The Motel Room That Wasn’t Empty - Reddit Horror Stories

The Motel Room That Wasn’t Empty - Reddit Horror Stories

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
I travel a lot for work, sails, nothing glamorous, just
long drives across the Midwest, cheap food and cheaper motels.
After a while, they all blurred together, same scratchy sheets,
same faint smell of bleach and cigarettes. But one stop
in Kansas last year has stayed burned into my head.

(00:23):
It was late, close to one a m. When I
pulled into this roadside motel off the highway, only a
handful of cars in the lot. The clerk barely looked
at me when I checked in, just slid a key
across the counter, Room twelve, ground floor end of the hall.
I dumped my bag, turned on the TV for background noise,

(00:46):
and tried to wind down. That's when I noticed the mirror.
It was huge, covering nearly the entire wall opposite the bed,
old with darkened edges. Normal enough, I guess, but something
about it bothered me. Maybe it was the way it
reflected the bed perfectly, like whoever designed the room wanted

(01:07):
the mirror to face it. I tried to ignore it,
but when I finally killed the lights, I swore I
saw a movement in the reflection, just a flicker, like
someone brushing past behind me. I sat up fast. Nothing there,
just me, the hum of the ac and the faint
buzz of a neon sign outside. I chalked it up

(01:31):
to exhaustion and eventually drifted off. At three twelve a m.
I woke to a sound knocking, not at the door,
not from outside, from the mirror, three slow knocks, like
someone tapping from inside the glass. I froze, staring at
my own dim reflection. The room was dark, but the

(01:53):
glow from the neon outside gave just enough light for
me to see the outline of the bed, and there
the reflection was a shape, not me. Someone was standing
on the far side of the bed, a tall figure,
shoulders hunched, head tilted slightly. I spun around, heart pounding,

(02:14):
but the room was empty. When I looked back at
the mirror, the figure was gone. I didn't sleep the
rest of the night. The next morning, I went to
check out. The clerk gave me the same bored look.
Sliding my receipt across the counter, I hesitated, then asked
if anyone had ever mentioned weird stuff in room twelve.

(02:38):
His face tightened for just a second, then he shrugged.
Some guests complain about the mirror. He muttered, but it's
just an old mirror. On impulse, I asked for a
different room the next time I stayed. He leaned forward
slightly and said, don't worry, you won't be in room
twelve again, that rooms already taken. I thought he was joking,

(03:04):
but he didn't laugh. I didn't think much of it
until months later, when I passed through the same stretch
of highway. Out of morbid curiosity, I stopped at the
motel again. Different clerk, this time, younger guy, friendlier. I
asked casually if room twelve was available. He looked confused,

(03:25):
then said, there's no room twelve. We only have eleven rooms.
I laughed, thinking maybe they'd renumbered, But when I walked
outside and counted the doors, my stomach dropped. There were eleven.
The room I stayed in didn't exist, and yet I
still have the receipt from that night. It clearly says

(03:47):
room twelve. The worst part on the back of the receipt,
in shaky handwriting that definitely isn't mine are three words
see you again.