The Whitmore Hotel – Part 3

At this point in my tenure at the Whitmore Hotel, I was very cautious. Nothing directly dangerous had happened to me yet, so I had no reason to believe I was in any danger. I have always been a believer in the paranormal, so the fact that there were strange things happening didn’t necessarily cause a deep rooted worry in me, so much as it caused some definite standalone frights.

I had avoided the third floor of the hotel as much as I possibly could since the event I wrote about as well as a few other, smaller instances had occurred (if anyone would like a quick write up tomorrow of the other small things that happened on the third floor before the renovations were finished, please let me know in the comments). If assistance was needed on the third floor, I generally handed off the responsibility to one of my coworkers without explaining why. No one else had ever had any bad experiences up there, so they didn’t question it too much, aside from assuming I was being lazy. But sure enough, something happened when I was alone on a night shift and I got a call from the third floor.

It was a Wednesday night, about 2am. I was sitting back, relaxing behind the front desk when a call came in. Room 325. I answered the phone while simultaneously checking the computer to make sure someone was in fact staying in that particular room that night. All checked out. The man asked for more towels to be left outside his door. I set the voicemail message stating I would be back in 10 minutes or less, and set out a sign saying the same. I went to the storage area and grabbed a handful of towels.

I made my way up to the third floor, and knew exactly where room 325 was, considering its close proximity to the room that had been ever present in nightmares past. I apprehensively strolled down the hall, which, although now properly lit, still gave me a feeling of uneasiness. Nonetheless, I set the towels on the floor, knocked twice on the door, and made my way back down the hall. I turned around for whatever reason, and the towels were gone. No door opening and closing, nothing. I chalked it up to me just not hearing it and went about my night.

About 5 minutes after I got back to the desk, I got another call. This time, it was the dreaded room 323. I let it ring through, because I knew for a fact that no one was in that room tonight. The phone never went to voicemail. It must have rang 30 times before a sickening mix of anxiety and curiosity got the best of me and I answered the phone. I didn’t say anything.

“…hello?” said the voice on the other side.

Since it sounded like a normal voice, and nothing otherworldly as I had convinced myself it would, I entertained the notion that this might be something rationally explainable.

“H–Hi, this is Nick at the front desk how may I–” I was cut off.

“I asked for more towels.”

“Yes sir, I dropped more towels outside of room 325 just a few minutes ago.” I replied.

“When I say I need more towels, I don’t mean I need a towel or two grabbed off the nearest rack, I mean I need a bunch of fucking towels.” The man’s gravelly voice roared at me.

“Okay si–” cut off once again.

“And leave them in front of the right room this time.” The line clicked indicating I’d just been hung up on.

This call more so confused than frightened me. Some many questions were raised: Did the previous call really come from 323 and I just absentmindedly didn’t notice? Who grabbed the towels from 325? He implied he’d gotten the few from in front of 325, but I know in the time I left them there and looked back, he couldn’t have gotten them from 323 and back in time without me at least hearing the one step it would take to get there, much less the door opening and closing. I checked the computer log for room 323, and it showed the room was empty.

I was once again on high alert. I resolved to leave the towels outside room 325 again, so I didn’t have to stand in front of 323 for even a split second. I would deal with the potentially angry guest again if need be.

I made my way to the third floor, and as I walked down, nothing was amiss. I set the abundance of towels down in front of room 325, and the moment they touched the carpet, the lights went out. Not all of them, mind you. Just every light between the light at either end of the hall. I was frozen in panic. A million situations raced through my mind before I snapped out of it. As I turned to run, every light in the hallway swelled to an impossible brightness, in a blinding flash that left me disoriented. All I really recall is that I ran backwards down the hall, weary of whatever might exit room 323 to devour me, or whatever would happen. One things stuck out in my mind though, and that was that the towels were already gone.

I sprinted back to the front desk, where luckily there was a walk-in guest who made casual conversation and took my mind off of things, if only for a few minutes. Once they were on their way to their room, I snapped right back to it. I don’t know at what point it happened, but something clicked in my mind. I hastily ran my fingers along the clacking keyboard and checked the room log for 325. It was being occupied by a Mario Kennedy. The name stuck out like a sore thumb. Before I could figure out what to do with the information, the phone rang. Luckily it was from room 225, so I wouldn’t have to make my way back up to that damned third floor hallway. Unfortunately, they were complaining about a strange noise coming from above them. I told them I would call the room and ask them to keep it down. I figured I can’t be harmed through a phone call, right?

I dialed room 325 and was met with an answer before the first ring even began. It was a woman.

“Hello?”

“Yeah, hi, this is the front desk. The guests in the room below you just called to complain about a strange noise coming from above them, which would be your room. This is just a courtesy call to please ask you to resolve whatever is causing the excess noise.”

“Oh of course!” replied the oddly chipper young woman, whose voice I know I’d heard before.

“Thank–” and the line clicked. These people really didn’t like saying goodbye.

The next hour or so went by without incident. I got up to go to the bathroom, and when I came back, there were two guest checkout envelopes. One from room 323, the other, room 325. Neither had any comments written down, but every critique had been marked 4 (satisfactory).

I wrestled with the idea of going up to see if it looked as if no one had been in the rooms for what felt like an eternity, before something inside me said it was safe. I ventured my way up, making sure all the lights were on first. I got to room 325, still unsure if I had the guts to go into 323. What I was hoping for did not come true. The moment I opened the door, red emanated from the room, but not like it did from 323. This was blood. I only the door a few inches and all I could see was red, all over everything. That was enough for me. I sprinted back to the desk and immediately called the police.

They arrived, and went up to room 325. They checked it, and surprise surprise, they found nothing. Then the checked 323, and found the vast number of towels in the bathtub, soaking wet. Finally, some evidence that someone had been in there. They checked the camera footage, but it never showed me taking up the towels in the first place. I once again apologized, which was met with positive reactions from the once again understanding police.

I sat back down at the computer, where I had just tried to show the police the Mario Kennedy reservation, which of course wasn’t there. I moved the mouse from the screensaver, and there it was. A picture of room 325, covered in blood. In the corner of the room, stood a young man and woman, covered head to toe in blood. All I could discern from the flood of red around them was their impossibly bright eyes and teeth. They had hideous grins on their faces. I quickly closed the horrifying picture. I looked up from the desk to find the two of them, standing there, covered in blood, grinning, and breathing heavily. I blacked out.

Next thing I know, I was being cared for by EMT’s. I asked what happened, and one of the police officers said as he was walking back in to get my signature on the statement I had just made, that I stood frozen at the desk for about 10 seconds, then fainted. I have no recollection of that whatsoever.

This was the first instance that truly rattled me to my core. I was hesitant to keep working there. So I compromised. I took a week vacation, during which time not one strange thing happened to me. I figured I was getting stressed from working so many night shifts, with some day shifts thrown in there as if to make for certain I wouldn’t get a proper amount of sleep. I did however, spend this week digging much deeper into the Whitmore Hotel than I did at the beginning of my employment. I will share what I found in the next update.

Thanks for reading,

Nick

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