Why do the room numbers keep changing? What causes the TV to turn on by itself? How do the shadows move between rooms? Why do the guests all check out at 3 AM? What secrets lie in room 13?
Follow Cthulhu Architect on BlueSky!
The motel smelled like rust and regret.
― Katherine McIntyre, Forged Redemption
The Sleazy Motel’s neon sign buzzed and flickered against the night sky, casting an intermittent crimson glow across the potholed parking lot. Detective Zofia Kapur watched as raindrops caught the light, falling like drops of blood onto her windshield. Three guests had disappeared from this establishment in the last month, leaving behind all their belongings. The most recent, just two days ago.
The motel office smelled of cigarettes and cheap air freshener, a sickly combination that clung to the faded wallpaper. The night manager, a gaunt man with yellowing eyes, slid room key number 7 across the counter with trembling fingers. “Just you tonight?” he asked, his voice like gravel. Zofia nodded, noticing how his eyes never quite met hers, instead fixing on a point just past her left ear.
Room 7 was at the far end of the building. The lock stuck, requiring three attempts before the door swung open with a creak that seemed to echo through the entire structure. The room appeared ordinary — a sagging bed with faded floral covers, a television at least fifteen years out of date, water stains on the ceiling forming shapes that seemed almost deliberate in their pattern.
Sleep came reluctantly that night. Zofia drifted in and out of consciousness, each time waking to the sound of soft footsteps in the corridor outside her door. Around 3 AM, she was startled awake by the distinct click of her doorknob turning. She reached for her gun as the door began to open, revealing nothing but impenetrable darkness beyond.
The darkness seemed to pulse, to breathe. It wasn’t the absence of light but something tangible, something that filled the doorway like a living entity. Zofia felt her scream freeze in her throat as tendrils of shadow reached into the room, caressing the walls, the floor, creeping toward the bed where she lay paralyzed.
At daybreak, the maid found room 7 empty. Detective Kapur’s car remained in the parking lot, her badge still on the nightstand, her gun unfired under the pillow. The night manager logged another vacancy in his ledger, eyes fixed on that same distant point, fingers trembling as he wrote. Soon, another guest would arrive at the Sleazy Motel, and the walls, which had grown just slightly thicker overnight, would wait.
