn't budge. Panic began to creep in. Then, the mirror on the dresser fogged up, and words appeared as if written by an invisible hand:
"Stay."
Mila stumbled back, her breath coming in shallow gasps. The room began to change the walls pulsated as if alive, and the furniture shifted subtly, almost imperceptibly.
She grabbed her camera and snapped pictures frantically, hoping to document the phenomenon.
But when she reviewed the images, the room appeared normal. No moving walls, no ghostly message just an ordinary, abandoned room.
chapter 4
As the hours dragged on, Mila realized she couldn’t tell how much time had passed. Her phone and watch had stopped working, and the only light came from her flickering flashlight.
Then, she heard it—a faint melody, like a lullaby, drifting through the air. It seemed to come from the armchair.
Mila approached cautiously. The chair was empty, but the music grew louder. She reached out to touch it, and the world shifted.
Suddenly, she was no longer in the room. Instead, she stood in a grand ballroom filled with people in vintage attire. The air buzzed with laughter and music, but something felt off.
The guests' faces were blurred, their movements slightly disjointed, like an old film reel. Mila tried to speak to them, but they didn’t seem to notice her.
She spotted a man in a tuxedo standing apart from the crowd, his features clear and sharp. He met her gaze and smiled.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he said.
“Where am I?” Mila asked, her voice trembling.
“The in-between,” he replied. “This is the room’s true form. A bridge between worlds.”
Chapter 5
The man stepped closer, his expression grave. “You need to leave before it’s too late. The room doesn’t let everyone go.”
“How do I leave?”
He pointed to a door at the far end of the ballroom. “That’s your way out. But hurry—the room won’t like it.”
Mila ran toward the door, but the ballroom began to warp. The guests turned to face her, their blurred faces twisting into grotesque masks.
“Stay,” they whispered, their voices overlapping like a chorus.
She reached the door and yanked it open, stepping into blinding light.
When her vision cleared, she was back in the hotel hallway. Room 217 was gone.
chapter 6
Mila fled the hotel, not stopping until she was back in her car. She reviewed her camera again, hoping for evidence of what she’d experienced.
This time, the photos were different. The images showed the ballroom, the guests, and the man in the tuxedo.
She drove back to town and shared her story, but few believed her. The locals insisted that the Eclipse Hotel had been demolished years ago.
But Mila knew the truth. The vanishing room existed, and it wasn’t finished with her.
Chapter 7
The room’s guardian moved with unnatural speed, closing the distance between them in seconds. Mila’s instincts kicked in, and she darted toward the glowing door.
But as she ran, the whispers turned into screams, and the ground beneath her cracked and splintered. Shadows reached out like hands, clawing at her legs.
The guardian loomed over her, its void-like face inches from hers. Mila froze, paralyzed by its overwhelming presence.
Then she remembered the journal’s words: “You are not alone.”
She reached for her camera, snapping a photo of the creature. The flash momentarily blinded it, and it recoiled with an inhuman screech.
Mila seized the opportunity and sprinted toward the door.
Chapter 8
“Who are you?” Mila demanded, her voice shaking.
“Just a man who stayed too long,” he replied, his gaze distant. “This place—this room—it feeds on people. Their fear, their memories, their very essence. It’s alive.”
“Then how do I leave?”
The man hesitated, his expression conflicted. “The room will offer you a choice. But it’s never a fair one.”
Before Mila could ask what he meant, the ground beneath her shifted. The fog thickened, and the whispers grew louder.
A doorway appeared in the distance, its frame glowing faintly. But beside it stood a tall, shadowy figure cloaked in darkness. Its presence radiated malice.
The man gestured toward the door. “That’s your way out. But you must confront the room’s guardian to earn it.”
The shadowy figure stepped closer, its form growing more defined. It had no face, only a swirling void where its features should have been.
Weeks later, Mila tried to make sense of her experience. She shared her story online, but most dismissed it as fiction.
Then, one night, a package arrived at her doorstep. Inside was the journal from Room 217, accompanied by a single Polaroid of the guardian.
On the back of the photo was scrawled one word:
"Soon."
