WHISPERING HOTEL SECRETS
It was a stormy night when Christina and I had our most heated argument yet. The rain pounded against the windowpanes so hard, it nearly drowned out our angry words. Voices rose and fell in a bitter symphony of accusations and hurtful remarks.
In the end, I couldn’t take it any longer. I grabbed a duffel bag, threw some clothes in it, and stormed out of our apartment, slamming the door behind me. I needed space to clear my head, away from the tension that had engulfed our relationship.
Blinding rain drummed against the roof of my car as I wandered the streets, looking for a place to stay for the night. Every hotel I approached was fully booked due to the book convention happening in town the coming weekend. Cold and exhausted, I stumbled upon an eerie old hotel tucked away on a forgotten street. Its flickering neon red sign read, “The Whispering Shadows Inn,” and it seemed to beckon me inside.
With no other options, I hesitated before entering the dimly lit lobby. The receptionist, a gaunt woman with sunken eyes, oddly observed me before handing me a key with a cryptic smile and whispered, “Room 22, sir. Enjoy your stay.” She dangled the key pinched between her bony thumb and forefinger.
Room 22 was a cramped space filled with ancient furniture, some cobwebs in the corners, and a sense of foreboding that sent shivers down my spine. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was not alone, even though I was almost certain I was the only guest.
That night, sleep was not familiar to me. At the windows, the wind howled like a banshee, and the walls seemed to be alive with movement. Shadows, which looked like claws, hung over me. My phone rang, and it was Christina calling over and over. I let it ring. I couldn’t get lost in her sadness again, not tonight.
The calls persisted, even from an unknown number, but I chose to silence my phone and try to sleep through the turmoil.
The following evening after work, I was settling into my eerie room when my phone pinged with a new voicemail notification. I woke up late that morning and forgot to remove my phone from silent mode. And with my workday hectic and demanding, I gave little thought to the fact that Christina hadn’t called me all day. But there was no missed call. I was curious, so I listened to the message.
All I heard was distant and inconsolable sobbing, which sounded like Christina, yet I wasn’t sure. The sound was almost chilling, sending a shiver down my spine. She didn’t say a word, just sobbed until the message abruptly ended. I couldn’t understand what was happening. I had never heard Christina cry like that before.
As the digital clock struck 1:00 a.m., I was awakened by the sound of a baby crying. It was coming from below me, but I was on the first floor, and there should have been no one beneath me. The cries grew louder and more desperate, echoing through the room and down the hotel’s hallways. I thought, what if there was a basement beneath me, and the baby was abandoned and needed my help? The sound was so desperate and painful that I had to find out where it was coming from.
Terrified, I crept out of bed and followed the cries, down the long hallway. I went down an old, narrow, and creaky stairs into a darkness that ate up all the light. The stairs led me to the hotel’s basement. As I sank into the oppressive darkness, the infant’s cries began to fade behind me.
My heart pounded as I approached, my eyes adjusting to the dimly lit scene before me. There was nothing there—just an empty, dusty basement. I chose not to go any further down into the ominous surroundings.
Back in my room, I tried to dismiss the bizarre incident as a product of my stress. I climbed back into bed, but as I lay there, my arm dangling near the headboard, something grabbed my fingers. It was soft, like a baby’s hand. Panic surged through me, and I jumped out of bed, frantically searching underneath it. Empty and dusty.
*sigh* I slept in the chair that night, keeping a close eye on the dark unknown under the bed.
The following morning, I decided I had had enough of the Whispering Shadows Inn. The events of the past few nights had taken a toll on my sanity, and I couldn’t bear it any longer. As I was paying for my gas at a local filling station, I ran into Christina’s friend, Sarah.
Sarah looked visibly upset when she saw me, her eyes saddened and desperate as she approached me. She explained how she was trying to reach me but blocked her number so Christina wouldn’t know she had called.
I grabbed her gently by the shoulders and calmly demanded to know what the matter was.
With a heavy sigh, Sarah said, “Christina’s pregnant, Mark. After you guys argued, and with you not answering her calls, she set an appointment at the clinic to have an abortion today. It’s at 1:00 p.m.”
My heart sank. The news hit me like a freight train, and I suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of guilt for the way I had left Christina. I had no idea, yet it all made sense to me now. I left Sarah abruptly, calling Christina immediately as I exited the store. No answer.
I sped off in pursuit of my troubled girlfriend in a daze, my mind swirling with confusion and guilt. As I drove away, passing by the Whispering Shadows Inn, I couldn’t help but wonder if the eerie events at the hotel were somehow connected to Christina’s pregnancy. Was the hotel telling me something? Or were the phantom cries of my unborn child reaching out to me for help? It haunted me, leaving me with a chilling sense that I had left behind more than just… a creepy hotel.
