Whispers from Room 313

When Ethan checked into the old Hillcrest Motel, the front desk clerk warned him: “Don’t mind the whispers if you’re in Room 313.” Ethan laughed it off, thinking it was just local folklore.

That night, as rain tapped against the window, he heard it — soft whispers, like dozens of voices overlapping in a language he couldn’t understand. When he turned on the lights, the room fell silent. But every time the lights went off, the whispers grew louder, angrier.

At 3:13 AM, the bathroom mirror fogged up on its own. Written across the glass was: “You shouldn’t have come.” Ethan fled the motel, leaving his belongings behind.

The next morning, the maid found Room 313 completely empty, except for the mirror — where his name had been etched in fresh, red letters.