The Last Guest
February 26, 2026
The boarding house on Hollow Street had been empty for decades—or at least, that’s what the townsfolk claimed. Its windows were boarded, the paint peeling, the shutters hanging at odd angles. Even the sign swinging above the doorway—Wren House—was cracked in half.
I had been driving for hours in a storm I didn’t see coming. The rain slapped my windshield, lightning flashed, and the wipers could barely keep up. My old car groaned as I took the sharp turn onto Hollow Street, headlights catching the dim neon of a “Vacancy” sign that buzzed faintly in the darkness.
I parked and ran to the door, drenched, shivering. The door creaked open before I could knock.
“Come in,” a voice said.
Inside, the air was heavy and warm. A fire burned in the grate, though no wood had been stacked. The foyer smelled faintly of dust, perfume, and something metallic.
A man stood behind a small wooden counter. He was tall, thin, and unnervingly pale. His eyes were dark, with flecks of gold that glinted in the firelight. He smiled.
“You’re the first in a long time,” he said. “Welcome to Wren House. Room 7 is ready.”
“Thanks,” I said, rubbing my wet arms. “Is anyone else here?”
“Guests?” His lips twitched. “No. You’re alone. For now.”
The room was small, furnished like the 1920s: brass bed, lace curtains, a wooden dresser. On the nightstand sat a small, antique bell. A note read:
Ring if you need anything.
I shrugged and fell onto the bed, exhausted. The storm rattled the windows. Sleep came quickly.
I woke to quiet. The fire had gone out. Rain still pattered against the roof, but the storm outside had diminished.
A soft sound came from the hall—a shuffle, like someone dragging their feet. I froze.
“Hello?” I called.
No answer. Just the creak of the floorboards growing louder.
I grabbed the bell. Ding. Ding. Ding.
The hall fell silent. Then, a door at the far end opened. Slowly.
A woman stepped into view. She wore a white dress, stained and frayed at the edges. Her hair hung in damp tangles over her face. She didn’t speak. She didn’t blink.
I swallowed hard. “Who—what are you?”
She tilted her head. Her voice was soft, a whisper, almost part of the house itself.
“I’m the last guest,” she said.
I laughed nervously. “The last guest? But… I’m staying here now. I’m your guest.”
Her eyes glinted, wet and empty. “No. You check in, but you don’t stay. You don’t leave.”
Before I could respond, the fire in the grate reignited. Shadows stretched along the walls. The floorboards groaned as if the house were inhaling.
I backed away. “What do you mean?”
“You belong to the house now,” she said. “Like all the others.”
From behind her, I saw movement in the shadows. Doors that hadn’t existed opened, revealing hallways that twisted impossibly. Figures emerged—pale, thin, faceless. All turned their gaze toward me.
“Stay with us,” she whispered. “Or the house will let you go differently.”
I bolted for the door. It slammed shut before I could touch the knob. The bell on the nightstand rang on its own. Ding. Ding. Ding.
I ran to the window. Rain pelted against the glass. Below, the street was gone. Hollow Street had vanished. Only darkness. Only the house.
The woman stepped closer. Shadows clung to her, writhing like living things.
I turned back to the bed and saw them—guests. All the shapes in the shadows now fully visible, sitting upright on the edge of the brass bed. Their eyes hollow, faces pale, frozen in silent screams.
“You check in,” she whispered again. “And then…”
She smiled, showing teeth that weren’t right—too many, too sharp. “You join us.”
I tried to scream. The walls bent inward. The ceiling stretched impossibly high. The floor disappeared beneath my feet.
The last thing I heard was the bell, ringing from the nightstand. Ding. Ding. Ding.
I woke in a bed, somewhere else. Dim light filtered through tall, narrow windows. Dust hung in the air. I was not alone.
Around me sat dozens of figures—pale, thin, eyes empty. Their mouths opened in silent screams. Their hands reached forward, toward me.
A voice whispered in the corner. “New guest.”
I turned, and the woman in the white dress stood there, smiling.
“You checked in,” she said. “And now, you stay.”
I tried to move. My body didn’t obey. I screamed. My voice came out as a whisper, joining the others.
The Wren House had a new guest.
And from somewhere far away, the antique bell rang again. Ding. Ding. Ding.