The last night.
Warm air hugged the city, wrapping the streets in a sleepy haze as neon lights blinked in the distance. From the fifth-floor balcony of a modest hotel, the world below looked small, like a toy city someone had forgotten to switch off.
Arlo tilted his head back and took a slow sip of his beer.
The bottle was already sweating in his hand, condensation sliding down between his fingers. He exhaled, letting the fizzy burn sit in his chest for a second before putting the bottle down on the tiny balcony table.
"That's it for me," he said, voice a little rough but still controlled. "Let's stop here. I think it's too much for tonight."
Across from him, slouched in a plastic chair with all the elegance of a sack of potatoes, Alex grinned.
"Whaaat are you afraid of, brother?" he slurred, lifting his own bottle like it was a trophy. "That's why I booked this room—so we can drink all niiiight!"
His laugh broke into a hiccup.
HIC.
Arlo shook his head, lips twitching. "You're already gone."
"Exactly!" Alex said proudly, raising his beer toward the sky. "Freedom."
The hotel wasn't anything fancy—cream walls, cheap art, standard everything—but on nights like this, with the city humming and the sky clear, it felt like their own little secret hideout. Just two college guys blowing off steam, pretending life was easy.
Arlo's gaze drifted to the balcony on their right.
The design of the hotel meant the balconies were close, separated by only a waist-high concrete divider and a thin steel railing. If you leaned just a bit, you could peek into the neighbouring room.
"You know," Arlo murmured, squinting, "it really does look like we can see into the next room."
Alex followed his line of sight. The curtains next door wasn't fully drawn, leaving a sliver of the room exposed under the dim, reddish glow of a bedside lamp.
And there—just for a moment—Arlo saw movement.
"Looks like a couple," Alex decided, his grin widening. "Or... someone getting lucky."
Arlo frowned. "We should let them enjoy their night. We shouldn't disturb them."
Alex leaned forward, forearms hitting the railing as he peered over it. His eyes lit up. "Bro. Bro. She's wearing some nice undergarments."
Arlo's stomach knotted. "Seriously, Alex. Let's go inside. You're drunk."
Alex brushed past his words like smoke. "This is why you don't get girls. See?"
He gestured with his bottle. "Guy's out cold. She looks... neglected. Maybe she needs help."
He chuckled, the sound somehow too loud for the quiet night. "They probably aren't even married."
"Does that somehow make this less wrong?" Arlo muttered.
But Alex was already moving. He straightened, stumbled only slightly, then turned with a dramatic flourish.
"I must help her," he declared, placing a hand over his heart. "Tonight, my friend, you will learn how to make a woman love you."
"Alex, don't—"
Too late.
KNOCK, KNOCK.
The sound of Alex's knuckles rapping on the neighbouring door cut through the muted city noise.
For a moment, nothing happened.
The hallway light above the door flickered once, casting jittery shadows over the wood.
CLICK... CREEEAK...
The lock slid open with a soft CLICK, followed by the slow, almost theatrical CREEEAK of the door swinging inward.
A woman stepped into the doorway.
She looked to be in her late twenties, illuminated by the warm light spilling from the room behind her. Long, ink-black hair cascaded over her shoulders, framing a face that was almost too symmetrical, too smooth. Her lips curved into an easy smile as her gaze swept over Alex.
She wore a short crimson nightgown, silk clinging to her frame, thin straps resting on bare shoulders. The neckline dipped dangerously low, leaving absolutely no doubt that she wore nothing underneath.
Alex's brain stalled for half a second.
Then he grinned.
"Hello, beautiful miss," he said, charisma suddenly finding its legs again. "We didn't order room service, but I, uh... came to deliver a compliment."
One corner of her mouth lifted, amusement flickering in her eyes. "I don't think we asked for room service," she replied, voice soft and melodic, like warm honey poured over glass.
"You didn't order anything," Alex said, leaning casually on the doorframe, pretending the wall was not the only thing keeping him upright. "I came from next door just to meet this beautiful lady... and get to know her better."
Arlo stood a few steps back, watching, arms crossed. Everything about this felt wrong. The angle of her smile. The way the air around that doorway seemed just a bit... heavier.
"Thank you, kid," she said, the word kid leaving her lips like a playful tease.
"No need to thank me," Alex replied smoothly. "I only speak the truth." He tilted his head toward the inside of the room. "But the man inside—"
Her eyes darkened.
"We met at the bar earlier," she said, exhaling a soft, theatrical sigh. "By the time we got here, he was already too drunk to do anything. I put him to bed. The night turned... disappointing."
Alex's grin sharpened. "Such a shame... A beautiful woman like you deserves a better night."
He took a small step closer, lowering his voice into what he thought was a seductive register. "If there's a little room for me, I think I could be... helpful."
A slow, mischievous smile spread across her lips. She glanced over his shoulder briefly, as if she'd known Arlo was there the whole time, then looked back at Alex.
"Come in then," she said.
She turned and walked deeper into the room, bare feet whispering against the carpet.
Alex shot Arlo a triumphant smirk, mouthing, Watch and learn, then disappeared inside.
The door closed with a soft THUMP.
Arlo stayed where he was, fingers tightening around his beer bottle. The night no longer felt light and warm. Something in the air had shifted—just slightly, but enough to make his skin prickle.
He lingered for another minute, then finally sighed.
"Idiot," he muttered under his breath.
He went back inside their room, sliding the balcony door shut with a soft WHISH of glass on metal. The TV flickered dim light across the bed, some late-night show playing to no one. He set his bottle down, lay on his back, and stared at the ceiling.
He tried to sleep.
He didn't.
On the other side of the wall, Alex stood in the doorway, just barely inside the woman's room.
The space was noticeably nicer than his own—larger bed, thicker curtains, furniture made of dark polished wood instead of chipped laminate. A vanilla-scented candle burned on the dresser, scenting the air with a soft sweetness that didn't quite cover the faint metallic tang underneath.
"Wow," he said, whistling under his breath. "Pretty luxurious compared to our room."
He took a few casual steps in, shoes sinking into the plush carpet. On the bed, a man lay face-down, one arm dangling off the edge. His broad shoulders were bare, the cobra tattoo on his back coiled up his spine, its inked fangs frozen in mid-strike.
The golden watch on his wrist caught the light and flashed.
Something about it felt... wrong.
Alex swallowed.
GULP.
The woman's voice purred from behind him. "I'll take a shower first."
He turned.
She stood by the bathroom door, one hand on the handle, nightgown strap slipping down one shoulder like an invitation. Her eyes glinted in the low light, an unreadable depth behind them.
"You can... make yourself comfortable until then," she said, lips curling.
"Y-yeah. Sure," Alex replied, forcing a smirk. "Take your time."
CLICK.
The bathroom door closed behind her, followed by the soft rush of water starting.
He was alone.
With the man on the bed.
And the strange weight pressing down on the room.
The silence wrapped around him, heavy, almost muffled, like sound itself didn't want to be in this space.
Alex shoved his hands into his pockets and walked toward the bed, trying to shake off the creeping unease.
"Dude," he muttered under his breath, eyeing the tattooed back. "You really passed out at the worst time."
He stopped at the edge of the mattress.
That was when he noticed it.
A dark stain spread across the otherwise pristine white blanket. At first, he thought it was shadow, but when he leaned closer, the color deepened into something unmistakable.
Red.
His breath hitched.
"...No way."
He reached out with a shaking hand and pinched a bit of the fabric between his fingers. It was damp. Still warm.
DRIP.
A drop fell from the edge of the blanket, landing on the carpet with a soft, wet PLAP.
Alex slowly peeled the blanket back.
What lay beneath turned his stomach into ice.
Alex couldn't scream.
The sound died in his throat the moment his eyes focused.
The man on the bed wasn't asleep.
His neck was twisted at an impossible angle, skin torn open as if something had chewed through muscle and bone. Blood soaked the sheets, the mattress, even the carpet beneath the bed, thick and dark and still glistening under the dim lamp.
His eyes were open.
Staring.
Empty.
Alex staggered back.
"N—no... no, no, no..."
His heel slipped on the carpet and he nearly fell. His chest tightened, breath coming out in sharp, panicked gasps.
This isn't real. This can't be real.
The sound of running water stopped.
CLICK.
The bathroom door opened.
Slow footsteps followed.
TAP... TAP... TAP...
Alex spun around.
The woman stood in the doorway, wiping her hands with a white towel. The towel was clean. Too clean. Her nightgown clung to her curves, straps back in place, hair falling perfectly around her shoulders.
She smiled.
"You found him," she said softly.
Alex backed toward the door, heart slamming so violently it felt like it might shatter his ribs.
"What... what the fuck is this?" he whispered. "You said he was drunk—"
"Oh, he was," she replied calmly. "Just not drunk enough to survive."
The air changed.
The light flickered.
BZZZT.
Her smile widened.
"I thought we were just about to have some fun."
Alex stumbled backward, his heels catching on the carpet as panic flooded his system. His legs trembled, barely supporting his weight as reality finally crashed down on him.
"W–who..." His throat tightened. "Who are you?"
She stepped closer.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
Her hips swayed with each step, not hurried, not aggressive—seductive. Confident. Like a predator that knew its prey had nowhere left to run.
"Why the fear, honey?" she murmured. "I promise..." Her lips curled upward, eyes gleaming. "...I'll take you to the moooon."
Something about the way she said it made his skin crawl. The words wrapped around his mind, soft and hypnotic, digging into places fear had not yet reached.
She knelt before him.
Graceful. Intimate.
Her fingers rose and brushed his cheek.
Cold.
Not the chill of winter—this was wrong, unnatural. Her touch traced downward slowly, fingertips gliding over his jaw, his throat, his chest.
Closer.
Closer.
Toward his heart.
Alex's breath shattered into ragged gasps.
Instinct screamed.
He slapped her hand away.
"Stay away from me, you bith!"*
The word echoed harshly in the room.
She didn't flinch.
Didn't blink.
She smiled.
Not offended.
Amused.
Her lips stretched into something twisted, something that promised suffering rather than pleasure.
Alex turned.
Ran.
His fingers brushed the door handle—
CLICK.
The lights died.
Darkness swallowed the room whole.
"W–what—?"
Something pressed against his chest.
Heavy.
Cold.
Alex froze.
He looked down.
A grotesque, slick appendage—like a tongue made of muscle and teeth—had pierced straight through his chest. Tiny serrated teeth lined its surface, biting gently... lovingly... as it coiled around his heart.
Still beating.
Still alive.
"THUMP."
His heart slammed violently.
"THUMP. THUMP."
Pain exploded through his body, sharp and burning, every pulse sending agony screaming through his nerves. He could feel it—the texture, the pressure, the way it tightened with every beat.
"THUMP... THUMP... THUMP..."
Slower.
Heavier.
His knees buckled.
His vision blurred.
The room spun as the creature tightened its grip, savoring each faltering beat.
"THUMP... THUMP..."
His fingers reached out blindly, scraping against the wooden door.
So close.
Freedom was right there.
"THUMP..."
The final beat came weak and hollow, a dying echo.
His hand slipped.
Dropped.
Still.
Her eyes glowed in the darkness.
Greenish-yellow.
Reptilian.
Cold.
Moonlight filtered through the fluttering curtains, illuminating her face as the wind howled softly through the open window.
She smiled.
Next door, Arlo paced restlessly.
Something felt wrong.
He couldn't explain it—just a tightness in his chest, an itch beneath his skin. He glanced at the wall separating their rooms.
Too quiet.
But the walls were thick. Soundproofed.
Whatever Alex was doing... Arlo wouldn't hear it.
"He probably just got lucky," Arlo muttered, forcing a laugh. "Idiot."
He leaned over the balcony divider, expecting noise... movement... anything.
Nothing.
The room next door was eerily still.
The man lay on the bed, unmoving.
Satisfied enough, Arlo shrugged and headed back inside. The unease lingered, but exhaustion dragged him down. Sleep claimed him quickly, uneasy and dreamless.
Morning shattered the illusion.
Voices echoed through the corridor—sharp, frantic, urgent.
Arlo groaned and stumbled out of bed, irritation flaring. "What the hell is all this noise so early in the morning?"
He opened his door.
The hallway was packed.
People whispered. Officers moved briskly. Yellow tape fluttered faintly.
"What happened?" Arlo asked, grabbing a man's arm. "Why is everyone here?"
The man turned, face pale, eyes wide.
"Two people were found dead in the room next door."
The world tilted.
Arlo pushed forward, heart hammering violently against his ribs.
"No... no..."
When he reached the doorway, his knees gave out.
Alex's body lay at the entrance.
His back was torn open.
Ripped.
Shredded like paper by something inhuman.
Blood pooled beneath him, thick and dark, staining the white tiles.
"BAARRRFFFF—BLAACCH—!"
Arlo collapsed, retching violently as horror seized him. His stomach twisted, bile burning his throat as the image carved itself permanently into his mind.
As he wiped his mouth, trembling—
A hand grabbed his left shoulder.
To be continued...