Room 217

The wind howls like a banshee as I step out of the taxi, the relentless gusts nearly ripping the door from my grasp. Before me looms the Cliffside Hotel, a skeletal silhouette against the bruised twilight sky. It is 2025, but this place seems untouched by time, isolated not just geographically, but temporally too. The air is thick with the scent of brine and damp earth, a fitting aroma for a place rumored to be steeped in death.

I pull my coat tighter, the collar scratching against the nape of my neck. My brother, Daniel, would have loved this place, or at least, he would have found it intriguing. It has been five years since he vanished, five years of unanswered questions that claw at me every waking moment. This hotel, with its infamous Room 217, might be a dead end, but it is a lead, a whisper in the dark I cannot ignore.

The lobby is dimly lit, the air heavy with the musty odor of aged wood and forgotten memories. A lone figure stands behind the reception desk, a man whose face is a roadmap of wrinkles, etched by time and hardship. He does not smile as I approach. His eyes, a pale, watery blue, seem to absorb the scant light, leaving them devoid of warmth.

"Evelyn Grant," I state, my voice echoing slightly in the cavernous space. "I have a reservation." He runs a gnarled finger down the register, stopping at my name. "Room 217," he rasps, his voice like nails on a chalkboard. "You're the first in months." A chill snakes down my spine, despite myself. "I'm aware of its reputation," I reply, trying to keep my tone even. He slides a heavy, ornate key across the counter. The metal is cold against my palm. "Some doors are best left unopened, Miss Grant."

I meet his gaze, my own unwavering. "I'm not afraid of doors, only what might be hiding behind them." He simply nods, his silence more unsettling than any warning he could have given. The elevator groans in protest as it ascends, each lurch a punctuation mark in the symphony of dread building within me. My hand instinctively goes to the small, worn notebook in my pocket, my constant companion, my shield against the unknown. I clutch it tightly, the paper a familiar comfort.

The elevator doors creak opens on the second floor, revealing a long, shadowy corridor. The air here is colder, heavier, and the silence is absolute. Room 217 is at the far end. Each step I take echoes unnervingly, amplifying the frantic beat of my heart.

Finally, I stand before the door. The number is etched in tarnished brass, a silent invitation, and a stark warning all in one. I take a deep breath, the air catching in my throat. This is it. This is where I start to unravel the truth, where I either find answers or become another ghost in this forsaken place. I slide the key into the lock, the click resonating like a gunshot in the oppressive quiet.

The room is surprisingly unremarkable. A queen-sized bed sits squarely in the center, covered with a faded floral spread. A small writing desk occupies the corner; its surface scarred with age and neglect. The only window is shrouded by heavy velvet drapes, blocking out what little light remains. But it is the feeling that settles over me that is unsettling. A heavy, oppressive sense of sorrow, as if the very walls are weeping. I step further inside, my senses on high alert. The air is thick with an almost metallic tang, like old blood. I pull out my small flashlight, its beam cutting through the gloom. The beam dances across the peeling wallpaper, revealing a pattern of faded roses, their once vibrant hues now muted and ghostly.

I run my hand along the wall, feeling the rough texture beneath my fingertips. Something catches my eye. A faint discoloration, a smudge near the baseboard. I kneel, aiming the flashlight closer. It is a stain, dark and dried, almost black in the dim light. I touch it cautiously, the residue crumbling beneath my touch. Could it be blood? My heart pounds in my chest. This could be it, the first tangible clue. I take a small evidence bag from my backpack and carefully collect a sample of the stain.

As I seal the bag, a sudden draft sweeps through the room, causing the drapes to billow inward. I whirl around, my flashlight beam dancing wildly. The window is still closed, the latch firmly secured. Where did the draft come from? I approach the window cautiously, peering behind the heavy drapes. There is nothing there, just the cold glass and the howling wind outside. But as I turn to leave, I notice something else. Scratched into the glass, barely visible in the dim light, is a single word: “RUN.” The word is etched deep, as if someone had desperately tried to carve their warning into the very fabric of the room. My breath hitches in my throat. I am not alone here, not really.

This room holds secrets, and it is not giving them up easily. I pull out my notebook, my hand trembling slightly as I sketch the word, capturing its chilling simplicity. Run. A warning? Or a taunt? I need to explore this room more thoroughly, to peel back the layers of history and uncover the truth. But as I turn back to face the room, I cannot shake the feeling that I am not the only one searching. That somewhere, hidden in the shadows, someone or something is watching me, waiting for me to make a mistake.

I decide to start with the desk. It seems the least touched, the least violated by whatever darkness clings to this room. I pull out the chair, its legs scraping against the wooden floor, the sound amplified in the oppressive silence. The surface is bare except for a thin layer of dust and a few deep scratches that mar the wood. I run my hand over them, trying to discern a pattern, a meaning. Nothing. I try the drawers. The first one is locked. The second one slides open with a groan, revealing a stack of yellowed papers. They are letters, tied together with a faded ribbon. I untie the ribbon carefully, my fingers brushing against the brittle paper. The letters are addressed to a woman named Eliza, from a man named Thomas. The handwriting is elegant, flowing, the ink faded with age.

I start to read. The letters are filled with longing, with promises of a future together, a life away from this desolate place. But as I delve deeper, a sense of unease begins to creep in. The later letters are filled with desperation, with fear. Thomas writes of strange occurrences in the hotel, of whispers in the night, of a growing darkness that threatens to consume them both. He begs Eliza to leave, to save herself before it is too late. The last letter is dated October 24, 1948. It is barely legible, scrawled in a frantic hand. He writes of seeing something in Room 217, something that has changed him, something he cannot explain. He ends with a chilling warning: “It is inside me now, Eliza. It will not let me leave. Save yourself. Forget me.” My heart hammers against my ribs.

This is more than just a legend. This is a story of real people, of real fear, of a darkness that consumed them whole. As I finish reading, I notice something tucked beneath the letters. A small, tarnished silver locket. I pick it up, my fingers trembling. It is cold to the touch. I open it carefully, revealing two tiny portraits. On one side, a beautiful woman with dark hair and piercing eyes – Eliza. On the other, a handsome man with a haunted expression – Thomas. Their eyes seem to follow me, their silent pleas echoing in the confines of the room. Suddenly, the temperature drops dramatically. I can see my breath misting in the air. The flashlight flickers, threatening to plunge me into darkness.

And then I hear it. A faint whisper, a voice carried on the wind, barely audible above the howling gale outside. “Forget me…” The voice is raspy, broken, filled with an unbearable sorrow. It seems to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. I whirl around, my flashlight beam cutting through the darkness. I am alone. But I know, with a chilling certainty, that I am not the only one in this room. Thomas is here, or at least, what remains of him. And he does not want to be forgotten. He wants me to know his story, to understand the darkness that consumed him. But at what cost?

The whisper fades, leaving a ringing silence in its wake. I clutch the locket tighter, my knuckles white. The portraits seem to stare back at me, their silent pleas resonating within my soul. I must know more. I need to find out what happened to Thomas and Eliza, to understand the darkness that consumed them. I carefully place the letters and the locket back in the drawer, closing it with a soft click. The locked drawer. I remember it and turn my attention to it. I try to pry it open with my fingers, but it is no use. The lock is sturdy, unyielding. I pull out my lock-picking kit from my bag, a skill I picked up during my more… adventurous investigations. The tools feel cold and familiar in my hands. I insert the tension wrench and the pick, carefully manipulating the tumblers. The silence in the room is deafening, amplifying the delicate clicks and scrapes of the tools. My heart pounds in my chest, each beat a drumbeat in the oppressive quiet.

Finally, with a soft click, the lock gives way. I pull the drawer open slowly, my flashlight beam illuminating its contents. Inside, there is a single object: a small, leather-bound diary. The leather is worn and cracked; the pages yellowed with age. I pick it up, my fingers tracing the faded inscription on the cover: ´Thomas – Confessions. ´ This is it. This is where I find the answers. I open the diary, my eyes scanning the first page. The handwriting is the same as the letters, elegant and flowing. The first entry is dated January 1, 1948. Thomas writes of his arrival at the Cliffside Hotel, of his hopes for a new life with Eliza, of the beauty and isolation of the place. But as I turn the pages, the tone begins to shift. The entries become shorter, more fragmented. He writes of unsettling dreams, of shadows moving in the periphery, of a growing sense of unease. He mentions Room 217, describing it as a place of intense darkness, a place he feels drawn to despite his fear. Then comes an entry dated October 23, 1948.

He writes of entering Room 217 for the first time. He does not describe what he saw, only that it changed him, that it awakened something within him. He writes of a voice, a presence, that now haunts his waking hours. The last entry is dated October 24, 1948 – the same day as his final letter to Eliza. It is barely legible, scrawled in a desperate hand. ´It is taken over, ´ he writes. ´I am not myself anymore. It wants Eliza. It wants her soul. I must stop it. ´ The entry ends abruptly, with a single word: ´Run. ´ My blood runs cold. The same word etched into the window. A warning. A plea. A desperate attempt to save Eliza from the darkness that consumed him. I close the diary, my hand trembling.

I understand now. The curse of Room 217 is not just a legend. It is a living entity, a parasitic force that feeds on fear and despair, that twists and corrupts its victims. And it is still here, lurking in the shadows, waiting for its next victim. A sudden crash from downstairs echoes through the hotel. I jump, startled. The sound is followed by silence. I hold my breath, listening intently. Nothing. Just the howling wind and the creaking of the old building. I have a choice to make. Stay here, delve deeper into Thomas’s diary and risk succumbing to the darkness? Or investigate the noise downstairs, and potentially confront whatever else lurks within this cursed hotel? The decision hangs heavy in the air, as oppressive as the silence that follows the crash.

My heart hammers against my ribs as I make my decision. Thomas’s diary is filled with warnings, but ignoring a potential threat downstairs feels even more dangerous. Clutching the locket in my pocket for a sliver of comfort, I grab the heavy iron poker from beside the fireplace. It is cold and solid in my hand, a meager weapon against whatever lurks in this place.

I creep out of Room 217, the door groaning shut behind me. The hallway is plunged into near darkness, the only light filtering in from the grimy window at the far end. The air is thick with dust and the scent of decay. Each step I take echoes unnervingly in the silence. As I approach the staircase, I pause, listening intently. Another noise, fainter this time, like something dragging across the floor. It is coming from the lobby.

I descend the stairs slowly, one creaking step at a time. The lobby is dimly lit by a single flickering lamp behind the reception desk, casting long, distorted shadows across the room. The air is colder here, a palpable chill that raises goosebumps on my arms. 

I scan the room, my grip tightening on the poker. Overturned chairs and scattered papers litter the floor, as if a struggle has taken place. The source of the dragging sound becomes clear: a large, antique mirror, pulled from the wall and lying shattered on the floor.

But what caused it?

My gaze sweeps across the room again, searching for any sign of movement, any indication of what – or who – is responsible. Then I see it. A dark shape in the corner of the room, partially obscured by a heavy velvet curtain.

My breath hitches. I raise the poker, my hand trembling slightly. “Who’s there?” I call out, my voice barely above a whisper.

The shape remains motionless, silent. I take a step closer, my heart pounding in my ears. The shadows seem to deepen around the figure, making it impossible to make out any details.

I take another step, and another, until I am standing just a few feet away from the curtain. With a deep breath, I reach out and yank it aside.

The corner is empty.

A wave of dizziness washes over me. I blink, trying to clear my head, wondering if I imagined the whole thing. But the overturned furniture and the shattered mirror are undeniable. Something happened here.

As I turn to survey the room again, I notice something I missed before. A trail of muddy footprints leading away from the broken mirror, towards a side door I had not noticed before. The door, I realize with a jolt, leads outside.

I take a hesitant step towards the door. Should I follow the trail? Is it a trap? Or is it a chance to finally find some answers, to understand the darkness that clings to this place?

A gust of wind howls outside, rattling the windows. The trail beckons, promising to lead me deeper into the mystery of the Cliffside Hotel.

The decision made, I push open the side door, the hinges screaming in protest. The wind immediately whips around me, carrying the scent of salt and decaying leaves. The night is pitch black, the only light coming from the flickering lamp in the lobby, casting a weak glow onto the muddy ground. The footprints are clear, pressed deep into the soft earth. They lead away from the hotel, towards the cliff edge. My heart pounds in my chest. This is insane. Following a set of muddy footprints into the darkness? But something compels me forward, a desperate need to understand what I am dealing with. I step onto the muddy path; the iron poker held tightly in front of me. The wind howls in my ears, drowning out any other sound. I follow the footprints, my eyes scanning the darkness for any sign of movement. The path is narrow and treacherous, winding its way along the cliff edge. On one side, the solid wall of the hotel rises, a dark and imposing presence. On the other, a steep drop plunges down to the churning sea below.

As I walk, the air grows colder, the wind fiercer. The footprints become more erratic, as if the person who made them was stumbling, struggling to stay upright. Then, suddenly, the trail ends. Abruptly, at the very edge of the cliff. I stop, my breath catching in my throat. The ground crumbles slightly beneath my feet. I shine the flashlight down, the beam cutting through the darkness. Nothing. Just the churning waves crashing against the rocks below. Had they jumped? Fallen? Or had they simply vanished? A wave of nausea washes over me. I feel disoriented, as if the darkness is pressing in on me, trying to steal my sanity. I take a step back from the edge, my heart pounding in my chest.

This place is dangerous. More dangerous than I ever imagined. As I turn to go back, my flashlight beam catches on something lying on the ground near the edge of the cliff. I kneel, my hand trembling, and pick it up. It is a piece of cloth, torn and muddy. A fragment of dark blue fabric. It looks familiar. Then it hits me. It is the same fabric as the bellhop’s uniform. The one I saw when I checked in. The bellhop is out here. But why? And what happened to him? A sudden noise behind me makes me jump. I whirl around, the poker raised, ready to strike.

But there is nothing there. Just the wind and the darkness. I try to calm my racing heart, telling myself it was just the wind. But I cannot shake the feeling that I am not alone. That something is watching me. I turn back towards the hotel, my pace quickening. I need to get back inside, to the relative safety of Room 217. But as I walk, I cannot shake the image of the bellhop, his face pale and drawn, his eyes filled with a haunting sadness. And the piece of blue fabric, clutched tightly in my hand, a silent clue in this terrifying mystery. The hotel looms ahead, a dark and forbidding silhouette against the stormy sky. I cannot shake the feeling that I am walking into a trap. But I have no other choice. I must find out what happened to the bellhop. And I must find out what secrets the Cliffside Hotel is hiding.

I burst back into the lobby, slamming the side door shut behind me. The flickering lamp casts grotesque shadows that dance across the walls, making the room feel even more menacing than before. I lean against the door, catching my breath, trying to regain my composure. The piece of blue fabric is still clutched tightly in my hand, a tangible reminder of the danger that lurks outside. I need to find out who that bellhop is and what he knows. I approach the reception desk, my eyes scanning the area for any sign of him. The desk is deserted, the guest book lying open and untouched. I peer behind the desk, into the small office area, but it is empty. Where could he be? I decide to check the staff area; a small door tucked away behind the staircase. I push it open and step inside. The room is cramped and cluttered, filled with old cleaning supplies, spare linens, and a small, battered table with two chairs. The air is thick with the smell of bleach and stale cigarette smoke. And there he is. The bellhop. He is sitting at the table, his head in his hands, his shoulders shaking. He does not seem to notice me at first.

I step closer, my voice soft. ´Excuse me? Are you alright? ´ He looks up, his eyes red and swollen. He is young, maybe early twenties, with a thin face and haunted eyes. He looks utterly broken. ´I… I saw you out there, ´ he says, his voice hoarse. ´By the cliff. ´ I nod, holding up the piece of blue fabric. ´This is yours, isn’t it? What were you doing out there? ´ He flinches, as if I have struck him. He glances around the room, his eyes darting nervously. ´I cannot… I cannot talk about it, ´ he whispers. ´They are watching. ´ ´Who is watching? ´ I ask, my voice rising slightly. ´Tell me what is going on. ´ He shakes his head; his eyes filled with terror. ´You do not understand. It is not safe. You need to leave. Now. ´ ´I am not leaving, ´ I say firmly.

´Not until I know what happened to my brother. And what is going on in this hotel. ´ His eyes widen. ´Your brother? You are Daniel’s sister? ´ I nod, surprised. ´You knew him? ´ He hesitates, then nods slowly. ´He stayed here, a few months ago. In Room 217. ´ My blood runs cold. ´Did he… did he say anything? About what happened to him? ´ The bellhop looks down at his hands, his fingers twisting together. ´He was… different, after he stayed in that room. Quiet, withdrawn. He kept saying he felt like he was being watched. That something was trying to… to take him over. ´ ´Take him over? ´ I repeat, my voice trembling. ´What do you mean? ´ He looks up at me, his eyes filled with a desperate plea. ´I do not know! I just know that he left here a changed man. And then… then he disappeared.

Just like… just like all the others. ´ ´The others? ´ I ask, my voice barely a whisper. ´What others? ´ He takes a deep breath, as if steeling himself for what he is about to say. ´The guests who stay in Room 217, ´ he says, his voice low and trembling. ´They never leave the same. Some of them disappear completely. Others… others just are not themselves anymore. They become… puppets. Controlled by something… something evil. ´ He pauses, his eyes filled with terror. ´And now, it is after you. ´ A chill runs down my spine. I can feel the darkness closing in, the presence that haunts this hotel growing stronger. I must get out of here. But I cannot leave without knowing the truth. ´Tell me everything, ´ I say, my voice firm despite the fear that gnaws at my insides. ´Tell me everything you know. ´ The bellhop hesitates for a moment, then nods slowly. He takes a deep breath and begins to speak, his voice barely above a whisper, his words painting a terrifying picture of the Cliffside Hotel and the evil that lurks within its walls.

The bellhop pulls himself together, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “My name is Samuel,” he says, his voice still shaky but a bit steadier now. “Samuel Carter. And… and I want to help you. I owe it to your brother.”

He shuffles in his seat, avoiding my gaze. The air in the small room is thick with unspoken fear. I pull up the other chair and sit opposite him, leaning forward slightly. “Start from the beginning, Samuel. Tell me everything you know about Room 217, about what happened to Daniel, about this… evil.”

He nods, taking a deep breath. ” It started a long time ago, way before I even began working here. There were stories, whispers among the staff. Guests checking into 217 and… changing. Becoming withdrawn, secretive. Some would leave in the middle of the night, never to be seen again.”

He pauses, his eyes darting towards the door as if expecting someone to barge in. “Old Mrs. Henderson – she worked here for thirty years before she retired – she told me the room was cursed. That a darkness took root there, feeding off the despair and loneliness of the people who stayed in it. She said there was a presence, something ancient and hungry.”

I press him further, “What kind of presence?”

Samuel’s voice drops even lower. “Some say it is a… a parasite. That it latches onto your mind, your soul. It twists your thoughts, amplifies your fears. Makes you do things you would not normally do.” He shivers; his gaze fixated on some unseen horror. “Others say it is the spirit of someone who died in the hotel, trapped here, seeking… I do not know… revenge? Company?”

He wrings his hands, his voice barely audible. “When Daniel checked in, I did not think much of it. People come and go all the time. But then, after a few days, I noticed the change in him. He became quiet, almost vacant. He stopped smiling. He would stare blankly at the walls, muttering to himself. He started asking strange questions about the history of the hotel, about disappearances, about… about Room 217.”

Samuel looks up at me, his eyes pleading. “I tried to warn him, but he would not listen. He said he had to know the truth. He said he could feel something… pulling him in.”

I grip the edge of the table, my knuckles turning white. “And then he disappeared?”

Samuel nods miserably. “He checked out one morning, said he was going for a walk. He left his bags behind. I never saw him again.” He pauses, and his voice cracks. “I should have done more. I should have stopped him. But I was scared. I did not want to become like the others.”

“The others?” I ask, needing to know more. “Who are the others, Samuel? Who else has been affected?”

Samuel hesitates, glancing nervously towards the door again. The fluorescent light above flickers, casting long, distorted shadows across the room. I can feel his fear, a palpable weight in the already oppressive atmosphere. He leans closer, his voice dropping to a bare whisper. “There was old Mr. Abernathy. He stayed in 217 about five years ago. He was a jovial man, always laughing, always telling stories. But after a few nights in that room, he became… cruel. He started yelling at the staff, accusing us of stealing from him. He even hit one of the maids. Eventually, he was found dead in his room. Heart attack, they said. But I saw the look on his face. It was not a natural death.” He shivers, pulling his threadbare uniform tighter around himself. “Then there was Mrs. Davison. She was a writer, looking for inspiration. She stayed in 217 for almost a month. She became obsessed with the history of the hotel, digging through old records, asking strange questions. One day, she just snapped. She started ranting about voices in the walls, about a presence watching her. She was committed to a mental institution. Last I heard, she is still there, catatonic.”

My mind races, trying to piece together the fragments of information. Thomas and Eliza from the letters, Daniel, Mr. Abernathy, Mrs. Davison… a pattern is emerging, a terrifying cycle of influence and destruction centered around Room 217. “And what about you, Samuel?” I ask, my voice low. “You said you feared becoming like the others. What do you mean?” He flinches, his eyes widening in fear. He glances at his hands, turning them over as if inspecting them for signs of corruption. “I… I can feel it sometimes,” he whispers. “A pressure in my head, like something is trying to push its way in. Whispers in the dark when I am alone. Dreams… terrible dreams. I see things, things that are not there. Shadows moving in the corners of my eyes.”

He looks up at me, his face pale and drawn. “That night, when you saw me by the cliff… I was not myself. I do not remember much, just a feeling of… compulsion. Like I had to be there. Like something was drawing me towards the edge.” He pauses, his voice trembling. “I think… I think it wanted me to jump.” A cold dread washes over me. This is bigger than just Room 217. The darkness is spreading, infecting the entire hotel, reaching out for anyone vulnerable enough to succumb. I must stop it, not just for Daniel, but for everyone here, including Samuel. “We need to find a way to fight back,” I say, my voice firm despite the fear that gnaws at my insides. “We need to find out what this entity is, what it wants, and how to destroy it.” Samuel looks at me, his eyes filled with a flicker of hope. “But how?” he asks. “Where do we even begin?” I think for a moment, considering our options. The letters, the locket, Thomas’s diary… these are all pieces of the puzzle. But we need more. “The diary,” I say, my voice gaining conviction. “Thomas’s diary. It might hold the key. Where can I find it?

Samuel’s eyes dart around the small room, a mixture of fear and desperation swirling within them. “I… I do not know,” he stammers. “I have never been in Room 217. I just clean the public areas.” He wrings his hands; his gaze fixed on the stained carpet. “But Mrs. Henderson… she used to talk about a hidden compartment in the room. Behind the headboard of the bed, she said. A small space where guests would hide things, valuables, or… secrets.” My heart pounds in my chest. A hidden compartment. It is exactly the kind of detail that could lead us to the truth. “Okay, Samuel,” I say, my voice firm. “I need you to do something for me. I need you to find out if anyone is watching Room 217.

Someone at the reception maybe? Or in the hallway?” Samuel nods, his eyes widening with a renewed sense of purpose. “Okay, I can do that. I will go check.” He stands up, his shoulders straightening slightly. “Just… be careful,” he says, his voice barely audible. “It’s always watching.” He slips out of the staff room, disappearing into the dimly lit hallway. I take a deep breath, trying to calm my racing nerves. The hidden compartment is our only lead right now. I need to get back to Room 217 and search it thoroughly. But I cannot risk being seen. Not yet. I decide to wait a few minutes, giving Samuel enough time to scout the area. While I wait, I pull out the tarnished silver locket I found tucked away with the letters. The portraits of Thomas and Eliza stare back at me, their faces frozen in a perpetual state of fear. I open the locket, tracing the outline of their faces with my finger.

Who were they? What happened to them? Were they able to escape the clutches of this evil, or were they consumed by it? A sudden gust of wind rattles the windows of the staff room, causing me to jump. I glance around, my heart pounding in my chest. The room is empty, but I cannot shake the feeling that I am being watched. I close the locket, clutching it tightly in my hand. I must stay focused. I must find a way to stop this evil before it claims another victim. After what feels like an eternity, Samuel returns, his face pale. “The coast is clear,” he whispers. “But be quick. I do not know how long it will stay that way.” I nod, my adrenaline pumping. “Thank you, Samuel. You have been a great help.” I turn and slip out of the staff room, heading towards the staircase that leads to the second floor. As I make my way up the stairs, I cannot shake the feeling that I am being followed.

I glance back, but the hallway is empty. Still, the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I quicken my pace, my heart pounding in my chest. I reach the second floor and turn towards Room 217. The door looms before me, a dark and ominous portal into the heart of the evil that plagues this hotel. I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what lies ahead. With trembling hands, I reach for the doorknob and push the door open. The room is exactly as I left it, the air thick with a sense of dread and decay. I step inside, my eyes scanning the room for any sign of the hidden compartment. I must find it. I must find Thomas’s diary. It is our only hope. Where do I start?

The silence In Room 217 is deafening, amplifying the frantic beat of my heart. I close the door behind me, a futile attempt to shut out the oppressive atmosphere. My eyes fix on the headboard, the supposed location of the hidden compartment. It is a massive, ornate piece of furniture, carved with grotesque figures that seem to writhe in the dim light filtering through the grimy window.

Taking a deep breath, I approach the bed. The mattress sags ominously under its thick, dust-laden quilt. I reach out, my fingers tracing the cold, hard wood of the headboard. There is no obvious latch, no visible seam or panel. It is just a solid, unyielding surface.

I start methodically, running my hands along the entire length of the headboard, pressing against every carving, every crevice. Nothing. My frustration mounts. Mrs. Henderson could not have been wrong, could she? Samuel seemed so certain.

I decide to change tactics. Instead of focusing on finding a hidden latch, I try to shift the entire headboard. Gripping its edges, I push with all my might. It does not budge. It is either bolted to the wall or incredibly heavy.

“Damn it,” I mutter under my breath.

I circle around the bed, examining the headboard from different angles. Maybe there is a clue I am missing. As I move to the side, I notice something peculiar. The wallpaper behind the headboard seems slightly discolored, as if it has been disturbed. I reach out and gently peel back a corner of the wallpaper. Beneath it, I see a faint outline of a rectangle – a clear indication that something has been concealed there.

Hope surges through me. I carefully peel away more of the wallpaper, revealing a small, wooden panel. It is almost perfectly flush with the wall, making it nearly invisible unless you know it is there. I run my fingers along the edges of the panel, searching for a way to open it. Finally, I find a tiny indentation at the top. I press down on it, and with a soft click, the panel pops open.

A small, dark space Is revealed. I reach inside, my fingers brushing against something cold and metallic. I pull it out. It is a small, intricately carved wooden box. My hands tremble as I lift the lid. Inside, nestled on a bed of faded velvet, lies a diary.

Thomas’s diary.

My heart pounds in my chest as I carefully lift the diary from the box. Its leather cover is worn and cracked; the pages yellowed with age. This could be it. This could be the key to understanding the evil that haunts this hotel and the key to finding my brother.

As I open the diary, a chilling gust of wind sweeps through the room, causing the door to slam shut with a resounding bang. The temperature plummets, and the air crackles with an unseen energy. I whirl around, my heart leaping into my throat.

A dark figure flickers in the corner of the room, its form indistinct and shifting. A whisper snakes through the air, a voice both familiar and alien: “You shouldn’t have come here.”

Fear grips me, but I refuse to succumb. I clutch Thomas´s diary tighter, my knuckles white. “Who are you?” I demand, my voice trembling slightly but laced with defiance.

The shadowy figure glides closer, its form solidifying, yet remaining disturbingly undefined. It resembles a man, tall and gaunt, with eyes that burn like embers in the gloom. A chilling smile stretches across its face, revealing teeth that seem too long, too sharp. “I am the master of this house,” it rasps, its voice a discordant symphony of whispers and moans. “And you, Evelyn Grant, are trespassing.”

My mind races. This entity… it is the same presence that plagued Thomas. The one that Samuel warned me about. I must be careful. “This is a hotel,” I retort, trying to sound braver than I feel. “I´m a guest.”

The figure lets out a low, guttural chuckle that sends shivers down my spine. “A guest who delves into matters that do not concern her. A guest who seeks to unravel secrets best left buried.” It takes another step closer; its eyes fixed on the diary in my hand. “That book… it holds nothing but lies and despair. Give it to me, and I might consider letting you leave this place alive.”

I instinctively recoil, shielding the diary with my body. “No,” I say, my voice firm. “This diary might hold the key to finding my brother. And to stopping you.”

The figure´s smile vanishes, replaced by a look of pure malice. “Your brother is beyond your reach, Evelyn. He belongs to me now. Just like you will soon enough.” It raises a hand, its fingers elongated and skeletal. A wave of icy air washes over me, and I feel a strange pressure building in my head.

I stumble backward, desperately trying to clear my mind. This entity… it´s trying to control me. Just like it controlled Mr. Abernathy and Mrs. Davison. I must resist. I close my eyes, focusing on a happy memory – a childhood Christmas, laughing with Daniel as we unwrapped presents. The pressure in my head subsides slightly.

“You can´t control me,” I gasp, my voice strained. “I won´t let you.”

The figure hisses in frustration. “You are stronger than I anticipated. But your will is no match for my power. This hotel is my domain. And here, I am God.” It gestures around the room, and the walls seem to warp and twist. The shadows deepen, and the air grows heavy with the stench of decay.

I know I can´t fight this thing head-on. I must use my wits. I must find a way to exploit its weakness. “What do you want?” I ask, stalling for time. “Why are you doing this?”

The figure pauses, its eyes gleaming with an unholy light. “I want what was promised to me. I want the souls of those who dare to seek the truth. And I want to feed on their fear and despair.” It takes a step closer, its voice dropping to a menacing whisper. “Give me the diary, Evelyn. And I might spare you a slow and agonizing death.”

My mind races. I can´t give it the diary. It´s my only lead. But I can´t fight it in my current state. I need to find a way to escape, to regroup, to find a weakness. Looking past the entity, my gaze falls upon the open doorway.

“Alright,” I say, my voice trembling slightly. “I´ll give you the diary.” I take a step forward, feigning surrender. As I do, I quickly toss the diary to my left, aiming towards the open doorway. “Catch!” I shout. And with that, I turn and sprint towards the door, hoping to escape the clutches of the entity and its haunted room.

The diary sails through the air, landing just outside the doorway with a soft thud. I do not wait to see if the entity goes for it. Adrenaline surges through my veins as I bolt out of Room 217, slamming the door behind me. I do not bother looking back. My only thought is to get away, to put as much distance as possible between myself and that… thing. I sprint down the hallway, my footsteps echoing in the eerie silence. The air is thick with a chilling presence, as if the entity’s influence permeates the entire hotel. I reach the staircase and descend as quickly as I can, nearly tripping in my haste. My heart pounds in my chest, and my lungs burn with each breath. I burst into the lobby, my eyes scanning the room for Samuel. He is nowhere to be seen. Panic begins to set in. Where is he? Did the entity get to him? I run towards the front desk, hoping to find some sign of life. The desk is deserted. The computer screen flickers, displaying a static image. The bell is sitting silently on the counter. I slam my hand on the bell, the sharp sound piercing the silence. Still, no one appears. The feeling of isolation is overwhelming.

I am alone in this haunted hotel, hunted by a malevolent entity. I need to find Samuel. He is the only one who can help me. I turn and head towards the staff area, my footsteps echoing in the empty lobby. As I approach the staff room, I notice the door is slightly ajar. I cautiously push it open, my heart pounding in my chest. The room is empty. But something is wrong. The air is heavy with a metallic scent, and a dark stain spreads across the floor near Samuel’s locker. My blood runs cold. I rush over to the stain, my hand trembling as I reach down and touch it. It is blood. Fresh blood. A wave of nausea washes over me. What happened to Samuel? Is he… dead? A low moan emanates from the back of the room. I slowly turn towards the sound, my eyes widening in horror. Samuel is lying on the floor; his body twisted at an unnatural angle. His eyes are wide open, staring blankly at the ceiling. A trickle of blood runs from his mouth.

´Samuel! ´ I cry, rushing to his side. I kneel beside him, gently shaking his shoulder. ´Samuel, can you hear me? What happened? ´ His eyes flicker, and he groans softly. ´It… it got me, ´ he whispers, his voice barely audible. ´It… it took control. ´ ´What took control, Samuel? The entity? ´ I ask, my voice laced with urgency. He nods weakly; his eyes filled with terror. ´It… it made me… hurt myself. ´ He coughs, and more blood trickles from his mouth. ´It´s… it´s going to use me… to get to you. ´ My heart sinks. The entity is using Samuel as a puppet, a pawn in its twisted game. ´I will not let it, Samuel, ´ I say, my voice filled with determination. ´I am going to stop it. I promise. ´ I stand up, my eyes narrowing with resolve. I must find a way to break the entity’s control over Samuel. I must find a way to destroy it, once and for all. But how? I look around the staff room, searching for anything that might help. My gaze falls upon a shelf filled with cleaning supplies. Bleach, ammonia, disinfectant… Could any of these be used to weaken the entity? As I ponder my options, a chilling voice echoes through the room.

´You cannot save him, Evelyn. He is mine now. And soon, you will be too. ´ The entity appears in the doorway, its form more solid, more menacing than before. Its eyes are fixed on me, burning with an unholy hunger. ´It is time to end this, ´ it rasps, its voice filled with triumph. ´There has nowhere left to run. ´ It raises its hand, and Samuel’s body begins to convulse uncontrollably. ´Stop it! ´ I scream, my voice filled with anguish. ´Leave him alone! ´ The entity ignores me, its smile widening with cruel satisfaction. ´Any last words, Evelyn? ´ I stare at the entity, my mind racing. I need a plan. I need a weapon. I need a miracle. And then, an idea sparks in my mind. A desperate, risky idea. But it is the only chance I have. I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what I am about to do. ´Alright, ´ I say, my voice trembling slightly but filled with resolve. ´You want me? Come and get me. ´ And with that, I grab the nearest bottle of bleach and hurl it at the entity with all my might.

The bottle bursts against the entity’s chest, a cloud of stinging, acrid liquid erupting in the air. The entity shrieks, a sound that tears through the room like nails on a chalkboard. It recoils, clutching at its form, which seems to flicker and distort under the chemical assault.

Samuel’s convulsions cease abruptly. He lies still, his eyes fluttering closed. I do not know if he is alive or dead, and I cannot afford to think about it right now.

The entity glares at me, its features twisted with rage. “You’ll regret that,” it hisses, its voice a venomous rasp. But there is something else in its eyes now – a flicker of fear. The bleach seems to have weakened it, at least momentarily.

I do not hesitate. I grab another bottle of cleaning fluid, this time ammonia, and brace myself to throw it.

“Stay back!” I shout, my voice trembling but firm. “I know what you are. You feed on fear, on despair. But I am not afraid of you anymore!”

The entity hesitates, Its form wavering. It seems uncertain, as if my defiance has thrown it off balance. This is my chance.

I hurl the ammonia, aiming for its face. It strikes true, and the entity screams again, a high-pitched, agonizing wail. The air crackles with energy, and a wave of nausea washes over me.

The entity staggers back, its form dissolving, becoming less defined. It is weakening. I must keep the pressure on.

I grab another bottle, disinfectant this time, and advance on the entity, my eyes blazing with determination. “Get out of this hotel!” I yell. “Get out of this world! You’re not welcome here!”

The entity shrinks back, its form flickering like a dying flame. “You can’t win,” it whispers, its voice barely audible. “I am a part of this place. I will always be here.”

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” I retort, and I throw the disinfectant.

The bottle hits the entity, and with a final, ear-splitting shriek, it vanishes. The air is still. The room is silent.

I stand there, panting, my body trembling with exhaustion and adrenaline. I look around the staff room, my eyes searching for any sign of the entity’s return. But it is gone. For now, at least.

I turn my attention to Samuel. He is still lying on the floor, his eyes closed. I kneel beside him, my hand trembling as I reach for his pulse. It is faint, but it is there. He is alive.

“Samuel,” I say, gently shaking his shoulder. “Samuel, can you hear me?”

His eyelids flutter, and he slowly opens his eyes. He looks at me, his gaze unfocused.

“Evelyn?” he whispers, his voice weak. “What… what happened?”

“It’s over, Samuel,” I say, my voice filled with relief. “The entity… it is gone. For now.”

He groans softly and tries to sit up, but winces in pain. “I… I feel terrible,” he says. “Like I’ve been hit by a truck.”

“Just lie still,” I say. “You have been through a lot. I will get you some help.”

I reach for my phone, my fingers fumbling with the buttons. I need to call for an ambulance, to get Samuel out of this place. But as I unlock my phone, I notice something strange. The screen is filled with static. There is no signal.

I try again, moving around the room, searching for a connection. But it is no use. The signal is dead.

A chill runs down my spine. The entity may be gone, but its influence still lingers. I am still trapped in this hotel, cut off from the outside world.

I look at Samuel, who is still lying on the floor, weak and injured. I know I cannot stay here. I need to get him to safety, to find a way out of this nightmare.

But how?

I look around the staff room, my eyes searching for anything that might help. And then I see it. A first-aid kit hanging on the wall. It is a start.

I grab the kit and begin to tend to Samuel’s wounds. As I clean and bandage his injuries, I cannot shake the feeling that I am not alone. That the entity is still out there, lurking in the shadows, waiting for its chance to strike again.

I know I must be prepared. I must be vigilant. I must find a way to protect myself and Samuel from whatever horrors this hotel holds.

And I know, with a chilling certainty, that my nightmare is far from over.

I finish bandaging Samuel as best I can with the limited supplies in the first-aid kit. He is still pale and weak, but at least he is conscious. “Can you stand?” I ask, my voice laced with concern. He tries to sit up, wincing in pain. “I think so,” he says, his voice raspy. “But I’m not sure I can walk very far.” “We don’t have a choice,” I say, helping him to his feet. “We need to get out of this hotel. Now.” He leans heavily on me as we make our way out of the staff room and into the lobby. The silence is unnerving, broken only by our footsteps and Samuel’s labored breathing. The lobby is still deserted, the computer screen flickering with static, the bell sitting silently on the counter. It is as if the entire hotel is holding its breath, waiting for something to happen. As we approach the front doors, I notice something that makes my blood run cold. The doors are locked. And not just locked – bolted shut, with heavy chains wrapped around the handles. I rush to the doors, frantically trying to unfasten the chains. But they are too heavy, too tightly secured.

“Damn it!” I shout, kicking the doors in frustration. “We’re trapped!” Samuel leans against the wall, his face pale with exhaustion. “What are we going to do?” he asks, his voice barely audible. I take a deep breath, trying to remain calm. Panic will not help us now. “There has to be another way out,” I say, my mind racing. “A back exit, a fire escape… something.” I remember the layout of the hotel from my initial walkthrough. There is a service entrance in the back, near the kitchen. It is our best bet. “Come on, Samuel,” I say, helping him to his feet. “We’re going to try the service entrance.” We slowly make our way through the lobby, past the silent front desk, towards the back of the hotel. As we pass the staircase, I notice something out of the corner of my eye. A shadow, flickering in the darkness at the top of the stairs. I stop, my heart pounding in my chest. “Did you see that?” I whisper to Samuel. He strains his neck to look; his face etched with fear.

“See what?” he asks. “I thought I saw something… a shadow,” I say, my voice trembling. “It’s probably just my imagination.” But I cannot shake the feeling that we are being watched. That the entity is still out there, lurking in the darkness, waiting for us to let our guard down. We continue towards the back of the hotel, our footsteps echoing in the silence. As we approach the kitchen, I notice that the door is slightly ajar. I cautiously push it open, my heart pounding in my chest. The kitchen is dark and silent, the air thick with the smell of stale food and disinfectant. I flick on the light switch, and the room is flooded with a harsh, fluorescent glow. The kitchen is a mess, with pots and pans scattered across the floor, food splattered on the walls, and a thick layer of grime covering every surface. It looks like no one has been in here for months. I scan the room, searching for the service entrance. I spot it at the far end of the kitchen, a heavy steel door with a small, barred window. I make my way towards the door, carefully stepping over the debris on the floor. As I reach the door, I peer through the barred window. The outside is dark, with only a few flickering streetlights visible in the distance.

I try the handle, but the door is locked. I search my pockets for the lock picks that I always carry with me. A skill that Daniel always mocked, but that has served me well on more than one occasion. I pull them out and set to work, carefully inserting the picks into the lock. My hands tremble with nerves, but I manage to keep them steady. After a few tense moments, I hear a click, and the lock springs open. I exhale a sigh of relief and push open the door. A blast of cold, fresh air hits my face, and I feel a sense of hope that I have not felt since arriving at this cursed place. “Come on, Samuel,” I say, helping him through the door. “We’re almost there.” We step out into the alleyway behind the hotel, and I take a deep breath of the crisp night air. It feels good to be outside, away from the oppressive atmosphere of the hotel. But my relief is short-lived. As I look around the alleyway, I realize that we are not alone. Two figures are standing in the shadows, their faces obscured by the darkness. And they are moving towards us.

My heart leaps into my throat. I shove Samuel behind me, shielding him with my body. “Who’s there?” I call out, my voice trembling slightly, though I try to project an air of confidence. The figures do not answer. They continue to advance, their footsteps echoing in the narrow alleyway. As they get closer, I can make out their shapes. They are human, or at least they appear to be. But there is something unsettling about them. Their movements are jerky, unnatural, and their faces are blank, expressionless. They remind me of puppets, their strings pulled by some unseen force. A wave of nausea washes over me as I realize who they are. Or rather, what they are. They are victims of the entity, just like Samuel almost was. Their bodies are being controlled, their minds enslaved. “Stay back!” I shout, my voice rising in panic. “I don’t want to hurt you.” But they do not stop. They keep coming, their eyes fixed on me with a disturbing intensity.

I glance around the alleyway, searching for a weapon. There is nothing. We are completely exposed, with no way to defend ourselves. The figures are almost upon us now. I can see the details of their faces – the vacant eyes, the slack jaws, the pale, lifeless skin. They reach out their hands, their fingers twitching spasmodically. I know what they want. They want to drag me back into the hotel, to deliver me to the entity. I will not let that happen. I take a deep breath, steeling myself for a fight. I may be outnumbered, but I am not going down without a fight. “Get away from us!” I scream, and I lunge forward, throwing a punch at the nearest figure. My fist connects with its jaw, and it stumbles backward, momentarily stunned. But the other figure is still coming, its eyes burning with an unholy light. It grabs my arm, its grip surprisingly strong. I try to pull away, but it will not let go. I kick it in the shins, but it barely flinches.

It is like fighting a zombie, impervious to pain. The figure pulls me closer, its face inches from mine. I can smell its breath – a foul, acrid odor that makes my stomach churn. “Join us,” it whispers, its voice a raspy, inhuman growl. “Join us, and you will be free.” “Never!” I shout, and I headbutt it with all my might. The figure recoils, its nose gushing blood. It releases my arm, and I stumble backward, gasping for breath. I look at Samuel, who is cowering behind me, his eyes wide with terror. I cannot let him get hurt. I must protect him, even if it means sacrificing myself. “Run, Samuel!” I shout. “Get out of here! Find help!” He hesitates for a moment; his eyes filled with indecision. Then, with a surge of adrenaline, he turns and flees down the alleyway, his footsteps pounding on the pavement. I watch him go; my heart filled with a mixture of hope and despair. I hope he makes it. I hope he can escape this nightmare.

But I know that I have just sealed my own fate. The two figures turn their attention back to me, their eyes burning with renewed intensity. They advance on me, their movements slow and deliberate, like predators stalking their prey. I stand my ground, my fists clenched, my body trembling with fear and adrenaline. I know that I cannot win this fight. I am outnumbered, outmatched, and exhausted. But I will be damned if I am going to make it easy for them. I will fight to the bitter end, and I will take as many of them down with me as I can. “Come on, you monsters!” I shout. “Let’s finish this!” And with a defiant roar, I charge forward, ready to face whatever horrors await me. As I run towards them, I catch a glimpse of something in the distance. A light, flickering in the darkness at the end of the alleyway. And a sound, faint but distinct. The sound of a siren. Help is on the way. But will it arrive in time?

The siren wails louder, closer. Blue and red lights flash, painting the alley in a strobe-like dance of salvation and dread. The figures hesitate, their heads tilting slightly, as if the puppeteer has lost momentary control. I seize the opportunity, launching myself at the nearest one, a woman in a tattered floral dress, her face now a grotesque mask of vacant fury. My fist connects with her temple, and she crumples to the ground. Not dead, just… momentarily deactivated.

The other, a gaunt man in a bellhop uniform identical to Samuel’s, lunges. He is faster, more agile. He claws at me, his nails leaving red welts on my arms. I duck under his swipe and kick out, catching him in the knee. He stumbles, but recovers quickly. I am weakening, my breath coming in ragged gasps. The distant sirens are my only lifeline.

“It’s no use,” the bellhop rasps, his voice a distorted echo of humanity. “He will have you. We all belong to him now.”

I ignore him, focusing on survival. Another kick, another stumble. But there are more of them now. Drawn by the commotion, figures emerge from the shadows, their faces blank, their eyes glowing with that same eerie light. The alley is filling with the possessed, a silent, shuffling army.

I am trapped. Cornered. The flashing lights offer a cruel parody of hope, illuminating my imminent doom. But then, a new sound cuts through the night. The screech of tires, the slam of car doors. Voices, shouting.

“Police! Freeze! Get on the ground!”

The possessed hesitate, confused. The spell holding them seems to be weakening under the assault of flashing lights and authoritative commands. The gaunt bellhop wavers, his gaze flickering between me and the approaching officers. This is my chance.

I shove him away with all my remaining strength and scramble towards the entrance of the alley. Two police officers, their guns drawn, are cautiously advancing, their faces grim. Behind them, I see more officers, paramedics, and… Samuel. His face is pale, but his eyes are filled with relief.

“Evelyn!” he cries, pushing past the officers.

“Stay back, son!” one of the officer’s yells, but Samuel ignores him, rushing towards me.

I reach him, collapsing into his arms. The relief is overwhelming, but it is tempered by the knowledge that this is not over. The entity is still out there, lurking in the shadows, waiting to strike again.

“We need to get out of here,” I gasp, pulling away from Samuel. “It is not safe. The hotel… it is alive.”

The police officers exchange skeptical glances, but they can see the genuine fear in my eyes. They have dealt with their fair share of crazies, but something about my demeanor convinces them that this is more than just a hallucination.

“Alright, ma’am,” one of the officers says, his voice calm but firm. “We will take you and your friend to the station. You can tell us everything there.”

As we are escorted out of the alley and into the back of a police car, I glance back at the possessed. They are still there, frozen in place, their eyes fixed on us with a chilling intensity. They do not resist; they do not run. They simply watch, waiting for their master’s next command.

The ride to the police station Is a blur of flashing lights and adrenaline. Samuel sits beside me, his hand clasped tightly in mine, his knuckles white. He keeps glancing at me; his eyes filled with worry and a lingering fear. I offer him a weak smile, trying to reassure him, but I know I am failing. The image of those possessed faces, the entity’s chilling whispers, are burned into my mind. At the station, we are separated and led to separate interrogation rooms. The room is sterile, cold, and impersonal, with harsh fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. A detective, a middle-aged woman with tired eyes and a no-nonsense demeanor, sits across from me. Her name tag reads "Detective Mallory.” “So, Ms. Grant,” she begins, her voice devoid of emotion. “Let us start from the beginning. What happened at the Cliffside Hotel?" I hesitate, unsure of how to explain the unexplainable. How do I describe a malevolent entity that controls minds, a hotel that is alive? Will she even believe me? “I was investigating my brother’s disappearance,” I say, choosing my words carefully. “He was staying at the hotel, in Room 217. He vanished without a trace.” “And what led you to believe that his disappearance was… unusual?” Detective Mallory asks, her eyes narrowed. I tell her everything – the bloodstain, the letters, the diary, the entity, the possessed. I describe the chilling events in vivid detail, holding nothing back. As I speak, I can see the skepticism growing on her face. She listens patiently, taking notes, but her expression remains unchanged. When I finish, she leans back in her chair, her eyes fixed on me. “Ms. Grant,” she says, her voice soft but firm.

“I understand you are going through a lot right now. Your brother is missing, and you have been through a traumatic experience. But what you are describing… it is not possible. Entities, possessions, hotels coming to life… these are things of fiction, not reality.” “But it’s true!” I insist, my voice rising in desperation. “I saw it with my own eyes. Samuel saw it too. You can ask him.” Detective Mallory sighs, shaking her head. “We will talk to Mr. Carter, of course. But I must be honest with you, Ms. Grant. What you are saying sounds like a delusion, a product of stress and trauma.” I slump back in my chair, defeated. I knew this would happen. How can I expect anyone to believe something so unbelievable? “So, what now?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper. “What happens to my brother? What happens to the entity? What happens to the hotel?” “We’ll investigate your brother's disappearance, of course,” Detective Mallory says, her voice softening slightly. “We will search the hotel, look for any clues. But I cannot promise you that we will find anything. And as for the… entity… I am afraid that is beyond our jurisdiction.” I close my eyes, feeling a wave of despair wash over me. I am alone in this. No one believes me. No one can help me.

But I cannot give up. I must find my brother. I must stop the entity. I must save the Cliffside Hotel, even if it does not want to be saved. “Can I see Samuel?” I ask, opening my eyes and meeting Detective Mallory’s gaze. “I need to talk to him.” “I suppose that can be arranged,” she says, standing up. “But I must warn you, Ms. Grant. If you are planning on concocting some kind of elaborate story with Mr. Carter, I will know. And that will only make things worse for you.” I nod, understanding her warning. I do not need to concoct a story. The truth is terrifying enough. A few minutes later, Samuel is brought into the room. He looks pale and shaken, but his eyes light up when he sees me. “Evelyn!” he exclaims, rushing to my side. “Are you okay? They told me you were… well, they did not say much.” “I’m fine,” I say, forcing a smile. “But they do not believe us, Samuel. They think we are crazy.” Samuel’s face falls. “I knew it,” he says, his voice filled with resignation. “I tried to tell them what happened, but they just looked at me like I was insane.” “We can’t give up, Samuel,” I say, grabbing his hand. “We must find a way to prove it. We must stop the entity, before it hurts anyone else.” Samuel nods, his eyes filled with determination.

“What do we do?” he asks. “Where do we start?” I think for a moment, considering our options. We are up against a powerful, malevolent force, and we have no allies. But we have something that the entity does not have: knowledge. We know its history, its weaknesses, its patterns. And we have Thomas’s diary. Maybe, just maybe, there is something in those pages that can help us defeat it. “We need to go back to the hotel,” I say, my voice filled with conviction. “We need to find Thomas’s diary. There must be something in there that can help us.” Samuel hesitates; his face etched with fear. “Go back? Are you crazy? That place is a death trap.” “I know,” I say, squeezing his hand. “But it is the only way. We must face our fears, Samuel. We must fight back.” Samuel looks at me, his eyes filled with a mixture of fear and determination. After a long moment, he nods. “Alright,” he says, his voice barely a whisper. “Let’s do it.” I smile, feeling a surge of hope. We may be outnumbered, outgunned, and out of our minds, but we are not alone. We have each other. And that is enough to give us a fighting chance.

Getting back to the Cliffside Hotel proves surprisingly easy. Detective Mallory, convinced we are delusional but harmless, releases us with a stern warning to stay away from the hotel. She probably thinks we will run, terrified, and never look back. She could not be more wrong. Samuel and I walk the long road back to the hotel, the silence heavy between us. The flashing police lights are gone, replaced by the eerie glow of the moon. The hotel looms in the distance, a dark silhouette against the night sky. It feels like a predator, waiting for us to return. As we approach, the air grows colder, a tangible sign of the entity’s presence. The front doors are still chained, a testament to our previous escape attempt. We bypass them, heading towards the service entrance we used before. It is unlocked. A bad sign. It means the entity wants us inside. We exchange a nervous glance and step into the dimly lit corridor. The air is thick with the stench of mildew and decay. The silence is deafening, broken only by the occasional creak and groan of the building settling.

“Hello?” Samuel calls out, his voice trembling slightly. No response. We move cautiously, our footsteps echoing in the empty corridor. We reach the staff room, the scene of our previous confrontation. It is eerily clean, as if someone has meticulously scrubbed away the evidence of the struggle. But the lingering smell of bleach hangs in the air, a faint reminder of the chaos that unfolded here. I shiver, despite myself. “Where do we start?” Samuel asks, his eyes darting nervously around the room. “Room 217,” I reply, my voice firm. “That is where it all began. That is where we will find Thomas’s diary.” We leave the staff room and head towards the main lobby. As we enter, I gasp. The lobby is no longer disarrayed. It is immaculate, pristine, as if nothing ever happened. The furniture is neatly arranged, the carpets are spotless, and the air is fresh and clean. It is too perfect, too staged. It is like stepping into a dollhouse, a grotesque parody of reality.

“What the…” Samuel whispers, his eyes wide with disbelief. “It’s like it never happened.” I shake my head, my heart pounding in my chest. “It’s a trap,” I say. “He’s trying to lull us into a false sense of security.” We continue towards the stairs, our senses on high alert. Every shadow seems to conceal a threat; every sound makes us jump. We reach the second floor and walk down the corridor towards Room 217. The door is slightly ajar, a silent invitation. I push it open and step inside. The room is exactly as I remember it – cold, damp, and filled with an oppressive sense of dread. The bloodstain is still on the carpet, a dark, accusing mark. The Word “RUN” is still scratched on the window, a chilling reminder of the terror that unfolded here. I scan the room, searching for Thomas’s diary. It is not on the desk, not in the drawers, not under the bed. “It’s gone,” I say, my voice filled with despair. “He took it.” Samuel sighs, his shoulders slumping. “So, what do we do now?” I refuse to give up. There must be something, some clue, some piece of information that can help us.

I walk over to the window and stare out at the moonlit landscape. The view is beautiful, but it does little to soothe my frayed nerves. As I gaze out, my eyes catch something glinting in the corner of the room. I walk over to investigate. It is the silver locket, the one with the portraits of Thomas and Eliza. I had forgotten about it. I pick it up, my fingers tracing the tarnished silver. The faces of Thomas and Eliza stare back at me, their eyes filled with terror. A sudden thought strikes me. The locket. It is a tangible connection to Thomas and Eliza, a conduit to their experiences. Maybe, just maybe, it can help us understand the entity, its origins, its weaknesses. I clutch the locket tightly in my hand, feeling a surge of determination. “Samuel,” I say, my voice filled with renewed hope. “I think I know how to find the answers we need.”

I hold the locket, its cool metal grounding me. “We need to focus on Thomas and Eliza,” I say, turning the locket over in my hand. “This locket is all we have left of them, a physical link to their ordeal. I think it might hold the key to understanding what we are dealing with.”

Samuel nods, his eyes still wide with apprehension but a flicker of hope igniting within them. “What do you mean? How can a piece of jewelry help us fight a… a ghost?”

“I don’t know exactly,” I admit. “But think about it. The entity latched onto them, tormented them. This locket was theirs. It might resonate with their experiences, with the entity’s influence on them. Maybe it can show us something.”

I walk over to the bed and sit down, carefully opening the locket. The tiny portraits of Thomas and Eliza seem to stare back at me; their painted eyes filled with a silent plea. I close my eyes, focusing on the image, on the emotions that must have permeated their lives in this very room.

“We need to recreate their environment,” I say, my voice barely a whisper. “Think like them, feel what they felt. Maybe then, the locket will respond.”

Samuel hesitates, then nods. “Okay, I am in. What do we do?”

“First, the room has to feel like it did when they were here.” I survey the room, taking in the sterile emptiness. “The bloodstain… leave it. The scratched ‘RUN’… that stays too. But everything else…”

We spend the next hour meticulously disarranging the room. We overturn the desk, scattering papers and pens across the floor. We pull the covers off the bed, leaving the mattress exposed. We open the windows, letting in the cold night air and the sounds of the wind and the sea. We want to invoke the chaos and despair that Thomas and Eliza must have felt.

As we work, a strange feeling washes over me. It is not fear, not exactly. It is more like a sense of… anticipation. As if something is about to happen. As if we are being watched.

Once the room is sufficiently chaotic, I sit back down on the bed, clutching the locket in my hand. “Okay,” I say, closing my eyes. “Let’s try this.”

I take a deep breath and focus on the locket, on the faces of Thomas and Eliza. I try to imagine their lives, their love, their fear. I try to feel their presence in the room, their desperation to escape.

Suddenly, a wave of dizziness washes over me. The room starts to spin, the sounds of the wind and the sea intensify, and the faces in the locket seem to blur and twist. A voice whispers in my ear, a voice that sounds both familiar and alien.

“Run,” it says. “Run while you still can.”

I gasp, my eyes snapping open. The room is still spinning, but I can see something shimmering in the air in front of me. It is a faint, translucent image, a ghostly projection of Thomas and Eliza standing in the room, their faces contorted in terror.

“What… what is that?” Samuel whispers, his voice filled with awe and fear.

“I don’t know,” I say, my heart pounding in my chest. “But I think it’s showing us something.”

The ghostly images of Thomas and Eliza begin to move, their actions jerky and frantic. They run to the window, they cower in the corner, they scream silently.

Then, the image focuses on a specific spot in the room, a dark corner near the fireplace. Thomas reaches out, his hand trembling, and touches the wall.

“The wall,” I say, my voice filled with realization. “He’s pointing at the wall.”

I stand up and walk over to the fireplace, my eyes fixed on the corner. The wall is smooth and unremarkable, with no visible cracks or seams. But something about it feels… different. Colder, somehow.

I reach out and touch the wall, my fingers running along the surface. And then, I feel it. A slight indentation, a subtle shift in the texture of the plaster.

“There’s something here,” I say, my voice trembling with excitement. “A hidden compartment, maybe?”

I press on the indentation, pushing gently. And then, with a soft click, a section of the wall slides inward, revealing a dark, narrow opening.

“What the…” Samuel whispers, his eyes wide with disbelief.

I reach into the opening, my fingers groping in the darkness. And then, I feel something. Something cold and metallic.

I pull it out.

It is a key. An old, tarnished key with an ornate design.

“A key,” I say, my voice filled with triumph. “This is it. This is what we have been looking for.”

But as I hold the key in my hand, a sudden chill runs down my spine. The ghostly images of Thomas and Eliza vanish, the room stops spinning, and the voice in my ear falls silent.

The entity knows. It knows we have found something. And it is not going to let us use it.

The air thickens, the temperature plummeting as if a frigid hand has descended upon the room. My breath mists before my face. Samuel shivers beside me, his eyes darting around the room as if expecting something to materialize from the shadows. “We need to get out of here,” he whispers, his voice tight with fear. “Now.”

I know he is right, but I cannot resist the urge to know what this key unlocks. The entity is closing in, I can feel its presence, but the potential reward is too great to ignore. “Just a minute,” I say, my voice barely audible. “Let’s see what this opens.”

My eyes scan the room, searching for a lock, a door, anything that fits the key. The furniture is old, but ordinary. The walls are bare; save for the hidden compartment we just discovered. Then, my gaze lands on the fireplace. It is a massive stone structure, cold and imposing. As I approach, I notice a small, almost invisible keyhole hidden beneath a decorative carving of a raven.

Could it be? I insert the key, and it slides in smoothly, as if it was made for this very lock. I turn the key, and a low grinding sound echoes from within the fireplace. A section of the stone wall swings inward, revealing a narrow passage.

“What is it?” Samuel asks, his voice trembling.

“A secret passage,” I reply, my heart pounding with excitement and dread. “This must be how Thomas and Eliza tried to escape.”

The passage Is dark and cramped, barely wide enough for one person to squeeze through. A musty odor wafts from within, a mix of damp earth and something else… something vaguely metallic.

“We can’t go in there,” Samuel says, his eyes wide with terror. “It’s a trap.”

“Maybe,” I say, “but it is also our only lead. If we want to find out what happened to Thomas and Eliza, if we want to understand this entity, we must follow this passage.”

I take a deep breath and step into the darkness. The air is immediately colder, heavier. I can feel the entity’s presence pressing in on me, a suffocating weight.

“Evelyn, wait!” Samuel calls out, but I ignore him. I cannot afford to hesitate. I must keep moving, keep searching.

The passage twists and turns, leading me deeper into the heart of the hotel. The walls are damp and rough, scraping against my skin. The silence is absolute, broken only by the sound of my own breathing.

As I continue, the passage begins to slope downward, leading me into what feels like a subterranean level. The air grows thicker, the odor of metal more intense. I can hear the faint sound of dripping water, echoing in the darkness.

Then, I see it. A faint light flickering in the distance. I quicken my pace, my heart pounding with anticipation. The passage opens into a small, circular chamber. A single lantern hangs from the ceiling, casting an eerie glow on the scene before me.

The chamber is filled with strange objects: rusted chains, tarnished silver implements, and stacks of leather-bound books. In the center of the room, there is a stone altar, stained with what appears to be dried blood. And standing before the altar, his back to me, is a figure cloaked in shadows.

He turns slowly, and I gasp. It is Samuel, but his eyes are black, his face contorted in a cruel, mocking smile.

“Hello, Evelyn,” he says, his voice a distorted echo of the Samuel I knows. “Welcome to my domain.”

My blood runs cold. It is Samuel, yet undeniably not him. The entity has fully taken control. His eyes, once kind and worried, are now bottomless pits of malice, reflecting the lantern light with an unsettling gleam. He exudes an aura of immense power, a palpable darkness that makes it hard to breathe. ´Samuel…´ I manage, my voice barely a whisper. ´What have you done? ´ He lets out a chilling laugh, the sound reverberating off the stone walls. ´Samuel is gone, Evelyn. He was weak, pathetic. I merely borrowed his form, made it… useful. ´ He gestures around the chamber, a possessive sweep of his hand. ´This is where it all began, you know. This hotel… this town… it is all built upon this place. A nexus of energy, a gateway. And I am its guardian. ´ My mind races, trying to process what he is saying. A nexus? A gateway?

This is bigger than just a haunting, bigger than just a vengeful spirit. This is something ancient, something powerful. I glance around the chamber, taking in the strange objects. The chains, the silver implements, the blood-stained altar… they speak of rituals, of sacrifices, of something unspeakable. ´What do you want? ´ I ask, trying to sound braver than I feel. ´Why are you doing this? ´ His smile widens, revealing teeth that seem a little too sharp, a little too long. ´I want… release. For centuries, I have been trapped here, bound to this place. Thomas and Eliza… Abernathy, Davison, your brother Daniel… they were all just stepping stones. Vessels. But none of them were strong enough, none of them could provide me with what I need. ´ He takes a step closer, his eyes burning into mine. ´But you, Evelyn… you are different. You are strong, intelligent, resourceful. You have a will of iron. You are the perfect vessel. ´ He reaches out a hand, his fingers twitching as if eager to grasp me. I recoil, backing away towards the entrance of the passage.

´Get away from me, ´ I say, my voice trembling. ´I will not let you. ´ He laughs again, a cruel, mocking sound. ´You have no choice, Evelyn. Your brother is already mine. Surrender to me, and I will spare him. Resist, and he will suffer the consequences. ´ My heart sinks. Daniel. He is still alive, but under the entity’s control. That is why he disappeared, that is why he has not contacted me. The entity is using him as leverage, a way to manipulate me. ´You are lying, ´ I say, trying to keep my voice steady. ´You would not spare him. You would just use him, like you have used everyone else. ´ His smile fades, replaced by a look of pure, unadulterated rage. ´You dare defy me? You dare question my power? I will show you what happens to those who cross me. ´ He raises his hand, and the lantern hanging from the ceiling begins to swing violently, casting wild, distorted shadows across the chamber.

The chains rattle, the books tremble, and the air crackles with energy. I know I must act fast. I cannot let him take control of me; I cannot let him hurt Daniel. I look around the chamber, searching for anything I can use, any weapon, any advantage. My eyes land on the altar. The blood-stained altar. An idea sparks in my mind, a desperate, risky plan. It might be my only chance. ´You want a vessel? ´ I shout, drawing his attention back to me. ´Then come and get me! ´ I lunge forward, grabbing one of the silver implements from the altar. It is a small, ornate dagger, its blade dulled with age and dried blood. I raise the dagger, holding it before me like a shield. ´I am not afraid of you, ´ I say, my voice trembling but resolute. ´I will fight you until my last breath. ´ And with that, I charge towards him, the silver dagger glinting in the flickering lantern light.

I charge towards the possessed Samuel, the silver dagger my only defense against the overwhelming darkness that radiates from him. He does not flinch, does not even seem surprised. A cruel smile stretches across his face as he watches me approach, like a predator toying with its prey.

"So eager to meet your end," he hisses, the voice a grotesque distortion of Samuel's familiar tones. "How… brave."

As I close the distance, he raises his hand again, and the chamber erupts in a cacophony of chaos. The lantern swings wildly, casting swirling shadows that dance across the walls, blurring the edges of reality. The chains rattle and clang, and a gust of icy wind whips through the chamber, carrying with it the whispers of forgotten souls.

I ignore the distractions, focusing all my energy on reaching him. I lunge, aiming the silver dagger towards his heart. But he is too quick. With unnatural speed, he sidesteps my attack, his hand shooting out to grab my wrist.

His grip is like a vise, crushing my bones. Pain explodes through my arm, and I gasp, dropping the dagger. It clatters to the stone floor, the sound echoing in the oppressive silence that follows.

"Foolish girl," he sneers, his eyes burning into mine. "Did you really think you could defeat me with that trinket?"

He tightens his grip, and I cry out in agony. My vision blurs, and I feel myself weakening, the darkness closing in.

"Now," he whispers, his voice a seductive caress, "it's time for you to embrace your destiny. Surrender to me, Evelyn. Become one with me, and together, we will unleash a new era of darkness upon this world."

I struggle against his hold, but it is no use. He is too strong, too powerful. I can feel his presence invading my mind, probing, searching, seeking a way in.

Images flash through my mind – Daniel, trapped and suffering; Thomas and Eliza, driven to madness; Abernathy and Davison, consumed by cruelty and despair. All victims of this entity, all stepping stones on its path to freedom.

And now, it wants me. It wants to use my strength, my will, to break free from its prison and unleash its evil upon the world.

I refuse. I will not become another victim. I will not let this entity win.

Drawing on the last reserves of my strength, I focus my mind, pushing back against the invading presence. It is like trying to hold back a tidal wave, but I refuse to give in.

I remember the bleach, the ammonia, the disinfectant – the concoction that temporarily banished the entity from Samuel's body. It was a desperate gamble, a lucky break. But it worked.

There must be something else, something else I can use, something else I can do.

My eyes dart around the chamber, searching for inspiration. The chains, the altar, the strange symbols carved into the walls… nothing.

Then, my gaze falls upon the silver locket lying on the floor, where it must have fallen from my pocket. The locket containing the portraits of Thomas and Eliza.

An idea sparks in my mind, a desperate, reckless plan. It is a long shot, but it might be my only chance.

"You want a vessel?" I gasp, my voice strained but defiant. "Then try taking this!"

With a surge of adrenaline, I wrench my arm free from his grasp and lunge for the locket. I snatch it from the floor and clutch it tightly in my hand.

The entity recoils, his eyes widening in surprise. "What… what are you doing?"

I ignore him, focusing all my energy on the locket. I remember the ghostly apparition I summoned in Room 217, the vision of Thomas and Eliza that revealed the hidden compartment.

I try to recreate that moment, to tap into the energy that connects the locket to the past. I close my eyes and picture Thomas and Eliza, their love, their fear, their desperate struggle against the entity.

I whisper their names, channeling their emotions, their memories, into the locket.

The chamber begins to tremble, the air crackling with energy. The lantern swings wildly, casting grotesque shadows across the walls.

And then, it happens.

A spectral image begins to form before me, a shimmering, translucent figure that flickers in and out of existence. It is Thomas, his face etched with terror, his eyes wide with fear.

Eliza!" he cries, his voice a mournful echo. "We have to stop it! We must protect the gateway!"

The entity roars in fury, its control over Samuel faltering. He stumbles back, clutching his head in agony.

"No!" he screams. "You can't interfere! This is my destiny!"

Thomas reaches out towards me, his spectral hand hovering over the locket. "The key, Evelyn," he whispers. "The key to the gateway… it's hidden within the bloodline."

His image fades, dissolving into the swirling shadows. But his words remain, echoing in my mind.

The bloodline… the key to the gateway…

What does it mean?

I look down at the locket, then back at the possessed Samuel, his body writhing in agony as the entity struggles to maintain control.

I do not understand what Thomas meant, but I know one thing: the locket is the key. It is the key to weakening the entity, to breaking its hold over Samuel, to saving Daniel.

And I am not afraid to use it.

I clutch the locket tighter, a surge of determination coursing through me. Thomas’s words echo in my mind: “The key to the gateway… it’s hidden within the bloodline.” My bloodline? Could it be that my connection to this place runs deeper than just Daniel’s disappearance? The thought is both terrifying and empowering. Samuel, or rather, the entity inhabiting him, staggers back, his grip on reality visibly weakening. He claws at his head, a guttural scream tearing from his throat. The chamber shakes, the lantern threatening to plunge us into darkness. This is my chance.

“What bloodline are you talking about, Thomas?” I shout into the swirling chaos, hoping that somehow, his spirit can still hear me. “What gateway?” The air crackles with an almost unbearable intensity, and for a moment, I feel a presence brush against my mind – a fleeting image of Thomas, younger, happier, standing with Eliza near a roaring fireplace. The Cliffside Hotel…it all comes back to the Cliffside Hotel.

Suddenly, I understand. The hotel itself. It is not just a building; it is a conduit, a focal point for this entity’s power. And the original owners, the builders… the bloodline that Thomas mentioned must be tied to the hotel’s very foundation. A realization dawns on me. The gateway is not a place; it is a lineage. A lineage of individuals connected to the hotel, individuals who can either empower or imprison the entity.

I look at the locket again, specifically at Eliza’s portrait. A faint, almost imperceptible shimmer surrounds her image. Eliza… she was more than just a victim. She was a guardian, a protector. And somehow, her essence is trapped within this locket.

“Eliza,” I whisper, focusing my gaze on her portrait. “Help me. Show me what to do.” As if in response, the locket grows warm in my hand, a gentle heat spreading through my palm and up my arm. Images flood my mind – symbols carved into the hotel’s stone, hidden passages behind walls, a network of ley lines converging beneath the foundation. It is overwhelming, disorienting, but amidst the chaos, one image stands out: a symbol etched into the hotel’s keystone – a symbol identical to a marking on the back of the locket.

The keystone. It must be the key. It is a physical manifestation of this bloodline connection, a direct link to the gateway Thomas spoke of. Without thinking, I turn my attention back to Samuel. The entity is regaining control, his movements becoming more purposeful, his eyes burning with renewed malice. I know I must act fast.

“You want a vessel?” I shout, my voice ringing with newfound confidence. “Fine. But you will have to go through her first.” I raise the locket high above my head, focusing all my energy, all my will, into the image of Eliza. “Eliza,” I cry. “Protect us!” A blinding light erupts from the locket, engulfing the chamber in its radiant glow. The entity screams, its hold on Samuel weakening. He stumbles, his body convulsing, as the light intensifies.

I can feel Eliza’s presence beside me now, a powerful, protective force shielding me from the entity’s wrath. It is a desperate gamble, a risky move that could backfire spectacularly. But I have no other choice. This entity has preyed on the weak for far too long. It is time to fight back. And with Eliza by my side, I might just stand a chance. The light intensifies, the chamber vibrating with an almost unbearable energy. The fate of Daniel, the fate of Samuel, the fate of the Cliffside Hotel itself, hangs in the balance.

As the blinding light from the locket intensifies, the entity lets out a final, ear-splitting shriek. The sound is a cacophony of rage, pain, and centuries of imprisoned fury. Then, just as suddenly as it began, the shrieking stops. The light fades, leaving behind an eerie silence. I lower the locket, my hand trembling, and slowly open my eyes. The chamber is still shrouded in shadow, but the oppressive darkness has lifted, replaced by a sense of… peace. Samuel stands before me, his body slumped, his eyes closed. He looks exhausted, drained, but… himself. The malevolent gleam is gone, replaced by a familiar vulnerability. ´Samuel? ´ I whisper, my voice hoarse. His eyelids flutter, and he slowly opens his eyes, focusing on me with a look of confusion. ´Evelyn? What… what happened? ´ He clutches his head, groaning softly. ´I… I do not remember. Just… flashes. Pain. Darkness. ´ He looks around the chamber, his eyes widening in horror as he takes in the blood-stained altar, the chains, the strange symbols etched into the walls.

´Where are we? What is this place? ´ I take a step towards him, relief flooding through me. ´You are safe, Samuel. You are free. The entity… it is gone. ´ As I speak the words, a wave of energy washes over the chamber, a palpable release of pent-up emotions. The chains rattle and fall to the floor, the books on the shelves seem to sigh with relief, and the air itself feels lighter, cleaner. I look around, noticing subtle changes I hadn´t perceived before. The shadows seem less menacing, the stone walls less oppressive. It´s as if the entire chamber is breathing a collective sigh of relief. And then, I see them. Faint, translucent figures begin to emerge from the shadows – wisps of light, shimmering silhouettes of faces I recognize from the hotel´s history. Mr. Abernathy, his cruel sneer replaced by a look of serene gratitude. Mrs. Davison, her eyes no longer filled with madness, but with a quiet understanding. Thomas and Eliza, hand in hand, their faces radiating love and peace. They are the trapped souls, the victims of the entity, finally released from their torment.

They glide through the chamber, their forms growing brighter and more defined as they approach us. They do not speak, but I can feel their gratitude, their thanks for freeing them from their eternal prison. Thomas steps forward, his gaze fixed on me. He reaches out a hand, offering me a gentle smile. ´Thank you, Evelyn, ´ he says, his voice a soft whisper that seems to echo in my mind. ´You have broken the cycle. You have freed us all. ´ He turns to Samuel; his eyes filled with compassion. ´Take care of her, Samuel. She is the key to the future. ´ With a final nod, he and Eliza join the other spirits, and together, they ascend, their forms dissolving into the light, rising towards the ceiling of the chamber, and disappearing. The chamber is silent once more, filled only with the soft glow of the lantern and the gentle hum of newfound peace. Samuel stares at the spot where the spirits vanished, his eyes wide with awe and disbelief. ´What… what was that? ´ he stammers, his voice barely a whisper. ´Who were they? ´ I take his hand, squeezing it gently. ´They were the trapped souls, Samuel. The victims of the entity. They are free now. All of them. ´ He looks at me, his eyes filled with a mixture of wonder and confusion.

´But… how? What did you do? ´ I smile, shaking my head. ´It is a long story, Samuel. A very long story. But the important thing is, it is over. It is finally over. ´ But is it really? The entity is gone, the trapped souls are freed, but what about Daniel? Where is he? And what role does he play in all of this? As I look around the chamber, I can´t shake the feeling that there is still something missing, something unresolved. The gateway… the bloodline… it all feels connected to Daniel somehow. The keystone… I need to find it. I know, deep down, that my journey is far from over.

The quiet hum of peace is immediately shattered by a bloodcurdling scream. Not a shriek of rage like the entity, but a desperate, human scream filled with raw terror. It echoes through the chamber, bouncing off the stone walls and sending shivers down my spine. Samuel flinches, grabbing my arm. ´What was that? ´ he whispers, his eyes wide with alarm.

I do not answer. I already know.

From the shadows near the altar, a figure stumbles forward. He is disoriented, his clothes are torn and dirty, and his face is pale and gaunt. But there is no mistaking who it is.

´Daniel? ´ I breathe, my voice trembling.

He does not seem to hear me. His eyes dart around the chamber, wild with panic. He lets out another scream, clutching his head as if trying to ward off an unseen attacker. ´Get away from me! Leave me alone! ´

He backs away from us, stumbling over the uneven floor, until he collides with one of the stone pillars. He slides down to the ground, curling into a fetal position, his body shaking uncontrollably.

´Daniel, it is me, Evelyn, ´ I say, taking a tentative step towards him. ´You are safe now. The entity is gone. ´

He looks up at me, his eyes filled with confusion and fear. ´Evelyn? What… what are you doing here? Where am I? ´

His voice is weak, raspy, barely a whisper. But it is him. It is really him.

I rush to his side, kneeling beside him. ´It is okay, Daniel. You are in the chamber beneath the hotel. But it is safe now. I promise. ´

I reach out to touch him, but he flinches away from me, his eyes widening with terror. ´Do not touch me! Do not come near me! ´

His reaction stops me cold. What happened to him? Why is he so scared? Is he still under the entity’s influence somehow?

´Daniel, what is wrong? What happened to you? ´ I ask, my voice filled with concern.

He looks at me, his eyes filled with a desperate plea. ´I… I do not know, Evelyn. I do not remember. I just… I woke up here. I feel… wrong. Like something is inside me. ´

His words send a chill down my spine. Something is inside him? Is it possible that the entity is not completely gone? That it somehow transferred itself into Daniel before it was banished?

´What do you mean, something is inside you? ´ I ask, my voice barely a whisper.

He clutches his head, groaning in pain. ´I do not know! I can feel it. A darkness… a presence. It is like it is trying to control me. ´

He looks up at me, his eyes filled with fear and desperation. ´Evelyn, you must help me. Please. I do not want to be like them. ´

Them? Who is he talking about? The possessed victims? Is he afraid of becoming like Mr. Abernathy or Mrs. Davison?

´Like who, Daniel? Like who do you not want to be like? ´ I ask, my heart pounding in my chest.

He does not answer. He just stares at me; his eyes filled with terror. Then, his body begins to convulse, his muscles twitching uncontrollably. He lets out a strangled cry, his voice distorted, inhuman.

´Evelyn… run! ´ he manages to gasp out before his eyes roll back in his head and he collapses to the ground, unconscious.

I stare at him, my mind racing. What just happened? Is he possessed again? Or is it something else entirely?

Samuel steps forward, his face pale with fear. ´Evelyn, what is happening to him? Is it… is it back? ´

I do not know. But I know one thing: I must protect Daniel. I must figure out what is wrong with him and find a way to save him.

But how? The entity is gone. Or is it? If it is still inside Daniel, how do I get rid of it without hurting him?

I look around the chamber, my eyes searching for answers. The altar, the chains, the symbols on the walls… is there something here that can help me?

And then, my gaze falls on the silver locket still clutched in my hand. Thomas and Eliza. They helped me banish the entity before. Can they help me now?

I take a deep breath, steeling my nerves. I do not know what is going to happen, but I must try. For Daniel.

I hold the locket out in front of me, focusing on the image of Thomas and Eliza, and close my eyes. ´Thomas, Eliza, I need your help, ´ I whisper, my voice trembling. ´My brother is in danger. The entity… I think it is still inside him. Please, help me save him. ´

A wave of cold air washes over me, and I feel a presence in the chamber, a familiar warmth that brings a sense of hope amidst the fear.

I open my eyes, and I see them. Thomas and Eliza. They stand before me, their translucent forms shimmering in the dim light, their eyes filled with compassion and determination.

´We are here, Evelyn, ´ Thomas says, his voice a soft whisper that echoes in my mind. ´We will help you save your brother. But be warned, the path ahead is fraught with danger. The entity is not truly gone. It is merely… weakened. And it will stop at nothing to regain its power. ´

Thomas nods towards Daniel’s unconscious form. ´The locket is a key, Evelyn, but it is also a conduit. Use it to sever the connection between your brother and the entity. Focus your will, your love for him, and channel it through the locket. Force the darkness out. ´ Eliza steps forward, her gaze gentle but firm. ´But be careful, Evelyn. The entity will resist. It will try to trick you, to deceive you. Do not listen to its lies. Trust in your heart, trust in the power of the locket, and trust in us. ´ I take a deep breath, steeling my resolve. This is it. This is my chance to save Daniel. I hold the locket tightly in my hand, focusing all my energy, all my love for my brother, into the small piece of silver. I kneel beside him, placing the locket on his chest, directly over his heart. I close my eyes, picturing Daniel in my mind, his smiling face, his kind heart, his unwavering loyalty. I focus on the bond we share, the unbreakable connection between us. And then, I begin to chant, my voice a soft whisper at first, but growing stronger with each word. ´I banish you from this vessel. I sever your connection to my brother. You have no power here. Leave him, and never return. ´ As I chant, the chamber fills with a blinding light, emanating from the locket. I can feel the entity fighting back, its presence growing stronger, its energy swirling around me like a tempest. But I hold firm, focusing all my will on banishing it from Daniel’s body. Suddenly, a voice echoes in my mind, a voice filled with malice and rage.

´You cannot defeat me, Evelyn. I am too strong. I am eternal. I will never let him go. ´ I ignore the voice, refusing to succumb to its lies. I continue to chant, my voice growing louder, more forceful. The light intensifies, and I can feel the entity weakening, its power diminishing with each passing moment. The locket begins to vibrate in my hand, and I can feel a surge of energy flowing through me, a surge of power that strengthens my resolve. ´No! ´ the voice screams, its tone desperate, defeated. ´You cannot do this to me! I will have my revenge! ´ And then, silence. The light fades, the energy dissipates, and the entity is gone. I collapse to the ground, exhausted but triumphant. I open my eyes, and I see Thomas and Eliza standing before me, their forms shimmering with pride and gratitude. ´You have done it, Evelyn, ´ Thomas says, his voice filled with admiration. ´You have banished the entity, once and for all. ´ Eliza smiles, her eyes filled with compassion. ´Your love for your brother is stronger than any darkness. Never forget that. ´ With a final nod, they begin to fade away, their forms dissolving into the light. ´Thank you, ´ I whisper, my voice hoarse. ´Thank you for everything. ´ They smile, and then they are gone, leaving me alone in the chamber with Samuel and Daniel. I turn my attention to my brother, my heart pounding in my chest. He is still unconscious, but his breathing is steady, his body relaxed. I reach out and gently shake him, my voice filled with hope. ´Daniel? Daniel, can you hear me? ´ His eyelids flutter, and he slowly opens his eyes, focusing on me with a look of confusion.

´Evelyn? What… what happened? ´ He looks around the chamber, his eyes widening in surprise. ´Where am I? How did I get here? ´ I smile, relief washing over me. He is back. He is back. ´You are safe now, Daniel, ´ I say, my voice trembling with emotion. ´You are in the chamber beneath the hotel. But the entity is gone. It is finally over. ´ He looks at me, his eyes filled with a mixture of confusion and disbelief. ´The entity? What are you talking about? ´ I take his hand, squeezing it gently. ´It is a long story, Daniel. A very long story. But the important thing is, you are safe now. You are free. ´ He looks at me, his eyes searching mine, and I can see the flicker of recognition, the glimmer of understanding. ´Evelyn… what did you do? ´ I smile, shaking my head. ´I saved you, Daniel. That is all that matters. ´ He sits up, looking around the chamber, taking in the blood-stained altar, the chains, the strange symbols etched into the walls. ´This place… it feels… familiar, ´ he says, his voice barely a whisper. ´Like I have been here before. ´ I nod, my heart aching for him. He has been here before, but he does not remember. The entity stole his memories, his experiences, his very self. But now, he is back.

And I am going to make sure he never forgets who he is again. Samuel steps forward, his face filled with relief and gratitude. ´Thank you, Evelyn, ´ he says, his voice trembling with emotion. ´You saved him. You saved all of us. ´ I smile, shaking my head. ´We saved each other, Samuel. We did it together. ´ I look at Daniel, my heart filled with love and hope. The entity is gone, the trapped souls are freed, and my brother is back. It is finally over. Or is it? As I look around the chamber, I can´t shake the feeling that there is still something missing, something unresolved. The gateway… the bloodline… it all feels connected somehow. And what about the keystone? Is it still hidden somewhere in the hotel? I know, deep down, that my journey is far from over. There are still mysteries to be solved, still secrets to be uncovered. But for now, I can rest. For now, I can celebrate. For now, I can simply be grateful that my brother is alive and safe. I stand up, taking Daniel’s hand, and help him to his feet. ´Come on, Daniel, ´ I say, smiling. ´Let us get out of here. Let us go home. ´

Home. The word hangs in the air, a promise of warmth, safety, and normalcy. As we leave the subterranean chamber, Samuel leading the way, a sense of lightness permeates the air. The oppressive atmosphere that had clung to the Cliffside Hotel for so long seems to have dissipated, replaced by a sense of…resolution. We emerge into the lobby, and the sight that greets us is a stark contrast to the chaos and despair we had witnessed before. The furniture is no longer overturned, the shadows no longer menacing. The air is clean, fresh, and free of the oppressive scent of decay. Mr. Abernathy and Mrs. Davison are nowhere to be seen, their tormented souls finally at peace. As we step outside the hotel, the sun shines brightly, casting a warm glow over the landscape. The ocean sparkles, the birds sing, and the world seems to breathe a collective sigh of relief. Daniel takes a deep breath, his eyes widening with wonder.

´It is beautiful, ´ he whispers, his voice filled with awe. ´I have not seen it like this in… I do not know how long.´ I smile, squeezing his hand. ´You are back, Daniel. You are back. ´ He looks at me, his eyes filled with gratitude and love. ´Thank you, Evelyn, ´ he says, his voice trembling with emotion. ´Thank you for saving me. For never giving up on me. ´ I shake my head, tears welling up in my eyes. ´I would do anything for you, Daniel. You are my brother. ´ Samuel stands beside us, his face beaming with happiness. ´Well, I do not know about you two, but I could sure use a stiff drink, ´ he says, his voice filled with cheer. ´How about we head into town and celebrate? My treat. ´ We all laugh, the sound echoing in the clear, crisp air. It is a sound of hope, of joy, of newfound freedom.

As we walk away from the Cliffside Hotel, hand in hand, I can feel the weight of the past lifting from my shoulders. The entity is gone, the trapped souls are freed, and my brother is back. We did it. We finally did it. We head into town, where we spend the rest of the day celebrating our victory. We laugh, we drink, we dance, and we share stories of our past, our present, and our future. Daniel slowly begins to piece together the fragments of his memory, recalling moments from his childhood, his travels, his life before the entity took hold. It is a slow process, but with each passing day, he grows stronger, more confident, more like himself. As the days turn into weeks, and the weeks into months, life slowly returns to normal. The Cliffside Hotel is closed; its dark secrets finally laid to rest. The townspeople begin to heal, their memories of the entity’s reign of terror fading into the background. Samuel returns to his life, finding love, happiness, and a newfound sense of purpose. And Daniel and I… we rebuild our lives, stronger and more connected than ever before.

We travel the world, exploring new places, meeting new people, and creating new memories. We never forget what happened at the Cliffside Hotel, but we do not let it define us. We learn from it, we grow from it, and we use it as a reminder to cherish every moment, every relationship, every breath. Years pass, and we grow old together, surrounded by love, laughter, and happiness. We never lose touch with Samuel, who becomes a lifelong friend, a part of our family. And as we sit on the porch of our cozy little house, watching the sunset paint the sky with vibrant colors, I cannot help but smile. We did it. We faced our fears, we overcame our challenges, and we found our happy ending. The entity is gone, the trapped souls are freed, and my brother is back. And that is all that matters.