They gave Sam a room key without a number.
The hallway was dim, the carpet patterned with dizzying spirals. He counted the doors until he found one slightly ajar.
Inside, the air was cold enough to see his breath. The furniture was covered in sheets, as if no one had stayed there in years.
He set his bag down and noticed the bathroom door slowly swinging open.
“Hello?” he called.
“You’re late.” A reply from darkness.
The door slammed shut.
When Sam yanked it open, the bathroom was empty — except for a cracked mirror reflecting the hallway behind him.
Only… in the reflection, the door number read 653.
And in the real hallway, there was no door at all.
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