The Thirteenth Floor[ON HOLD]

Chapter One

The weather was unbelievable. Anyone would say it was a blizzard but it was even worse, you couldn't ever understand unless you were there. Right in the middle of the chaos. Jonathan, age 23 and popular journalist. But if he didn't get that story finished, a eye catching, heart stopping, bone chilling, money drinking worthy. He was fired, and to Jonathan, that was definitely not an option. He needed a spot to rest, somewhere to get some sort of inspiration. And what better place that was than the two century year old hotel that had rumors swarming about it all over the city, and it was just 45 minutes away. Which had a history, a dark history.

Jonathan stumbled to the front glass doors, you could see the decades of mold growing across the clear surface. Classy. He thought. Pushing past the doors with a grunt he marches up to the front desk attempting to look professional and intimidating. By the look of the older woman, maybe in her 50's, face, raking her sunken eyes up and down his body with a scowl.

"What do you want?" She practically growled in his face. He shivered as her cold breath danced across his face. He cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Yes um I would like a room," he asks as politely as he could taking out his wallet. He wanted to get this over with as fast as he possible could. It was two in the morning and he was tired. He would fall asleep right in the lobby if he could, but of course, that's unprofessional.

The lady grabbed a set of keys slamming it onto the table.

"Floor number 14, room 26 and total is 79 dollars." She muttered, looking straight into his eyes, or so he believed. No wonder the rumors about this place were never good, the service was terrible and he's only been here for less then ten minutes. Slowly he nods his head giving her an uncomfortable smile.

Rushing to the elevator he pushes the button labeled '14' but then his eyebrows creased. Where was the thirteen? Right where the number '13' should have been was an empty socket with wires sticking out of it. But since the young man was tired, he didn't really pay too much mind to it. He leaned against the peeling wall behind him, watching the numbers slowly glow until it would reach '14' but that was the thing, it never did.

The elevator came to an abrupt stop. It wasn't loud and dramatic. But quiet and eerie. And that didn't settle too well in his stomach. He could hear his loud breathes echoing from the walls but his lungs felt as if they were tightening. Like his ribs grew smaller and his lungs were to big to fit. He kept his body still and quiet, waiting anxiously until the elevator door opened.

He felt like he was drowning and he started to panic. He knew he wasn't drowning and he knew it wasn't a simile. He couldn't breathe, it was an excruciating pain and he didn't know what to do but to panic, to attempt to scream and cry out. He felt dizzy and he desperately clawed at the walls, pounding onto the medal door hoping someone would hear the desperate banging and someone would try to help. Jonathan was never the type to get scared so easily, but this was a different situation.

Finally, he felt the sweet taste of oxygen filling up his lungs. The elevator door opened and he was met with a teenage boy. The boy looked at Jonathan with confusion written in his eyes

"You okay? You look like you've seen a ghost." The boy says stepping into the elevator while Jonathan stepped out.

"Yeah I'm fine, I'm just tired. Have a good night." Jonathan rushed out walking down the hall to his destination.

He didn't know what happen, and he wanted to forget about it because the more he thought about it the more he got confused and wanted to sleep. But he couldn't, not yet. He needed something to write about. But he couldn't just make up anything in his head, so that's why he's using this hotel. So many rumors made up the place but he needed to find the root of it. And he would.

He packed up all of his papers and changed out of his wet dingy clothes throwing them on the chair near the desk, falling asleep on the old bed covered in dust.

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Chapet by Mikla Sidney (@LittleBlackStar99)