One Vacant Room
Inktober Day 30 – “Vacant.” A couple seeks shelter in a remote Highland manor where one room is always vacant… and breakfast is always served. But some guests check in and never leave...
The Road to Nowhere
They always traveled light: two backpacks, a thermos, and a battered blue Vespa. No fixed itinerary, no hotel bookings. Just the open road and wherever it took them.
Scotland suited that kind of freedom.
The sun dipped behind the highland hills, draping the moors in dusky purples and rain-heavy clouds. David squinted at the map. Isla pulled her jacket tighter.
The last three villages had been quaint, postcard-perfect—and utterly full. “No vacancies,” each cheerful innkeeper had said with a sorrowful smile. “Big wedding. Locals and tourists alike.”
Their tent was no help. Not tonight. The forecast warned of thunderstorms, maybe even hail. The kind of storm that turned hills into rivers and canvas into shreds.
They pressed on.
The Vespa’s headlamp struggled against the gloom. Rain sliced sideways. Wind howled like something old and angry.
And then—through the sheets of rain—a silhouette.
The House by the Tree
It rose from the landscape like a forgotten relic. Ivy-choked stone walls. A single crooked tower. A dead tree at its side, gnarled like a witch’s hand, its branches thrashing in the gale.
David eased the Vespa to a stop near a shallow pond that gleamed like black glass. In the tower window, a flicker. Warm, golden, steady. Not candlelight. Not firelight. Something in-between.
They approached.
A parchment note fluttered on the door. Untouched by rain, the ink curled in elegant calligraphy:
One Room Vacant.
Bed and Breakfast Included.
Isla squinted up at the looming house. “So we’re spending the night in a haunted manor now?”
David chuckled. “First time for everything.”
Before either of them knocked, the door creaked open on its own.
The Welcome
The hallway was colder than the storm outside. Dust coated the marble floor. Statues lined the walls, faces half-eroded, eyes half-closed. Crystal chandeliers swayed gently above, cobwebs dancing like veils.
“Hello?” David called out.
Only the house replied. Groaning beams. A rattle of wind through unseen cracks. Somewhere, a floorboard popped.
A bell sat on the reception table. Isla gave it a tap.
Ding.
Silence.
They glanced at each other.
“Someone has to be here,” Isla whispered. “We saw light in the tower window. Maybe they’re already upstairs.”
“Only one way to find out,” David said.
They climbed the staircase, each step groaning underfoot. Dust stirred. Shadows shifted.
Isla winced. “Tell me I’m imagining it… but those statues feel like they’re watching us.”
David didn’t answer. He was thinking the same thing.
The Room
A soft glow spilled from under an oak door. They knocked.
Nothing.
David pushed it open.
The room was… lovely. Warm. A velvet-draped canopy bed stood in the center. A fire flickered in the hearth. Two armchairs flanked it, their upholstery faded but inviting. On one sat a cream envelope.
Isla opened it.
Welcome, guests.
The bed is yours tonight. Breakfast is served at 7 a.m. sharp. Don’t be late.
The grandfather clock in the corner struck eleven.
Chimes echoed through the hall like a slow, patient countdown.
They didn’t hesitate. Wet clothes draped over chairs, pajamas pulled on. They slipped beneath the heavy blankets. The warmth wrapped around them, thick and slow. Outside, the storm snarled against the windows.
Sleep took them.
Footsteps
The twelfth chime had barely faded when they both sat up.
“Midnight?” Isla murmured, blinking. “That can’t be right. I feel like we slept for hours.”
The fire was out.
The room had gone still and cold.
And above them—footsteps. Not heavy. Light. Darting. Running.
Giggling.
Children’s voices.
David rubbed his eyes. “Probably another family upstairs. We’ll see them at breakfast.”
Isla frowned. “What kind of parents let their kids run around at night in a place like this?”
He shrugged, rolled over.
Isla didn’t.
The Window
The wind had stopped.
She sat up.
The window was wide open. Curtains barely moved. Outside: silence. A full moon stared down like an eye. The trees stood still. Not a breeze.
She shivered, closed the window, and slipped back under the covers.
David didn’t stir.
“You’re freezing,” she muttered, tucking the blankets around him. His skin was cold as stone.
She turned away and tried to sleep.
The Mirror
A creak.
Her eyes snapped open.
The door was ajar.
David was gone.
She whispered his name. Nothing.
Candle in hand, she stepped into the hallway. The corridor stretched like a throat. At the far end, a faint flicker. A figure?
No—just a mirror.
She approached.
The candle floated in the glass.
Her reflection was missing.
She gasped. Pinched her arm. The pain was real.
“David?” she called, voice cracking. No answer.
Downstairs, a door stood ajar.
A sign above read:
Dining Room.
Another note hung there:
Breakfast is ready.
The Dining Room
She reached for the doorknob.
Her hand slipped straight through. It felt cold as fog.
Heart pounding, she stepped closer…
and passed into the room like smoke.
The tables were set for breakfast: cups filled, napkins untouched, silverware resting in silent expectation.
As if someone had been waiting for them a very long time.
At the far table—David.
He sat upright, back straight, cutting his food with mechanical precision.
She ran to him.
“David! What are you—”
Her hand passed through his shoulder.
He didn’t flinch.
She stared at the plate.
Sausages. Eggs. Toast.
And a ring.
Her ring.
On a finger.
On her finger.
On the plate.
Her scream tore through her—but made no sound.
David blinked.
Swallowed.
Chewed.
Eyes vacant.
The House Always Serves
She fled.
Up the stairs. Down the hall. Back to the room.
It was clean.
Too clean.
The bed was made. The fire dead.
Their clothes were gone.
As if they’d never been there.
Another envelope sat on the chair.
Unopened.
The same one.
She reached for it—
and her fingers passed straight through.
Down the stairs again—barefoot, floating more than running.
The house didn’t creak now.
It didn’t need to.
She staggered toward the front door.
It stood open again.
The storm had passed.
Moonlight spilled over the pond and the dead tree, now still.
Pinned neatly to the wood:
One Room Vacant.
Bed and Breakfast Included.
A distant hum caught her attention.
Low and familiar.
Headlights crested the hill.
A Vespa. Two figures.
She ran forward—waved her arms, tried to shout.
Nothing.
They didn’t see her.
Didn’t slow down.
Just smiled, pointed at the house, and rolled into the driveway.
And behind the glass of the tower window, the oil lamp flickered to life.
The end.
So spooky! But I enjoyed it!