The Chair in Room 13

There was nothing remarkable about Room 13 at the Briarwood Inn. Faded wallpaper, a dusty lamp, and a single wooden chair by the window. Guests rarely requested the room, not because of superstition, but because it felt... off. Cold, even in summer. Quiet, even when the street outside buzzed with life.

The chair was old—oak, carved with strange symbols no one could quite identify. It never moved, never creaked. But every guest who stayed in Room 13 reported the same thing: they dreamed of sitting in the chair. And in the dream, they couldn’t get up.

One night, a travel blogger named Lena checked in, intrigued by the rumors. She set up her camera, determined to debunk the myth. “It’s just a chair,” she laughed, livestreaming to her followers.

At 2:13 AM, her stream went dark.

The next morning, the innkeeper found Lena in the chair, eyes wide open, unmoving. Her body was cold, but her lips were curled into a faint smile. The camera was still recording—except the footage showed Lena sitting down... and then vanishing. No cut. No glitch. Just gone.

The chair was empty.

Since then, Room 13 has been locked. But sometimes, late at night, passersby say they see a faint glow from the window. And if you listen closely, you might hear the soft scrape of wood against floorboards... as if the chair is waiting for someone new.