Bea and Emma had grown up finishing each other’s sentences, but on nights like this, fatigue made them quiet side by side, as if silence itself was another language they shared.

The wallpaper, peeling off the edges, clung to the walls, scarred by decades of visitors. A chandelier hung overhead, its crystals catching only the faintest glimmer of light, swaying slightly as if remembering livelier days. The woman at the desk gave them a quick glance, noticing the same tired eyes, though one carried more caution than the other.

There was only one room available, room 101. Only allowed to house one person. No exceptions, said the woman at the front desk, her eyes sharp. “There’s an attic room only accessible by an old lift, if you’re desperate.”

They were the kind of desperation that made silence loud and heavy. Soon, they decided that Bea should take the proper room while Emma took the attic. They parted with a brief hug.

Emma soon found the door to the elevator and pressed the button. As she waited, she dug her thumbnail into the pad of her index finger, like she always did when faced with discontent. Emma looked up at the door and fixed her eyes on the vision panel set in it. A sliver of shadowed space seemed to greet her eyes, a dark, watchful slit that seemed to peer back.

Her fingers curled around the door handle; the metal bit into her touch, stealing warmth and leaving a chill lingering in her palm. She pulled the door open, revealing a collapsible gate behind it. She tugged at it, each hinge groaning as if complaining at the disturbance.

The elevator yawned, swallowing Emma as she stepped in. The air was thick with a musty smell of aged wood and a metallic tang that curled around her nostrils, like an old library left to rot.

Shadows clung to the corners while a circular light hung in the ceiling, struggling to pierce the darkness, casting reflections on the polished wooden panels that rippled like a restless liquid surface.

The floor was overtaken by a carpet, worn and dusty, a ghost of its former elegance. A short vintage bench sat against the back wall, crowned with bolster ends, hinting at grace, but the fabric of the cushion was faded and stained.

Emma felt a bitter taste in her mouth, coating her tongue without warning, as she shut the collapsible gate and pressed the third floor button.

Through the gaps of the gate, she stared at the imperfections of the walls of the building that passed by. The floor below stripped away, and the building seemed to stretch beneath her. Every creak and groan of the machinery resonated through her bones, a reminder that the cage she stood in was suspended high above the ground.

Finally, the lift reached the third floor, releasing her not into safety but into the waiting teeth of unseen peril. Emma opened the door, revealing a large room overtaken completely by darkness. The faint light in the elevator did little to push back the gloom.

Suddenly, a figure rushed through the shadows, pounding against the wooden floor, rippling through the silence. Tension grew on her forehead. It almost seemed like someone she had just seen in the lobby, but that would be impossible. The exhaustion that had once owned her vanished, replaced by cold fear. She slowly turned to see a corded telephone hanging on the wall like a relic. She lifted the receiver and dialed 101.

It rang.

She turned her head slowly, dread pooling in her stomach. The figure was still, just a few meters away. Watching.

It was Bea, the same dark curls slipped across her cheeks. Except, there was something wrong. Something Emma could not quite place.

A scream roared inside of her but got caught in her throat.

“Hello?” a voice echoed through the receiver.

Her own voice was nearly a whisper. “S-somethings… Something is wrong. W-who is this?” She gripped the phone tighter, eyes fixed forward.

“It’s Bea Goulder. I’m in room 101, is everything okay?”