An Ode To Sara (I hate this hotel)

My lack of joy for capitalism made me despise my deceased Grandma more than I did when she was alive. She knew I wanted nothing to do with her "haunted hotel" and left it in her will to me anyway, proving I must be her least favorite granddaughter.

I tried to get anyone else in my family to take it. They refused. I talked to lawyers, who told me selling the hunk of junk was basically impossible. So I moved into a stupid old hotel.

Luckily Grandma made sure that her staff all worked there still (although that may have also been spiteful because she knew I preferred to be alone), so all I would have to do is manage.

Of course, if the five separate murder cases in the past century, people hesitated to stay there. Grandma claimed it to be an attention attractor, but I think when it passes three murders, staff and customers alike, that's more of a sign to stay away.

The staff mostly just left me alone to wallow in my misery, only bothering me when something really needed to be taken care of.

Then I met Sara. I bumped into her as she was carrying sheets, helped her pick them up and carry them, and we started talking. Nothing she said could be considered out of the usual, but something about her just interested me.

I invited her to go over planning with me because despite just being a cleaner, Tara adored the hotel. I normally would have hated that, but her love for so horrible just made my heart flutter.

We must have been talking for months. Her being around was the only thing to make me happy, and she admitted to enjoying my presence too. I wondered if she share a similar interest in me as I did with her.

I genuinely could have fallen for her.

That changed when we got patrons. A family of four, a mom, dad, and two boys, one a young teenager while the other could have been no older than seven. I gave them their key, and just to make Grandma roll in her grave a bit, warned them of the hotel's past and offered to find somewhere else to stay.

The parents seemed tired and thanked me for informing them, but decided to still stay the night.

They called first at 10:43 pm. They said there was a smell in their room, like something was rotting.

I had them switch rooms and told the staff to clean the room and check the vents.

Another called at 12:06 am. Same problem, but slightly worse. I came to look this time myself, and it was worse than I thought. It was like someone put rotten meat under a magnifying glass in July. It was then I noticed the parents no longer had their children with them.

I feared the worst and went to my landline to call the cops after giving them another room. Of course, it didn't work. I tried to tell my staff, but they all just ignored me and kept cleaning.

By 3:28 am I had enough. I went to the staffroom, and grab a crowbar. I went to the first room they were first staying in and forced open the vent.

I almost puked when it opened and the rotted corpse of the mother dangled out. She was bloated and had a bloodstain that was almost black on her blouse. When I screamed my Sara was the only one who came running.

Even in my hysterics she could understand me and was trying to calm me down. She tried to get a few words in but failed as I ran out to the 2nd room.

I was faster than her, so by the time she ran in I was already screaming about the rotted flesh of the father, his head barely hanging on by a thread.

Sara must have been able to tell I was ready to run to the room they were currently staying in, and that's when her composure broke. She screamed, cried, and begged as she chased me to the 3rd room, yelling at me to not do it.

When I opened the door with the master key, there was no one inside. Thinking back on it, the only person I had seen since the 1st room was Sara, but did not notice it then.

She yanked my arm away as I jammed the crowbar into the vent, and went quiet as she fell onto the floor in front of us.

With the same uniform and same face, it was Sara. But her expression wasn't bright or alive, instead was pale and had red staining her forehead. I dropped my crowbar in shock, finally noticing the tint of red on the end.

I was alone in the room with a bloody crowbar. I walked out of the room, and I had to change my statement. I was alone in a hotel, surrounded by ghosts.