Chapter 8: Room 1313
1031 Words
Silence filled the security room.
No one spoke.
No one even seemed to breathe.
Aurora's eyes remained fixed on the guest registration card.
Aurora Blackwood.
The elegant signature looked unfamiliar...
Yet strangely natural.
Her fingertips trembled as she reached for the card.
"I've never written this name," she whispered.
"I don't even know why it feels..."
She stopped.
"Why it feels what?" Damien asked.
Aurora swallowed.
"...Like I've written it before."
The hotel manager shifted uneasily.
"I swear to you, Mr. Blackwood, this makes no sense. There is no Room 1313 in this hotel. There hasn't been one for years."
Damien's gaze hardened.
"Take me to where it used to be."
The manager hesitated.
"Sir... that floor was sealed."
"I didn't ask whether it was sealed."
"I asked you to take me there."
The manager lowered his eyes.
Before he could answer, an elderly voice spoke from the doorway.
"I can take you."
Everyone turned.
An old maintenance worker stood there, holding a rusted ring of keys.
His grey uniform was faded with age, and his hands bore the marks of decades of hard work.
His eyes settled on Aurora.
For a brief moment...
They filled with fear.
Then sorrow.
"So..."
He murmured.
"You really came back."
Aurora frowned.
"You know me?"
The old man looked away.
"I wish I didn't."
---
Ten minutes later...
The old maintenance worker led Damien, Aurora, and two security officers through a narrow service corridor behind the hotel kitchen.
The hallway was dimly lit.
Dust covered the walls.
At the very end stood an old metal elevator.
Its paint had peeled away years ago.
Aurora noticed there was no button for the thirteenth floor.
The old man reached into his pocket and produced a small brass key.
He unlocked a hidden panel beside the elevator controls.
Behind it was a single faded button marked:
13
"I've worked here for thirty-eight years," he said quietly.
"After... that night... this elevator was never supposed to be used again."
The doors groaned open.
A rush of cold air spilled out.
No one spoke as they stepped inside.
The elevator climbed slowly.
Each passing second seemed louder than the last.
Then—
Ding.
The doors opened.
Darkness.
A long corridor stretched before them.
The wallpaper had faded.
Cobwebs hung from the ceiling.
Old paintings leaned crookedly against the walls.
Everything looked abandoned.
Everything...
Except the floor.
Fresh footprints crossed the thick layer of dust.
Someone had been here recently.
Damien crouched beside them.
"They're fresh."
"Less than an hour old."
Aurora felt a chill crawl across her skin.
"So whoever signed that register..."
"...came here."
The old maintenance worker pointed toward the end of the corridor.
"There."
A tarnished brass number hung crookedly on the final door.
1313
Aurora's heartbeat quickened.
Without realizing it, she stepped forward.
Her hand reached for the doorknob.
The instant her fingers touched the cold metal...
The world disappeared.
---
She stood beneath a moonlit sky.
The roar of waves crashed against the shore.
Someone was crying.
Someone was begging.
She looked down.
A diamond ring glittered on her finger.
Blood stained the white sleeve of her dress.
A man's voice shouted through the darkness.
"Run, Aurora!"
Another voice answered.
"No one leaves alive!"
A deafening gunshot split the night.
Aurora spun around—
Everything vanished.
---
She stumbled backwards.
Damien caught her before she fell.
"What happened?"
Her breathing was uneven.
"I..."
"I saw the sea."
"I heard someone call my name."
She pressed both hands against her temples.
"There was blood..."
"And a gunshot..."
Damien's face turned pale.
He looked at the old maintenance worker.
"Open the door."
The old man inserted the key.
For a moment...
Nothing happened.
Then the ancient lock clicked.
The door creaked open.
A stale smell drifted out.
The room looked untouched by time.
A desk.
A fireplace.
A broken lamp.
White sheets covered old furniture.
Near the window stood a wooden cabinet.
Everything was coated in dust...
Except one chair.
Someone had sat there recently.
Damien slowly crossed the room.
His eyes landed on an old picture frame lying face down.
He picked it up.
The glass was cracked.
The photograph inside had been slashed with a knife.
Only one corner remained untouched.
Aurora's hand.
She was holding someone else's.
A wedding band gleamed on both their fingers.
The rest of the picture had been destroyed.
Aurora stared at it.
"Why would someone ruin only this photograph?"
Before Damien could answer...
The old maintenance worker gasped.
"What is it?" Aurora asked.
He pointed toward the fireplace.
"There wasn't a fire burning when I sealed this floor."
Damien looked.
Ashes glowed faintly.
Someone had used the fireplace recently.
He knelt and carefully moved the ashes aside with a metal poker.
Something metallic clinked.
A small silver key.
Attached to it was a paper tag.
In faded handwriting were three words.
Open the truth.
Damien looked around the room.
"There has to be a lock."
Aurora's eyes drifted toward the old writing desk.
The bottom drawer had a tiny keyhole.
She inserted the key.
It turned.
The drawer slid open.
Inside...
There was only one object.
A small digital voice recorder.
Its red light blinked.
It still had power.
Damien picked it up carefully.
"You think it still works?"
Aurora nodded silently.
He pressed the play button.
Static filled the room.
For several seconds, there was only crackling.
Then...
A woman's voice.
Soft.
Shaking.
"I don't have much time."
Aurora froze.
It was her voice.
"If anyone finds this..."
"It means I couldn't stop them."
Damien stared at her.
Aurora's eyes filled with tears.
The recording continued.
"The person behind everything is—"
The voice suddenly distorted.
Static screamed through the speaker.
Then another voice broke in.
Cold.
Male.
Calm.
"You shouldn't have come back."
The recorder went dead.
At that exact moment...
Every light on the hidden floor went out.
Darkness swallowed the corridor.
From somewhere outside the room...
Footsteps echoed slowly toward them.
One...
Two...
Three...
Someone stopped just outside the open door.
A low knock broke the silence.
Three slow knocks.
Then a familiar voice whispered from the darkness—
"Welcome home, Mrs. Blackwood."
- Writer
