The Lurking Presence in Room 13: The Haunting of the Haunted Hotel

The air was thick with the scent of decay, and the shadows cast by the flickering candlelight seemed to dance and move with an eerie life of their own. The hotel manager, a wiry man with a weathered face, stood at the front desk, his eyes darting nervously between the guests as he spoke in a hushed tone.

"Welcome to the Haunted Hotel," he said, his voice tinged with both excitement and trepidation. "This place has a history like no other. Many say it's haunted, but it's the stories of Room 13 that have people talking."

Room 13 was the hotel's most infamous suite, rumored to be the site of a tragic double-suicide decades ago. The walls were peeling, the floorboards creaked ominously, and the air was heavy with a sense of foreboding. The tourists, a group of adventurous souls, exchanged glances but agreed to take the manager up on his offer.

As they ascended the creaky staircase, the manager's words echoed in their minds. "Room 13 has a way of pulling you in. Once you're there, it's as if you can't leave."

The group reached the door to Room 13, its handle cold to the touch. The manager turned the knob, and the door swung open with a sound like a whisper. The room was small, with a single bed, a table, and two chairs. The only other feature was a large, ornate mirror on the wall, its surface cracked and foggy.

"Stay together," the manager warned. "And whatever you do, don't look into the mirror."

The tourists entered, their eyes wide with curiosity and a touch of fear. The manager left them standing in the middle of the room, the candlelight flickering around them.

The first night was uneventful, save for the odd creaking sound that seemed to come from the walls. But as the night wore on, strange things began to happen. Objects would move of their own accord, the temperature would shift suddenly, and whispers would echo through the room.

"Who's there?" one of the tourists called out, their voice trembling.

The whispers grew louder, more insistent. They seemed to be coming from the mirror, which now stood open to the room. The tourists exchanged nervous glances and approached the mirror, their eyes drawn to the reflection that now appeared to be staring back at them.

As they drew closer, the reflection seemed to change. The eyes that once seemed lifeless now held a spark of recognition. The faces of the tourists melted away, replaced by the pale, haunted faces of the hotel's previous guests.

"Run!" someone shouted, but it was too late. The mirror began to glow with a strange, pulsating light, and the tourists were drawn to it, as if by an invisible force.

When they awoke, they found themselves back in the hotel lobby, the manager standing before them with a look of horror on his face.

"Where did you go?" he asked, his voice trembling.

The tourists looked at each other, confused. "We were just in our room," one of them replied.

The manager shook his head. "No, you were in Room 13. But it's not there anymore. It was... destroyed."

The tourists exchanged glances, their minds racing. The manager's words made sense now. The mirror had been the key, the conduit through which they had been transported into the past. But what had happened to Room 13?

The manager led them to the hotel's archive room, where they found a photograph of Room 13 as it once was. The mirror was missing, replaced by a large, open space. The hotel had been rebuilt, and Room 13 was no more.

The tourists left the hotel, their minds still haunted by the events of the night. They knew they had witnessed something extraordinary, something that had changed their understanding of reality. But what had they really seen, and where had Room 13 gone?

The hotel manager watched them go, a shadow of a smile on his lips. He had seen it all before, and he knew that Room 13 would return, waiting for its next victims.