I Woke Up Where My Nightmare Ended

I recognized the motel the moment I saw it.

It stood in the end of a rainy road, partially hidden among skinny trees. The red neon sign above the motel office was blinking steadily.

VACANCY.

VACANCY.

VACANCY.

The building looked abandoned, lost to time. Its windows were dark. No cars were parked near the entrance. Water trickled down the cracked asphalt in narrow silver lines.

Just like every night, the brass key to Room 7 was hanging in my right hand.

It was old. The plastic tag attached to it was yellow with age. Its black letters were barely readable.

I wanted to throw it, but my fingers refused to obey.

The door to the motel office creaked under my touch. The rusty bell above the entry rang once.

No one greeted me at the counter. All that was there – a guest book lit by a green desk lamp.

My name was listed in it.

Evan Miller.

The ink on the page was still fresh.

Somebody made noises from the corridor beyond the office.

Knocking three times.

I turned towards the door despite my every instinct urging otherwise.

At the other end of the corridor stood open slightly Room 7.

From within, somebody said my name.

"Ev-an."

I woke up choking.

The darkness was still filling the room and my shirt was drenched with sweat. The rain was tapping against the window in the same rhythmic pattern.

But the smell of it all was familiar.

Wet carpet.

Musty smell.

Something sour hidden underneath.

I reached for the lamp and knocked my phone to the ground in the process.

"G-r-e-at," I whispered to myself.

As I picked the phone up, my fingers touched something metallic in the dark.

I froze.

Very slowly, I brought what I held out of the shadows and into the light.

Brass key to Room 7.

Again, I sat still until sunrise.

I told myself that it must be explained somehow. Perhaps it belonged to my landlord or was left when I moved in, or I must have seen it before. I convinced myself of any number of reasons, but I knew that they were lies.

Throughout the day, the key stayed in my jacket pocket. I told myself that I took it to show it to somebody. Nobody saw it in the end.

During lunchtime, my friend Lisa dropped by my desk with a mug of coffee.

"You look terrible," she said.

"Thanks."

"I meant it seriously. Did you sleep?"

"Not really."

She leaned closer to me. "Nightmare again?"

I mentioned it once to her after my shift and a few drinks. Not the full story, just enough for her to laugh it off and tell me to stop eating cold pizza before sleeping.

"Yeah," I replied. "The same one."

"The creepy motel?" she asked with a smile, then frowned when she noticed my face.

"What happened?"

Without hesitation, I took the key from the pocket and put it on the desk.

She stopped smiling.

"Where did you get it?"

"It appeared when I woke up this morning," I told her.

"In your apartment?"

"Yes."

"I told you, it's not funny," she said seriously.

"I'm not trying to be funny."

She stared at the key.

"Room 7," she whispered.

The lights above our heads flickered once.

Once only.

She looked at me. Then at the key. "Throw it away."

"I tried," I admitted. "Before work."

"You threw it?" she asked, her voice lowering.

"Yeah."

"Why do you still have it?"

I didn't answer.

Later, on my way home, I kept finding myself staring at the key. The key kept disappearing – I had thrown it out again when I left work. And it was back when I parked the car near my apartment.

This time I couldn't bear it anymore. I nearly stopped the car right there and left the city in search of answers, but it kept calling me.

I parked at home, but couldn't stay there long. The key was calling me.

I drove through the silent streets in the direction of nowhere.

My phone buzzed with an incoming message.

Unknown Number.

I ignored it.

It didn't help.

Another message followed.

YOU LEFT BEFORE CHECK-IN.

The key in the cup holder jingled softly.

Then – a message.

ROOM 7 IS READY.

The car stopped abruptly.

The horns from other cars started honking. Somebody was cursing loudly from behind. I got back to my senses and moved to the roadside. While looking at the messages with growing unease, I heard the sound of my phone opening.

GPS activated.

Destination: Hollow Creek Motel.

Travel Time: 46 minutes.

I had never entered this address into my phone. I had never heard this place before.

A logical part of my brain was screaming at me to leave, find Lisa, or call the police. Another part – whispering that it's real.

I drove.

Lights of the city disappeared behind me soon enough. Ahead, the road narrowed and was surrounded with dense foliage on both sides. Rain started falling, slowly becoming heavier, drumming on my windshield like fingernails.

After about 40 minutes of driving, the lights of the motel appeared.

VACANCY.

VACANCY.

VACANCY.

Hollow Creek Motel was exactly how I dreamed it to be.

I parked my car in front of it.

For a while, I sat motionlessly inside. Then the radio switched itself on.

Static was buzzing throughout the speakers.

Then – a whispering from beneath.

"E-van."

I opened the door and got out.

It was cold and raining heavily. The door to the office was unlocked, the bell was ringing furiously.

The green light from the desk lamp illuminated the room and the guestbook. On the last page was the familiar signature.

Ev-an Mill-e-r.

With a timestamp.

11:47 PM.

I looked at my watch.

11:47 PM.

A wooden floor board creaked behind me.

I turned around sharply.

No one there.

Behind me, the corridor stretched with its long brown doors, red carpet soaked with rain water. There was nobody there, but I could see everything clearly even though the ceiling above it was perfectly dry.

Room 7 stood wide open.

The key trembled in my hand.

"Hey?" I called out.

Silence.

"A-n-y-b-o-d-y?" I asked again, my voice sounding smaller.

Somewhere from behind the door came the reply.

"Finally."

It was my voice.

I tried to turn around but was blocked by the slamming door. The bell was ringing loudly, desperately.

I ran towards the door.

It wouldn't budge. The lights in the corridor started turning off and on.

Room 7 was widening, beckoning me.

Inside – the darkness of Room 7 was breathing.

Somehow, without knowing why I did it, I stepped inside.

The door clicked softly after me.

Room 7 smelled the same way it was supposed to. A mattress squeaked beneath my feet. Near the wall stood a bed, covered with blanket. A weak yellow glow of a bedside lamp created an eerie atmosphere, broken by gray static of the muted TV. Somebody was sleeping under the blanket.

A pale hand appeared from under the blanket. My heart stopped.

"P-lease wake up," I whispered quietly.

Nothing happened.

I came closer, reaching out my hand.

I found my scar on the person's hand.

It was me.

I pulled the blanket and found myself lying in the bed, asleep, as if under some spell.

And then screamed in horror.

Waking up in my own room.

At the sight of brown ceiling and green neon sign.

I woke up in Room 7 again.

I opened my eyes.

On the nightstand was the familiar brass key.

On it – a note, written in wet black ink:

You were never dreaming.

Three knocks came from the corridor.

Followed by whispers.

"Check-in is completed."