The key felt heavier than it should have.
Riya noticed it the moment she held it in her hand. A small brass key, the hotel logo engraved faintly on one side. She and her older brother, Sameer, had arrived late in Udaipur, the streets wet from a recent drizzle, the city lights reflecting off puddles like molten gold. They had been traveling for hours, and the hotel lobby smelled faintly of incense and polished wood.
“This is our room?” Sameer asked, stretching as he accepted the key from the clerk.
Riya nodded, but something about the key felt off. She shrugged. “I guess so.”
The elevator smelled faintly of disinfectant. The walls were too shiny, the mirrors reflecting the two of them oddly stretched. Riya avoided looking at herself, feeling a little dizzy from the long day and the strange angle of the overhead lights. Sameer pressed the button for the fifth floor.
When the elevator stopped, the hallway seemed longer than expected. The carpet was patterned in dark reds and browns, almost like it was crawling. They walked slowly, following the numbers on the doors.
Riya’s hand tightened around the key. 512. Their room. The brass key slid into the lock easily—but the door swung open silently, revealing a room that was not theirs.
The bed was smaller. The curtains were a heavy green, unfamiliar. A faint smell of spices lingered in the air, warm but strange.
Riya stepped inside. “Sameer… this isn’t—”
He followed, frowning. “Wait… yeah, it doesn’t look like our room.”
The air felt thicker here, warmer. The single lamp on the bedside table flickered faintly. Shadows shifted along the walls as if breathing.
Riya’s stomach tightened. “Maybe… maybe it’s just another room?”
Sameer laughed nervously. “Hotels mix up rooms sometimes.”
But when they turned to leave, the key didn’t work in the lock. It slid halfway in, then stuck. They tried again. Nothing.
Riya felt a chill. “It won’t open.”
From somewhere in the corner of the room, a soft humming began. Low. Almost melodic, almost comforting—but not quite. Both of them froze.
“Did you hear that?” Sameer whispered.
Riya nodded. The sound seemed to move. From left, to right, then behind them. It didn’t come from the walls or the lamp. It came from the air itself, curling around them.
They backed toward the bed. The window showed the city outside, lights distant and blurred. Everything felt normal—but wrong.
Riya’s eyes caught something—a shadow, tall and thin, standing near the wardrobe. She blinked. It wasn’t moving… or maybe it was too slow to notice.
“Who’s there?” Sameer called, his voice shaking slightly.
No answer. The humming continued.
Riya’s mind raced. Maybe a guest had left the TV on, she thought. Maybe it was the wind. Maybe… maybe she shouldn’t have tried this door.
Then the shadows along the walls grew longer, stretching, twisting toward them. The lamp flickered again, and a strange pressure settled in the room, like the air was waiting for them to move—or to stay.
Riya stepped toward the door. The key stuck again. Sameer joined her, and together they tugged. The lock clicked once, and the door swung open just slightly.
The hallway looked… familiar. The carpet, the numbers, everything was exactly as it had been outside room 512. But something felt different. Too quiet. The elevator light was gone. The ceiling above the hall stretched higher than it should.
“Let’s go,” Sameer said, voice tight.
As they stepped out, Riya glanced back. The room behind them seemed… darker. The lamp was off now. The bed was empty. Nothing else.
They walked quickly down the hall to their real room, key in hand. 512. This time, it worked without hesitation.
Inside, everything was normal. The bed neatly made, the curtains light brown as they remembered, the air smelling faintly of polished wood. They sank onto the bed, laughing shakily.
“I guess we were tired,” Sameer said. “Just imagined it.”
Riya nodded, but she couldn’t shake the memory. The shadow, the humming, the pressure in the air.
That night, she woke to a sound—a soft metallic click.
She sat up. The brass key lay on the bedside table. They had left it there.
It spun slowly, as if someone had turned it.
The door to the hallway creaked. Light spilled under the edges.
And for a second, Riya saw it. A figure, tall and thin, standing in the darkness outside. Watching. Waiting.
She blinked. When she looked again, it was gone.
But the key still felt heavier than it should have, cold in her palm.
Riya’s eyes went to the lock. 512. Their room.
The key whispered promises that didn’t belong, and Riya realized: some doors—once opened—never really close.
