The Whispering Hotel

A storm had swallowed the road when Clara spotted the faded sign of The Crescent Hotel. Desperate for shelter, she pushed open the heavy doors.

Inside, time seemed trapped—the wallpaper peeling, the chandelier trembling with every thunderclap. The old clerk handed her a key marked Room 313, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You’ll hear things tonight,” he said. “Just… don’t listen.”

Clara forced a smile, trying to ignore the uneasy chill crawling up her spine.

As she climbed the stairs, she heard a faint tapping sound—coming from somewhere above… or maybe below.

Now, the choice is yours:

• ENTER ROOM 313


• FOLLOW THE SOUND DOWN TO THE BASEMENT