The Thirteenth Floor[ON HOLD]

Chapter Two

- Terrors of The Night -

That night Jonathan had the worst sleep of his life. Never before had he experienced such nightmares, or nightmares that woudln't quit. As a popular journalist, Jonathan had traveled to many areas of the world and seen many things, some joyful others terrifying and many that gave him bad dreams... but never like this.

Never before did Jonathan dream of being trapped in a dark hallway while creatures with white as snow smiles tear at his flesh; or being trapped in a room while fire burned at his flesh without killing him, as if someone, or something, was trying to torture him. Nor did he ever dream of a wall turning into a face, a dark face with red glowing eyes that seemed to stare a hole into his mind.

He shot up in bed, now away, yelling his head off. His eyes searched the room desperately, as if he expected the creatures with red glowing eyes to be lurking in the shadows, or the wall across from him to distort and turn into a evil face, with those horrifying red glowing eyes, but there was nothing. Jonathan was totally alone in room 26 which lay on the fourteenth floor; but Jonathan didn't feel alone, he left as if something else, something dark and sinister and ruthless, lay in the darkness or in the next room, just watching him, waiting for the right moment to strike.

Man that's insane! Listen to yourself! I mean yeah, you're a writer, but for God sake man! You haven't even been in this old creepy hotel more than a few hours and your losin' your marbles like there was a big hole in the bottom of the bag. Pull yourself together!

Jonathan sat up in bed and swung his legs over the side so his feet were touching the floor. Jonathan rubbed the sleep from his eyes with his back hunched over and his elbows resting above his knees. Trying to go back to sleep didn't feel like an option, he didn't know just how much he could take of the nightmares. After rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he slowly got up and walked over to the small, dust covered desk that sat in the corner of the dingy room. He pulled out his papers from his backpack, and tossed them onto the desk. Dust flew up as the papers collided with the dusty wood of the desk. Jonathan rustled through the papers seeking the newspaper clippings back from 1964, where there was a fire on the thirteenth floor, the floor which had been missing a push button in he elevator.

Jonathan read through the articles, recognizing big names of actors, musicians, and other socially connected people who had been killed in the fire. According to other sheets, which he had gotten through a connection in the police department, no one died from smoke inhalation, or carbon monoxide (or carbon dioxide) poisoning. Everyone was burned alive. That made his shiver. Jonathan pulled out a notepad and his favorite pen and began jotting down notes and details which would be use for the story he was going to write on the disaster that happened back in 1964, on the thirteenth floor.

After making several sheets of notes, Jonathan picked up the old dusty phone that sat on the desk and called the clerk down stairs in the lobby, the lady in her fifties, who had a major attitude.

Ring. Ring. Ring. Jonathan stared at the old wall, which was in desperate need of new paint, along with a good scrubbing, and at that moment that feel of being watched (deja vu) slipped over him, this time even stronger than earlier. Jonathan spun around quickly and looked around the room: nothing, just as before just that feeling of (deja vu) being watched, but not by a someone but rather by a something.

"Lobby of the Hamilton Hotel. Can I help you?" A pretty, soft voice said, obviously a different woman, probably much younger.

And much more attractive Jonathan boy. His dumb head thought, but he quickly pushed the thought away with a mental shove.

"Yes, my name is Jonathan Smith. I'm staying on the fourteenth floor, room 26. Anyways I was wondering if I could get a different room? There's something wrong with the heater and it's freezing in here." He said, telling a little lie, but as soon as he told the lie he felt the temperature of the room drop at least twenty degrees. Jonathan looked around again, startled by the sudden drop in temperature. But the heater was still humming along, not missing a beat, yet the room was beginning to really get freezing.

"Of course sir. Let me check for empty rooms." She said, she began to say something else but Jonathan interrupted her.

"Umm, could you please check for empty rooms on the thirteenth floor miss?" He asked, listening carefully, ready to try and gauge her answer. For several moments there was silence, and for a moment Jonathan thought the line dropped.

"Miss, you there?"

"Yes sorry, I was day dreaming." She said then let out a laugh, which to Jonathan sounded like a nervous laugh.

"Oh ok, it's fine. But could you do that for me? See if there are any empty rooms on the thirteenth floor?"

"Sir, I'm sorry to tell you this but, there is no thirteenth floor here at the Hamilton Hotel, never was." She said, sounding more confident, probably from having to say that line a hundred, no a thousand times. But it didn't convince Jonathan, after all he had real newspaper clippings from 1964, saying that there was a thirteenth floor, and if there was a thirteenth floor in 1964, which was fifty years ago, then there had to be a thirteenth floor today, any other answer defied the laws of physics.

"Are you sure that there isn't a thirteenth floor miss? Or is that just what the manager told you to say?" Jonathan inquired.

"Um. I-I don't- I.." She stammered and stuttered.

"That's what I thought. Have a good night miss." Jonathan said, then hung up without waiting for a reply. When he hung up the phone the room was back to the normal temperature, in fact it was slightly warm, which surprised Jonathan, nevertheless he began to go through the newspaper clippings and his notes. Yet that feeling of (dej vu) being watched never left him, but it did decrease.

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Chaper written by Michael Hall (@MichaelHallWritting)