It was a stormy night when I first saw the inn. The rain poured relentlessly, and the wind howled like a wounded animal. My car had broken down miles back, and I was desperate for shelter. The village I stumbled upon was small, almost forgotten, with narrow cobblestone streets and crumbling houses. At the edge of the village stood an old inn, its wooden sign creaking in the wind. The faded letters read, “The Traveler’s Rest.”
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I hesitated at the door, recalling the warnings from the villagers. They spoke in hushed tones about the inn being cursed, about travelers who had entered and never returned. But the storm left me no choice. I pushed the heavy door open, and it groaned as if protesting my presence. Inside, the air was thick with dust, and the faint scent of decay lingered. The flickering light from my flashlight revealed a grand but decaying lobby, with furniture covered in white sheets and portraits of stern-faced individuals lining the walls. Their eyes seemed to follow me as I moved.
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As I settled into what seemed like the least dusty room, strange things began to happen. The lights flickered, though there was no electricity. Cold spots appeared out of nowhere, sending shivers down my spine. Faint whispers echoed through the halls, though I was alone. I tried to rationalize it—old buildings make noises, after all—but the unease grew with every passing minute.
Late that night, I was jolted awake by loud footsteps in the hallway. My heart raced as I listened to the heavy thuds growing closer. Summoning my courage, I opened the door and saw a shadowy figure disappearing around the corner. I followed, my flashlight trembling in my hand. The figure led me to a room at the end of the hall. The moment I stepped inside, the door slammed shut behind me. The air turned icy, and a suffocating weight pressed down on my chest.
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Then I saw it—a ghostly figure materializing before me. It was the innkeeper, his face twisted in anguish. He spoke in a voice filled with despair, demanding I leave. As I backed away, I knocked over an old journal. Its pages revealed the truth: the innkeeper had been wrongfully accused of a crime and took his own life in this very room. His spirit was tormented, unable to find peace.
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Tears filled my eyes as I pleaded with him, promising to share his story and clear his name. Slowly, the oppressive atmosphere lifted, and the ghost vanished. At dawn, I left the inn, shaken but determined. I shared his story with the villagers, who vowed to restore the inn’s reputation. Yet, as I walked away, I couldn’t shake the feeling that the innkeeper’s spirit still lingered, watching over his former home.
Credit: The Kathmandu Post
Horror Level:
4 / 5
References:
Abandoned Inn – link
Creepy Abandoned Hotel – link
Ghostly Hotel – link
Old Journal – link
Dawn at the Inn – link
Categories: Ghost Stories, Ghost Stories, Haunted Places, Paranormal
Tags: ghost story, ghostly research, haunted inn, Haunted Places, paranormal encounter
Religion: N/A
Country of Origin: World
Topic: Haunted Inn
Ethnicity: N/A
