Chapter 1 –– The Key to 307
305 Words
The warden slid a small brass key across the dusty counter.
“Third floor, last room at the end,” he said, his voice flat, like he’d rehearsed it a thousand times.
Zayan picked it up, the cold metal oddly heavy in his hand. “Thanks,” he muttered, glancing at the peeling wallpaper behind the warden.
The hostel smelled of damp walls and mothballs. Each step up the creaking staircase echoed too loudly. By the time he reached the third floor, his phone signal had vanished. The hall was dim, one flickering bulb struggling to stay alive.
Room 307 stood at the very end , its door darker than the others, paint chipped away like old scabs.
He slipped the key in. It turned with a reluctant click.
Inside, the air was colder, stale. The bed was neatly made, but the corners of the blanket curled upward as if something had slept there for too long. A desk sat against the wall, its single drawer locked.
As Zayan dropped his bag, a faint sound came from the vent above tap… tap… tap.
He froze.
Probably just pipes, he thought.
Night fell quickly. The distant city noises faded, replaced by the deep silence of an old building. Lying in bed, Zayan stared at the cracked ceiling. That’s when it came ....three knocks. Soft. From inside the room.
He sat up, heart pounding. “Hello?” His voice was barely a whisper.
No answer.
The next morning, Zayan decided to ignore it. He had classes, assignments, and better things to think about. But when he returned that evening, the bed was different. The pillow… was wet.
Lifting it, he found something wedged underneath .... a small, leather-bound diary. Its cover was scratched, the edges burnt.
“If you are reading this, it’s already watching you.”
- Writer
