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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/cinncinatis_ on 2024-11-14 05:38:01+00:00.
It all happened while I was on my way to visit my parents for some time away from the big city. My parents were always country folk who always loved to be out on the middle of the wilderness. As I was driving through the highway, it started to rain a little. Nothing I didn’t really worry about. Tank was still full of gas, my music was on, it could have been much worse. But it did. Me and my big mouth right? My car ended making noises that didn’t sound normal. As in it didn’t sound like a car should be if it was working properly. I wasn’t an expert on cars, but something told me to pull over.
I ended up kicking my car in frustration as I exhausted pretty much all of my options on trying to get it moving again. I ended up realizing that I had to start walking, maybe find someone who could help me with this.
I couldn’t call my parents because my cellphone had no service. I was in the middle of nowhere.
I had to hurry and maybe find someplace I could spend the night, maybe when the rain cleared up, I could sort out this car problem in the morning.
After what seemed like hours of walking, I saw it.
The hotel sat on a lonely stretch of highway, a flickering neon sign casting a sickly glow on the empty parking lot. At this point, I was desperate; my car had broken down miles from the nearest town, and the rain had turned into a downpour that had me soaked to the bone. Through the sheets of rain, the hotel loomed like a dark bruise on the side of the road, and I had no choice but to seek refuge. They always say hindsight is twenty twenty. But desperate people do desperate things.
Inside, the place was even worse. The lobby was dim, smelling of mildew and something faintly metallic. The old woman at the front desk handed me a key with a smile that never reached her eyes, murmuring, “Room 13. The only one we have tonight.”
“Thanks. It’ll do.”
Room 13.
The number stuck to my mind. It felt unsettling, but I was exhausted and cold, I had no time to be picky or nervous. I just wanted to sleep. The room itself was no better than the lobby—bare bulbs hung from the ceiling, and the wallpaper peeled in long strips, revealing dark stains underneath. But it was a bed, and at that point, I would have slept anywhere.
I tossed most of my wet clothes onto the floor, climbed under the covers, and closed my eyes, trying not to think about the faint, sour smell wafting up from the mattress.
I hadn’t been asleep long when the scratching started.
At first, it was faint. I thought it might have been the wind rattling against the old windows or maybe an animal crawling around in the walls. I rolled over, pulling the pillow over my head, but the scratching grew louder. It was coming from under the bed. That’s when I started to get a bit creeped out.
The sound was too deliberate, too precise to be an animal. I told myself not to look, to stay in bed and ignore it. But as soon as I thought that, the scratching stopped.
A few seconds later, the bed shifted. I was shaking slightly from the sudden movement.
It wasn’t much, just a faint movement, like something—or someone—was pushing up from underneath. I felt my stomach tighten as I lay completely still, hoping that whatever was down there didn’t know I was awake. But then, just as I began to relax, I heard a whisper.
“Come closer.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, barely able to breathe. The whisper came again, rasping and dry, like paper tearing in two. “Come closer, I need to tell you something.”
I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. It felt like ice was filling my veins, freezing me in place.
Then came a long, drawn-out sigh from beneath the bed, followed by a low, mocking laugh.
“Fine. I’ll come closer.”
The bed lurched, slamming hard enough to lift me up, and that was it—I couldn’t take it anymore. I leapt out, scrambling toward the door, but it wouldn’t budge. My hands were shaking too hard to turn the lock. I fumbled, feeling the growing pressure behind me, like someone standing close enough to touch. But before I could turn around, I heard the voice again, louder this time, whispering right next to my ear.
“I just wanted you to know… it’s not your bed you’re sleeping in.”
My breath caught, my heart hammering as I stumbled backward, tripping over my own feet. I fell against the bed, half-expecting to feel something clawing at me from underneath, but there was nothing there. Just silence and the dead, stale air of the room.
In a panic, I ripped open the closet door, desperate for a place to hide. My mind raced—I had no phone, no working phone,no way to call for help, and the rain still hammered down outside, isolating me further.
I crouched in the closet, heart pounding, trying to calm my breathing. But then I noticed the smell—a thick, cloying odor. It was metallic and wet, stronger now that I was in the closet.
My stomach twisted as I looked down. There, on the floor, was a dark, sticky stain. It pooled beneath a pair of feet, their skin pale and mottled, visible under a tattered dress that hung from the figure like dead leaves.
It was a woman, her face twisted in a silent scream, her arms contorted at unnatural angles. She stared straight ahead, her glassy eyes unseeing… or at least that’s what I thought.
As I watched, her eyes flicked to mine, the corners of her mouth stretching into a grin.
And she whispered, “He doesn’t like it when you hide.”
I stumbled backward out of the closet, my whole body screaming to run, but I couldn’t take my eyes off her. She was still smiling that awful, silent grin that seemed like it was stretching wider. Her lifeless eyes locked onto mine. My heart pounded as I backed away, feeling my way toward the door. But when my hand reached the knob, I found it was ice-cold—so cold it burned.
The air in the room was thick, almost suffocating, as if something was pressing down from every direction. I forced myself to look away from her, to try the lock again, but my fingers were stiff and clumsy from the cold. I twisted and pulled, but the lock wouldn’t budge, no matter how hard I yanked.
I was trapped. I was beyond terrified.
A shuffling sound echoed from the closet. I didn’t want to turn around, but some part of me had to. Against every ounce of common sense, I glanced over my shoulder.
The woman in the closet was moving. She was crawling toward me, inch by inch. Her twisted arms scraping against the floor, her eyes wide and empty. As she dragged herself forward, her broken fingers left dark streaks in her wake, a trail of blood or something darker.
“I tried to leave, too,” she hissed, her voice raw and brittle, as if it hadn’t been used in years. “He doesn’t let you go. He keeps you here.”
I backed into the corner near the door, feeling the wall cold and rough against my spine. My throat felt tight, my whole body locked in place as I watched her draw closer. Her eyes, hollow and sunken had bore into me, full of something I couldn’t understand—rage, desperation, maybe even hunger.
Then, just inches from my feet, she stopped.
Her head jerked upward, and I felt a chill crawl down my spine as her gaze shifted, not at me but at something behind me.
“He’s here,” she whispered, a shiver in her voice. “He’s always watching.”
I wanted to scream, to get out of this nightmare, but a noise stopped me—a soft creak, like the slow groan of a door opening. I forced myself to turn, and there, in the shadowed corner of the room, I saw it.
A figure. Tall and impossibly thin, with limbs too long and bent in the wrong places, its head tilted at an unnatural angle. It was draped in tattered black cloth which clung to its form like a shroud. Its face… it had no face. Just a smooth, pale surface, featureless but somehow filled with malice.
The figure didn’t move. It simply stood there, a cold, hollow presence that sucked the air from the room. But then, slowly, it raised one hand, pointing a single, bony finger directly at me.
“He’s chosen you,” the woman rasped, her eyes wide with fear. She was backing away now, retreating into the darkness of the closet. “He always chooses someone. And once he chooses, he never lets go.”
“No,” I whispered, the word barely audible. “No. Say away from me! No!”
But the figure took a step forward, the room growing colder with each movement, the walls seeming to close in. I could feel it pulling at me, dragging me toward it, like an invisible hand clutching at my chest. My legs gave out, and I fell to my knees, staring up at that faceless horror as it loomed over me. The I saw what looked like it’s mouth open. It didn’t just open, it tore it open as if it were ripping open its very flesh. It was open in a silent scream.
Then, in a voice that sounded like nails scraping over glass, it spoke.
“Stay,” it said, the word echoing, filling the room. “Stay… forever.”
My body went rigid, every nerve screaming to run, but I couldn’t move. I was frozen in place, trapped under that thing’s gaze—or whatever it was that served as its gaze. The shadows around me deepened, and I felt a weight pressing down on my chest, making it harder and harder to breathe.
I tried to scream, to call for help, but no sound came out. The room spun, darkness creeping in at the edges of my vision, and just before I blacked out, I heard one last whisper, so faint I could barely make it out.
“Room 13 always needs a guest.”
When I woke up, everything was quiet. I was lying in the middle of the floor, the stale smell ...
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