The Room at the End of the Hall
A drunk man checks into a cheap riverside hotel and sleepwalks into something he cannot explain. Years later, he learns the truth about what was built where his school once stood.
My grandparents raised me. For my grandmother's 80th birthday, half the county showed up. The house was packed—so the younger crowd scattered to find somewhere to sleep.
I had already made plans with some friends. We went out, drank, hung out until past one in the morning. This was May, peak tourist season. My hometown was a small county city—but it had mountains, it had a river, people actually came here. After a few rounds, my friends started heading back one by one. When it was my turn, I caught a taxi and told the driver to find me a hotel.
First stop: downtown. Every place was full. Guest after guest, packed solid. We kept driving, kept searching. Eventually the driver pulled over near the river, about 200 meters from my old elementary school, and pointed at a cheap-looking place off the main road. I did not hesitate. I was drunk, tired, did not care. We stopped. I got a room.
The room was at the end of a long, narrow corridor. The hallway was tight—two people side by side and it was snug. The key was an actual metal key, not a card. The lights gave off that dim yellow glow you only see in places that have not been updated since the 90s. I was too tired to think straight, and the alcohol was still doing its thing. I just wanted a bed.
The room was exactly what you would expect from a place like this. Small. A desk with a boxy old TV on it—I mean a real old television, big and boxy, the kind that probably came with the building. One clothes rack. One single bed.
I have a habit when I sleep: no matter how drunk or how tired, I need noise. TV on, phone playing something—crosstalk, a drama, a movie, anything. Background noise. I went to the shared bathroom to wash up—there was a small utility room with a sink on one side and a cramped shower stall on the other. By the time I came back, I was dead on my feet.
I turned on the TV. There were only two or three channels. I picked one, left it on, did not really pay attention to what was playing. Flopped onto the bed, pulled the blanket over me, and closed my eyes. The exhaustion from drinking and staying out all night hit me hard. I was asleep within minutes.
---
**The Dream**
I slept—but it was not restful. I kept feeling cold, even under the blanket. At some point, I do not know if I was asleep or half-dreaming or somewhere in between, I felt like someone was pulling me somewhere. The dream had my friend—the one I had been drinking with that night. He came back. He wanted me to follow him somewhere.
I asked where.
He did not answer. He just started walking and I followed.
The path was narrow. No streetlights. No houses anywhere around. I had never been to this place before in my life, but somehow I just kept following him. Eventually we got to a spot surrounded by high concrete walls, with a big iron gate at the end. Beside the gate, there was a wooden crate on its side.
My friend stepped onto the crate and climbed over the gate. He dropped down on the other side without a word.
I was confused. What kind of place is this? I called after him. No answer. I figured I would just follow him in and figure it out. I climbed up, threw my leg over, and dropped down.
That is when everything went wrong.
Once I was on the other side, it was pitch black. No light at all. Not from a streetlamp, not from a window—just nothing. I started calling my friend's name. Over and over. He would not respond. I panicked. I started walking, feeling along the walls, trying to find a way out. I was half-shouting, half-screaming, the kind of noise you make when you are not fully awake but you know something is very wrong.
I kept searching. At some point I realized my hands were touching a wall. I followed it, palms flat, stepping carefully in the dark. I do not know how long this went on. Then—click. A light came on.
I snapped out of it completely. I was standing right next to the TV desk. Just... standing there. My head was foggy, my body felt strange. When I looked at the floor, my pillow and blanket were on the ground. The clothes rack was knocked over. And the TV was on—but it was just static. Snow. Not a single channel, just that buzzing white noise on the screen.
I stood there in the middle of the room, completely bewildered. I picked the blanket and pillow up, put them back on the bed, set the clothes rack upright. Then I tried changing the channel. Every single one was static. Nothing had a picture.
But I knew the TV had been showing something when I first turned it on. I had watched it, even if just for a few seconds. There is no way I misremember that.
I was wide awake after that. Completely sober. I lay there until the first hint of daylight came through the window, then grabbed my things and went straight home.
---
**The School**
It was not until later, talking about this with some friends, that I put the pieces together. The school I had passed by that night—my old elementary school, 200 meters down the road—was built on top of an old grave site. Field of unmarked graves, from way back. The school merged with another a few years ago, and that building has not been a school since. The land sat empty for a while.
The hotel was right there too. Close enough to feel it.
I do not know what was in that dream. I do not know if it was my friend, or something wearing my friend's face. I do not know what was behind that gate. But I know I was standing in that room the whole time, asleep on my feet, while part of me was walking through the dark.
And the static on the TV?
I still do not have an explanation for that.
I had already made plans with some friends. We went out, drank, hung out until past one in the morning. This was May, peak tourist season. My hometown was a small county city—but it had mountains, it had a river, people actually came here. After a few rounds, my friends started heading back one by one. When it was my turn, I caught a taxi and told the driver to find me a hotel.
First stop: downtown. Every place was full. Guest after guest, packed solid. We kept driving, kept searching. Eventually the driver pulled over near the river, about 200 meters from my old elementary school, and pointed at a cheap-looking place off the main road. I did not hesitate. I was drunk, tired, did not care. We stopped. I got a room.
The room was at the end of a long, narrow corridor. The hallway was tight—two people side by side and it was snug. The key was an actual metal key, not a card. The lights gave off that dim yellow glow you only see in places that have not been updated since the 90s. I was too tired to think straight, and the alcohol was still doing its thing. I just wanted a bed.
The room was exactly what you would expect from a place like this. Small. A desk with a boxy old TV on it—I mean a real old television, big and boxy, the kind that probably came with the building. One clothes rack. One single bed.
I have a habit when I sleep: no matter how drunk or how tired, I need noise. TV on, phone playing something—crosstalk, a drama, a movie, anything. Background noise. I went to the shared bathroom to wash up—there was a small utility room with a sink on one side and a cramped shower stall on the other. By the time I came back, I was dead on my feet.
I turned on the TV. There were only two or three channels. I picked one, left it on, did not really pay attention to what was playing. Flopped onto the bed, pulled the blanket over me, and closed my eyes. The exhaustion from drinking and staying out all night hit me hard. I was asleep within minutes.
---
**The Dream**
I slept—but it was not restful. I kept feeling cold, even under the blanket. At some point, I do not know if I was asleep or half-dreaming or somewhere in between, I felt like someone was pulling me somewhere. The dream had my friend—the one I had been drinking with that night. He came back. He wanted me to follow him somewhere.
I asked where.
He did not answer. He just started walking and I followed.
The path was narrow. No streetlights. No houses anywhere around. I had never been to this place before in my life, but somehow I just kept following him. Eventually we got to a spot surrounded by high concrete walls, with a big iron gate at the end. Beside the gate, there was a wooden crate on its side.
My friend stepped onto the crate and climbed over the gate. He dropped down on the other side without a word.
I was confused. What kind of place is this? I called after him. No answer. I figured I would just follow him in and figure it out. I climbed up, threw my leg over, and dropped down.
That is when everything went wrong.
Once I was on the other side, it was pitch black. No light at all. Not from a streetlamp, not from a window—just nothing. I started calling my friend's name. Over and over. He would not respond. I panicked. I started walking, feeling along the walls, trying to find a way out. I was half-shouting, half-screaming, the kind of noise you make when you are not fully awake but you know something is very wrong.
I kept searching. At some point I realized my hands were touching a wall. I followed it, palms flat, stepping carefully in the dark. I do not know how long this went on. Then—click. A light came on.
I snapped out of it completely. I was standing right next to the TV desk. Just... standing there. My head was foggy, my body felt strange. When I looked at the floor, my pillow and blanket were on the ground. The clothes rack was knocked over. And the TV was on—but it was just static. Snow. Not a single channel, just that buzzing white noise on the screen.
I stood there in the middle of the room, completely bewildered. I picked the blanket and pillow up, put them back on the bed, set the clothes rack upright. Then I tried changing the channel. Every single one was static. Nothing had a picture.
But I knew the TV had been showing something when I first turned it on. I had watched it, even if just for a few seconds. There is no way I misremember that.
I was wide awake after that. Completely sober. I lay there until the first hint of daylight came through the window, then grabbed my things and went straight home.
---
**The School**
It was not until later, talking about this with some friends, that I put the pieces together. The school I had passed by that night—my old elementary school, 200 meters down the road—was built on top of an old grave site. Field of unmarked graves, from way back. The school merged with another a few years ago, and that building has not been a school since. The land sat empty for a while.
The hotel was right there too. Close enough to feel it.
I do not know what was in that dream. I do not know if it was my friend, or something wearing my friend's face. I do not know what was behind that gate. But I know I was standing in that room the whole time, asleep on my feet, while part of me was walking through the dark.
And the static on the TV?
I still do not have an explanation for that.