Caleb locked himself in the security room.
He didn't remember walking back there.
One moment he was standing in the third-floor hallway, staring at the polished brass 313—
the next, he was seated at his desk, monitors glowing softly, the door behind him shut.
Locked.
He checked the time.
1:17 a.m.
He checked again.
The wall clock read 1:17 a.m.
The seconds hand wasn't moving.
Caleb's chest tightened.
"No," he whispered. "That's not—"
The monitors flickered.
Every screen switched to the same feed.
Room 313.
Not the hallway.
Inside the room.
Caleb's mouth went dry.
The camera angle was wrong—too low, too intimate—like it had been placed deliberately to watch the bed.
The bed was empty.
The curtains began to move.
Not from air.
From weight.
Something pressed against them from the other side, slowly outlining a human shape. Fingers traced the fabric, exploring.
Learning.
Caleb slammed the mute button.
The curtains stilled.
Then peeled back on their own.
The window beyond didn't show the city.
It showed the hallway.
Caleb leaned closer, breath shaking.
That wasn't possible.
The hallway camera feed appeared on another monitor.
Same corridor.
Same angle.
But one difference.
Someone was standing there.
Facing the door of Room 313.
Caleb squinted.
His blood turned to ice.
It was him.
Same uniform.
Same posture.
Same tired eyes.
The other Caleb raised his hand and knocked.
Three soft taps.
Caleb staggered back from the desk.
"No," he said hoarsely. "That's not me."
On the screen, the door to Room 313 opened.
The other Caleb stepped inside.
The feed cut to black.
All monitors returned to normal.
Caleb's breathing came in short bursts.
He opened the system logs with trembling hands.
Typed his own name.
CALEB WARD
The system responded instantly.
STATUS: CHECKED IN
ROOM: 313
TIME: 12:59 A.M.
Caleb shook his head violently. "I never— I didn't—"
A new notification popped up.
Guest has extended stay.
His radio crackled.
"Security," the receptionist said.
Her voice was warm. Familiar.
"Just confirming your room preference."
Caleb grabbed the radio. "I'm in the security room."
A pause.
"Sir," she replied gently,
"Security clocked out at midnight."
The door handle behind him rattled.
Once.
Twice.
Then stopped.
The lights dimmed.
The air grew thick.
Caleb whispered, "What do you want from me?"
The monitors answered.
Room 313's bed creaked.
An impression formed on the mattress—someone sitting.
Then lying down.
Then turning toward the camera.
The sound feed unmuted itself.
Breathing.
Right behind him.
Caleb did not turn around.
The registry updated one final time.
Guest has accepted accommodation.
The door unlocked.
Slowly.
Invitingly.
Caleb stood, legs shaking.
"No," he said, backing away. "I won't go in."
The voice behind him smiled into his ear.
"You already did."
The lights went out.