I awoke with a startled gasp. My room was pitch black. Drenched in sweat, I threw the blanket off of myself and proceeded to climb out. I had hoped to collect my thoughts before, hopefully, returning to sleep. I was in no particular rush. I opened my bedroom door, and walked the short distance down the hall to the nearby bathroom.
Though I was afforded the option of any of the bedrooms in the house, including the master with its associated bath, I chose the room on the second at the end of the hall for several reasons. One, it seemed strangely closed off from the rest of the house, located at the end of a long hallway, that oddly enough, only contained one other room, a small restroom, in which I was presently located. Secondly, unlike the rest of the house which was lavishly and richly decorated, the bedroom at the end of the hall had only the very basic amenities: a bed, a small writing desk wth lamp and chair, and a dresser with two large cabinets for coats and pressed shirts. When I questioned my host on the absense of a closet, he was not able to give an answer; he shrugged and instead offered to show me another room. I would have nothing of it, of course. I enjoyed the privacy and coziness of the room and immediately set about unpacking my things.
I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror. Though I had only been here afew days, signs were starting to becoem evident. Bloodshot eyes; long, thin creases along the cheek. Gaunt and ghostly pallor. Though it had only been a few days ,the room was taking its toll.
Every night since my arrival, I had found it increasingly difficult, nay, impossible, to sleep. The problem was not the bed, as though it was not decorated as such, it had a luxurious and firm feel, comparable to the bedding one would expect to find in the classiest hotel. Even the pillow, propped lazily against the headboard, was a soft marshmallow cloud. Every night my entire body was encased in utmost comfort from head to toe. Nay, the bed was not the problem.
The problem, I had recently deduced, was the room itself. For some reason, the lonely room at the end of the hall did not take kindly to visitors. The first night was relatively tame. Creaks, groans, the sounds one would typically experience in a house this old. Still, their constant and seemingly non-random nature meant I only managed a combined total of half an hour of sleep through the night. Just as my mind would shutdown and succumb to the nighttime ritual, the room would groan, or squeak, or any of a variety of “settling” sounds, and snap me back awake. I questioned the other patrons the next morning at breakfast and they all remarked how wonderfully they all slept. None of them had heard a thing.
As the days progressed, the battle got tougher. The second night, I donned a pair of earmuffs, hoping to drown out the majority of the noise. Though the wailings of the room were still bothersome, the earmuffs did the job good enoguh to where I was, at first, able to rest. Not half an hour later, I was awakened by the most horible, rancid stench I had ever had the displeasure of experiencing. It was like a thick fog of decay, and it threatened to suffocate me. I desperately tried to pry open the window, but the latch was stuck. Frustrated, I fled the room and waited for the smell to dissipate on its own. I relaxed in the study, poring over several random books on Ancient Sumerian history, and checked on the room periodically. The horrendous odor only left when the first rays of light poured in.
By the third night, I was starting to dread the very act of sleep itself. Ironic, considering how frayed my nerves were and how exhuasted my mind and body were. I thought momentarily of relocating, maybe asking for one of the rooms located near the study so that I might continue my research from the previous night, but I quickly dismissed the idea. I would beat this room, and I would enjoy a simple night's rest within its walls!
So, I tried to prepare as best I could. I put on my ear muffs, lit several scented candles, and checked the latch on the window. Not knowing what the room had planned for me, I drifted quickly off to sleep.
The room played its cruelest trick yet, and I sincerely hoped it to be its last. It assaulted my already fragile mind with thoughts and visions so abysmal and revolting, I dare not chronicle them here for fear of being condemned to hell for mentioning them!
I don't know how long I stood staring at myself in the bathroom mirror, but I do know I was still determined to beat that accursed room. It was no longer about merely sleeping, but a contest of man versus the unknown. Nothing short of Death's cold embrace would cause me to give up! I'm sure I looked quite the fool cautiously walking into the room while simultaneously attemtpting to hold onto the last shreds of my sanity and dignity, but I did not care anymore. The groans and moans started almost instantly, taking on a far more sinister tone. Gone were the familiar creaks of boards, now replaced with a low, animalistic growl and a faint, high pitched shriek. The foul stench was back, more overpowering than before, filling the room with the smell of an ancient graveyard defiled by some unholy desecration. My mind reeled, and I swear I saw movement in my peripheal vision. I whirled around and saw nothing, but another flicker of movement sent me whirling back, and back again. My heart raced, and my head ached. Damn this devil room! Another flicker of movement. Whirl! I would catch the swift b*****d. There it goes again the other way! There was something, something in the room with me that didn't want me to get a good look at it but wanted to be known in a vague sense. Creaks and groans and shrieks and now laughter, a low rumbling laughter, mocking. That mocking, evil laughter. More movement, behind, and that choking, suffocating, stench! I could stand it no longer! I reached for the door. I pulled, and I pushed, and I strained and I screamed and I cursed. I beat my fist on the thick wood until I had no strength left, calling out until my voice was nothing more than a hoarse whisper, all the while being mocked by movement and creaks and laughter. My nose and lungs stung from the smell, and my heart threatened to explode from anxiety and terror. Finally, I collapsed against the door, exhausted and beaten. Silence filled the room, as if a switch had suddenly been triggered, even thoguh that god-awful smell was stil lthere. I saw movement again, but nothing hidden this time; the cabinet doors swung open to reveal a half decomposed, maggot ridden corspse, its jaw dangling loosely by one hinge and what little flesh was lefton the face. Though the corpse no longer had eyes, the deep, dark sockets pierced and froze me to my very core. The room had called my bluff—it employed Death himself to thwart me!
![[send message]](https://www.writerscafe.org/images/mail.png){kind=small}
![[befriend]](https://www.writerscafe.org/images/friend.png){kind=small}
Share This
Email
Facebook
Twitter
Read Request
My Library
Flag Writing