The Last Room: A billingual Horror Short Story
Welcome, night readers. Tonight's tale is bilingual horror short, perfect for those who dare to look into the darkness. Inspired by mirror folklore and creepy midnight motel stays, The Last Room will make you think twice before checking in alone...
Every mirror holds a memory. Some.. don't belong to you
It was 11:47 p.m. when Rosy checked into the cheap motel at the edge of town. The receptionist looked half-asleep, barely lifting his eyes as he handed her the key.
Jam menunjukkan 11:47 malam ketika Rosy mendaftar masuk ke motel murah di pinggir bandar. Penyambut tetamu kelihatan separuh sedar, hanya mengangkat mata seketika sebelum menyerahkan kunci.
“Room 213,” he mumbled. “Last room on the left.”
“Bilik 213,” dia menggumam. “Bilik terakhir di sebelah kiri.”
The hallway was dim, the flickering lights overhead buzzing like trapped flies. Rosy dragged her luggage over the stained carpet, passing doors that seemed… wrong. Too quiet.
Lorong itu suram, dengan lampu yang berkelip-kelip dan berdengung seperti lalat terperangkap. Rosy menarik begnya menyusuri karpet yang kotor, melewati pintu-pintu yang terasa… pelik. Terlalu senyap.
When she reached Room 213, her key turned stiffly in the lock. The door creaked open to reveal a cold, empty room. One bed. One mirror. One window that didn’t open.
Apabila dia sampai ke Bilik 213, kuncinya terasa ketat di dalam lubang kunci. Pintu berkeriut terbuka, menampakkan bilik yang dingin dan kosong. Satu katil. Satu cermin. Satu tingkap yang tak boleh dibuka.
She tried to sleep. But the air felt thick, like someone was breathing beside her. At 2:13 a.m., she heard a knock. Three soft taps.
Dia cuba tidur. Tapi udara terasa berat, seolah-olah ada seseorang bernafas di sebelahnya. Tepat pukul 2:13 pagi, dia dengar ketukan. Tiga kali, perlahan.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
She opened the door. No one there. Only a long hallway stretching darker than before. But when she turned around… the bed was no longer empty.
Dia buka pintu. Tiada sesiapa. Hanya lorong yang kelihatan lebih gelap dari sebelumnya. Tapi bila dia pusing kembali… katil itu tidak lagi kosong.
A woman sat on it, her back facing Rosy. Long black hair. Pale skin. She was humming a lullaby.
Seorang wanita duduk di atasnya, membelakangi Rosy. Rambut panjang hitam. Kulit pucat. Dia sedang mendendangkan lagu nina bobo.
Rosy froze. Her voice trembled. “Who are you?”
Rosy kaku. Suaranya bergetar. “Awak siapa?”
The woman stopped humming. Slowly, she turned — revealing a face identical to Rosy’s.
Wanita itu berhenti menyanyi. Perlahan-lahan, dia berpaling — memperlihatkan wajah yang sama seperti Rosy.
“I’m the one who checked in last time,” she said. “And never checked out.”
“Aku yang daftar masuk kali terakhir,” katanya. “Dan tak pernah daftar keluar.”
Rosy screamed. She ran. Down the hallway. Past doors that whispered her name. Past a mirror that didn’t show her reflection.
Rosy menjerit. Dia berlari. Menyusuri lorong. Melewati pintu-pintu yang membisikkan namanya. Melewati cermin yang tidak memantulkan bayangannya.
But when she reached the lobby — it was empty. Dust-covered. As if no one had worked there in years.
Tapi bila dia sampai ke lobi — ia kosong. Diselaputi habuk. Seolah-olah tiada sesiapa yang pernah bekerja di situ selama bertahun-tahun.
And when she looked back…
Room 213 was gone.
Comments
Post a Comment