Room 307
Jack had never believed in ghost stories.
He was twenty-six years old, practical, and desperate for a job. So when he was offered the position of night receptionist at the old Blackwood Hotel, he accepted without hesitation.
The hotel stood alone in the middle of a forest, miles away from the nearest town. It had once been famous, but after a mysterious fire nearly forty years earlier, very few people visited. Most guests were travelers who needed a place to sleep for one night before continuing their journey.
On his first evening, the elderly manager handed Jack an old ring of keys.
"There is only one rule," the manager said in a calm voice. "Never enter Room 307."
Jack laughed.
"What if a guest asks for it?"
"They won't."
"And if they do?"
"They'll leave before sunset."
Jack assumed the old man was trying to scare the new employee.
That night was unusually quiet.
Rain tapped against the windows while the ancient grandfather clock echoed through the empty lobby.
At exactly 12:00 a.m., the telephone rang.
Jack answered.
Silence.
Then...
A woman's voice whispered so softly he almost couldn't hear it.
"Please... help me."
The line went dead.
Jack checked the caller ID.
It simply read:
Room 307.
He frowned.
