The sound came first.

Faint. Distant. Then closer.  

Whispers leaking through the walls like water—familiar voices that shouldn’t exist.

“Ed…”  

His name, spoken softly. His mother’s voice. Impossible.

He turned toward the sound instinctively.  

The phone in his hand buzzed, screen glowing faintly—but no signal bars. No network. Only static.

“Damn it,” he muttered, trying again. “Come on…”

The static twisted, and for a heartbeat, he thought he heard breathing on the other end—slow, uneven. Then a voice.

*“You’re still here.”*

He dropped the phone.

Monna snapped her head toward him. “What did you just do?”

“I—I tried to call out. I think someone—”

“Someone answered?” she finished for him, already holstering her sidearm. “Yeah. That’s the Inn. It doesn’t like silence. It talks back.”

From somewhere down the hall, came laughter.  

Not loud. Just *wrong*—as though multiple mouths were trying to laugh at once.

Ed backed away from the door. “We should barricade—”

“No,” Monna said firmly, grabbing her coat. “We move.”

He stared at her. “Now? Out there?”

She gave him a wry smile. “Rookie, stay in here and we’re just waiting for it to decide how we die. At least moving gives us a choice.”

Her tone left no room for argument.

They stepped into the corridor. The air was thick and damp, as if the walls themselves were sweating. The dim bulbs overhead flickered, bathing everything in a sickly amber light. The hallway felt longer than before—stretching, bending, refusing to end.

When they reached the front desk, the lobby was eerily untouched. The same faint jazz music hummed from an unseen speaker. And behind the counter stood the man from earlier—**Billy Jackson**, his nametag shining under the flicker.

He smiled politely.  

“Good evening again, guests. Did you sleep well?”

Monna’s eyes narrowed. “We’d like to check out.”

“Check out?” His smile widened. “Oh, I’m afraid this establishment doesn’t really… *do* that.”

She leaned forward slightly, voice calm but razor-sharp. “Do we need to return the room cards before we leave?”

Billy chuckled softly, a dry, hollow sound. “No need. You can keep them. But I don’t think you’ll be going anywhere.”

He gestured lazily toward the lobby entrance.  

Ed turned to look—and his breath caught.

The glass doors they had walked through earlier were gone.  

In their place stood a solid, seamless wall of pale wood, as though the doorway had never existed.

“What the hell…” Ed whispered.

Billy’s expression never changed. “The Inn welcomes guests when they arrive. It decides when they leave.”

Monna gave a small, grim laugh. “So that’s how it is.”

She crossed her arms. “You’re the anomaly, aren’t you? The consciousness that controls this place?”

Billy tilted his head slightly, almost offended. “Oh, no. I’m not *it.* I only serve. I am the voice it chooses when it wishes to be polite.”

His eyes flickered with something—something that wasn’t quite human.  

“Consider me… the concierge of eternity.”

Monna’s fingers twitched near her weapon, but she didn’t draw. “And if we don’t wish to stay?”

“Then you’ll still stay,” Billy said, still smiling. “Everyone does. Some fight it longer than others.”

A faint hum filled the room, and Ed realized the walls themselves were breathing—slowly, rhythmically, in and out.

Monna glanced toward the staircase. “Come on, rookie.”

“But—”

“Now.”

She turned without another word, dragging him away from the desk and back up the creaking steps. The air grew heavier with each step, as though the building resented their movement.

When they reached her room, Monna locked the door, then pushed a chair under the handle. Her usual smirk was gone.

“Okay,” she said quietly, pacing once. “Listen to me, Ed. That thing downstairs—it’s not lying. We’re in an active spatial anomaly. Exits loop. Rooms shift. The Inn doesn’t just trap you physically—it messes with perception.”

Ed swallowed. “So what do we do?”

She looked at him, eyes hard but not hopeless.  

“We survive till morning. A.R.C. has protocols for this kind of structure. If they realize we haven’t checked in, they’ll trace our last location.”

“And if they don’t?”

Monna gave a short laugh, devoid of humor. “Then I guess we become part of the wallpaper.”

A gust of cold air brushed through the room though the windows were shut tight.

Both of them turned toward the corner.

On the wall, faint letters began to appear—slowly burning themselves into the paint.  

*WELCOME BACK, MONNA.*

Ed stepped back, his throat dry. “It knows your name.”

Monna stared at the wall, jaw tightening.  

“Yeah,” she whispered. “Because I’ve been here before.”

The lightbulb above them flickered once—and went out.  

Leaving only the sound of breathing.  

But neither of them were breathing anymore.