The Whispering Room
It was past midnight when Arjun checked into the old motel on the highway. His car had broken down, and the storm outside made it impossible to find help. The receptionist, an old man with hollow eyes, handed him a rusted key.
“Room 306,” the man said. “Stay inside. No matter what you hear.”
Arjun frowned but was too tired to question it.
The room was small and smelled of damp wood. The wallpaper was peeling, and the single window overlooked nothing but darkness. He locked the door, tossed his bag onto the bed, and switched off the lights.
Just as he was about to drift off, a whisper slithered through the silence.
“Hello?”
Arjun sat up, heart pounding. It sounded like a child’s voice—soft, trembling. He turned on the bedside lamp and scanned the room. Nothing.
He shook his head. Just my imagination.
Lying back down, he pulled the blanket over himself. But as soon as he closed his eyes, the whisper came again.
“Help me…”
This time, it was closer. Right next to his ear.
Arjun bolted upright. His breathing was ragged. The room felt colder. He grabbed his phone and switched on the flashlight, sweeping it around. The shadows in the corners seemed to move, stretching unnaturally.
Then, he noticed something. The closet door, which he was sure had been closed, was slightly open.
A shiver crawled down his spine.
Slowly, he stepped out of bed. The wooden floor creaked beneath his weight. He reached for the closet handle and yanked the door open.
Empty.
Just as he let out a breath of relief, the whisper returned.
“I’m not inside the closet…”
Arjun spun around. The whisper came from under the bed.
His pulse roared in his ears. Trembling, he crouched and lowered his phone toward the gap beneath the bed. The light revealed a pair of pale, lifeless eyes staring back at him.
“You took my room,” the voice said.
Arjun screamed. He scrambled backward, crashing against the wall. His phone slipped from his hands. The whispering grew louder, echoing around him, overlapping voices—laughing, crying, pleading.
The door suddenly unlocked and swung open. The old receptionist stood there, expression blank.
“You should’ve stayed quiet,” he said.
Then, he stepped aside.
And Arjun saw them—figures standing in the hallway, their eyes hollow, their mouths moving in silent whispers.
Before he could react, darkness engulfed him.
The next morning, Room 306 was empty. The bed was neatly made, the closet closed. The only sign of Arjun’s presence was his phone, lying on the floor with one final message typed on the screen—
“Don’t take this room.”
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