Room for One More
August 7, 2025
A fresh summer sun cast long shadows over the wooded hills of Vermont, where the Hollow Pine Inn sat hidden among the trees like a secret long forgotten. Once a hunting lodge in the 1800s, the inn had since become a quiet, rustic getaway. Only locals knew about it—and they didn’t speak of it fondly.
Jason and Kayla, a couple from New York City looking to “disconnect,” didn’t know that part.
“Wow,” Kayla said as they pulled into the gravel drive. “This place is… cute.”
Jason raised an eyebrow. “More like creepy-cute. Look at that weathervane—it’s a crow.”
“I like it. Rustic horror-chic.”
He smirked. “If we get axe-murdered, I’m blaming your Pinterest board.”
The innkeeper, an old woman named Miriam, greeted them at the front porch.
“You’re our only guests tonight,” she said with a smile that never touched her eyes.
“Perfect,” Kayla said. “We needed the quiet.”
Miriam looked them over slowly. “Yes. Quiet is good.”
She handed over a brass key with a tag: Room 6.
“Breakfast is at seven sharp. No roaming the halls after midnight.”
Jason chuckled. “Ghosts?”
Miriam didn’t laugh. “Locks change at midnight. For everyone’s safety.”
He blinked. “Wait—seriously?”
But she had already turned away.
Room 6 was small, cozy, and smelled faintly of cedar and mothballs. The bed was made with tight corners, and the walls were lined with old paintings—portraits of people who looked almost real, as if caught mid-blink.
Jason examined one. “Why does it feel like this guy’s eyes follow you?”
Kayla flopped on the bed. “They do follow you. That’s the whole vintage portrait vibe.”
He turned away. “Vintage is unsettling.”
They spent the evening hiking nearby trails and drinking cheap wine on the porch. By 11:45 p.m., they were back in Room 6, brushing teeth and joking about ghosts.
Then they heard the knock.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
At the door.
Jason froze, toothbrush in his mouth. “Was that…?”
Another knock. Louder.
He opened the door.
The hallway was empty.
“Great prank,” he said, voice tight.
But the hall didn’t look right. It was longer than he remembered. Dimmer. Cold.
He stepped out. The floor groaned beneath him.
“Jason?” Kayla called.
He turned.
The door to Room 6 had closed.
He tried the knob.
Locked.
“What the hell?”
“Very funny!” came Kayla’s muffled voice from inside. “Let me out!”
“I didn’t close it!”
He banged on the door. “Kayla, open up!”
From behind him, another tap-tap-tap.
He turned.
A figure stood at the end of the hall.
A woman in a nightgown, barefoot, hair hanging limp. Her head tilted sharply to the side.
Jason backed against the door.
“Hey,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “You okay?”
The woman twitched.
Then began to walk—no, glide—toward him. Fast.
Her feet didn’t move.
Her mouth stretched open.
Jason screamed and dove to the side as the woman crashed against the door, face inches from his.
She stared at him with hollow eyes.
Then whispered:
“Room for one more.”
He woke on the floor.
The hallway was gone.
He was back inside Room 6, Kayla beside him, shaking him.
“Jason! Wake up!”
He bolted upright. “Where’s—where’s the woman? The hallway?”
Kayla looked frightened. “What woman? You passed out. You never left the room.”
He blinked. The clock said 12:04 a.m.
“That’s impossible. I was—”
A knock.
They both turned to the door.
“No,” Jason whispered.
Another knock. Tap. Tap.
This time, Kayla answered.
The hallway was empty.
Until she turned her head to the right.
“Jason,” she whispered. “There’s someone down there.”
The woman was back. Closer now.
Jason grabbed Kayla’s arm and slammed the door shut.
“She said something,” he muttered, pushing a chair under the handle. “She said, ‘Room for one more.’”
“That’s messed up. Should we get help?”
“No roaming the halls after midnight,” Jason said. “The innkeeper warned us.”
Kayla backed toward the bed. “Maybe we should just wait it out.”
Then—
Knock knock knock.
Jason looked at the door. The knocking was fast, angry now.
Suddenly, the door shuddered.
Wood cracked.
Jason shouted, “We have a reservation! There’s no room for you!”
The door went still.
Silence.
Morning came.
The door opened easily.
They stumbled downstairs, exhausted, shaken.
Miriam was setting out coffee.
“Sleep well?” she asked.
Jason stepped forward. “We saw someone last night. A woman. She—she attacked us.”
Miriam nodded slowly. “Room 6?”
“Yes!”
She sighed. “You should’ve asked for Room 3. Six is… persistent.”
Jason looked pale. “What does that mean?”
Miriam poured coffee without looking up. “A woman died there. Guest in 1954. Alone. Room full of unclaimed bags. When they found her, the walls were covered in writing. Just one phrase, over and over.”
Jason swallowed. “What did it say?”
Miriam looked up.
“Room for one more.”
They left the inn that morning, swearing never to return.
They didn’t notice, as they drove away, the figure watching from the upstairs window.
And they didn’t hear the faint whisper that followed them for miles down the highway:
“Room… for… one… more…”