She checked out yesterday. But she had never checked in before tonight.
At 2:17 AM, Emily Carter arrived at the Blackwood Motel.
The rain was so heavy that she could barely see the road behind her.
Inside, an elderly receptionist handed her a brass key.
“Room 13,” he said.
Emily frowned. “Is that the only room available?”
“It’s the only one that remembers its guests.”
She assumed he was joking.
The room looked ordinary. A bed, an old television, a dusty mirror and a window overlooking the empty parking lot.
But on the bedside table sat a photograph.
Emily picked it up.
It showed a woman standing inside the same room.
The woman wore a red coat.
Emily looked down at herself.
She was wearing the exact same coat.
Suddenly, the telephone rang.
A woman’s voice whispered, “Don’t sleep here tonight.”
“Who is this?”
“You.”
Emily laughed nervously.
“Very funny.”
The voice began crying.
“Listen. When the mirror changes, don’t look behind you.”
The call disconnected.
Emily slowly turned toward the mirror.
Her reflection was standing perfectly still.
But Emily was breathing heavily.
The reflection wasn’t.
Then the reflection raised one hand and pointed toward the door.
Someone knocked.
Three slow knocks.
Emily opened the door.
The hallway was empty.
But wet footprints were appearing on the carpet.
One by one.
Coming toward her.
She ran downstairs and demanded an explanation.
The receptionist opened an enormous leather register.
He turned to a page marked with today’s date.
There was her name.
Emily Carter.
Room 13.
Checked in: 11:42 PM.
Checked out: Yesterday.
Emily stared at him.
“That’s impossible.”
The receptionist shook his head.
“Miss Carter, you’ve been here three nights in a row.”
“Who checked me out?”
He pointed toward the security monitor.
The screen showed Room 13.
A woman in a red coat was standing in front of the mirror.
It was Emily.
But this Emily was smiling.
The receptionist whispered:
“Every night, one of you leaves.”
Emily looked back at the monitor.
The woman inside Room 13 slowly raised her hand.
And waved.
The receptionist closed the register.
“Unfortunately, tonight… nobody checked out.”
The telephone rang upstairs.
This time, the caller ID displayed Emily’s own name.
THE HOLLOW SIGNAL — END.
