In a small town, tucked away from the main road, there was an old hotel that had long been abandoned. Its faded sign, barely legible, still hung over the entrance, swaying in the wind. Local legends warned of a room inside that was cursed—a room with no exit.
Years passed, and no one dared to go near the hotel until a group of friends, eager for a thrill, decided to spend a night there. They were skeptics, laughing off the stories as mere superstition. They entered the hotel just as dusk fell, the sky turning a deep purple as night approached.
The interior was worse than they expected—dust-covered furniture, broken windows, and a musty smell that clung to the air. The floorboards creaked under their weight as they explored the dark corridors. Then they found it: Room 113.
The door was slightly ajar, its number hanging by a single nail. A strange chill emanated from the room, as if the air itself was trying to warn them. Ignoring the unease settling in their stomachs, they pushed the door open.
The room was surprisingly ordinary. A bed, a dresser, a single window overlooking the overgrown garden outside. It seemed untouched by time, unlike the rest of the hotel. Feeling bold, they decided to spend the night there.
As midnight approached, strange things began to happen. The door they had entered through slammed shut on its own, the lock clicking into place. The temperature dropped sharply, and a thick fog began to seep in from the walls, swirling around their feet.
Panic set in as they tried to open the door, but it wouldn’t budge. The window, too, was sealed shut, refusing to open no matter how hard they tried. One of them suggested breaking the glass, but when they tried, the window didn’t even crack. It was as if they were trapped in a sealed box, cut off from the world.
Suddenly, the room’s dimensions began to change. The walls started closing in, the ceiling lowering inch by inch. The friends screamed, pounding on the walls, desperate to escape, but there was no way out. The walls continued to close, the space shrinking until they were pressed against each other, barely able to breathe.
Then, just as they thought the room would crush them, everything stopped. The room was still, silent. The door swung open by itself, revealing the empty hallway beyond.
The friends rushed out, gasping for air, but something was different. The hotel was no longer dilapidated; it looked brand new, as if freshly built. The corridors were pristine, the furniture polished, and the windows clean. But there was no sign of life, no sound, just an eerie stillness.
They fled the hotel, running into the night without looking back. When they finally reached the safety of their homes, they tried to speak of what happened, but no one believed them. The hotel, they were told, had been demolished years ago.
Curious and horrified, they returned to the site the next day, but there was nothing there—just an empty lot, overgrown with weeds. The hotel was gone, as if it had never existed.
But the friends knew the truth. The room with no exit was real, and it was still waiting, somewhere between reality and nightmare, ready to trap the next unsuspecting soul who dared to enter.
