The airport at Zurich was everything you'd expect—gleaming, efficient, slightly cold in a way that made you feel like you were being judged by invisible clocks. Luke pressed his face against the window of our cab as we wound through the Swiss countryside, his eyes wide with excitement. Haley had her phone out before we'd even left the terminal, already framing shots of the mountains and trying to figure out which filter made the Alps look "more aesthetic." Phil was making terrible yodeling impressions that made Claire wince. Cam was already discussing the cheese they'd be tasting. Jay just looked relieved—finally, a vacation where nobody needed solving or fixing.
We'd taken a night flight specifically to arrive fresh enough for exploring, though the logic of that was already unraveling as everyone stared out the windows with varying degrees of exhaustion. After much discussion—mostly Claire arguing that we should maximize our first day by seeing the Altstadt and maybe a museum, and Cam insisting that wasn't maximizing, that was rushing—we'd compromised on a buffer day. Shopping. Minor sightseeing. Settling in. Nothing strenuous.
I'd already decided I wasn't going.
My YouTube channel had exploded recently. The Vice City series was doing numbers I hadn't anticipated, comments were demanding new content, and somehow I'd also committed to two chess livestreams for the following month. My brain felt like it had been pickled in productivity. For the first time in what felt like years, I wanted to do absolutely nothing that involved a camera, an audience, or a template.
"I'm taking tomorrow off," I'd announced at the hotel lobby after we checked in, and nobody had really argued. Mitchell understood burnout—he lived it. Cam nodded sympathetically. Jay just said, "Good. Rest is work too."
The hotel itself was exactly what Switzerland should look like but somehow more so—all dark wood beams, white plaster, window boxes overflowing with geraniums the color of fresh blood. There were cuckoo clocks on practically every wall, their little wooden doors all closed like they were waiting for the perfect moment to judge us. The lobby had a fireplace with real flames, a shelf of old books, and that chess set I'd spotted immediately, its pieces arranged like they'd been waiting for me.
The receptionist was a woman in her fifties with the kind of efficiency that suggested she'd checked in approximately a billion guests without breaking a smile. She was kind, though—warm even—until the end of our check-in when she leaned over the counter and said something odd.
"You are in rooms 201, 202, and 205," she said, sliding the keys across the desk. "Please, do not go to room 305. Is not... available. Very dangerous now."
"Dangerous?" Claire immediately looked concerned.
The receptionist explained with a vague wave. "Nothing to worry. Just not safe."
It was such a strange thing to mention unprompted that it lodged in my brain like a splinter. Why tell us about a room we weren't going to anyway? But I was too tired to think about it. By ten PM, I was asleep in a bed that smelled like expensive soap and Switzerland.
I woke to sunlight hitting the Alps and making them glow like they'd been photoshopped by God. The view was genuinely stunning—the kind that made you understand why people spent their savings on Swiss hotel rooms. The air through the open window was so crisp it felt like breathing in clarity itself.
Downstairs, the hotel was already alive with activity. Cam was in full vacation mode, vibrating with the energy of a man who'd spent the last six months working and was now finally allowed to eat cheese without guilt. Mitchell was nursing coffee and reading something on his phone, that particular furrow between his eyebrows that suggested work was still pestering him even in the Swiss Alps.
"We're going to the Bahnhofstrasse," Claire announced, looking at a map she'd printed. "There's an excellent chocolate shop, and I want to see the old cathedral."
"And the cheese!" Cam added, almost reverently.
"After we find the cheese, yes," Phil agreed, already half-ready with hiking boots that seemed optimistic for city shopping.
Jay was sprawled on a lounge chair by the window with a coffee and a look of profound peace. "You all go," he said. "Gloria and I are going to...relax. Maybe find a café. Possibly nap."
"I'm coming with you guys," Manny announced, surprising everyone. "There's a museum with medieval Swiss manuscripts. I want to see them."
Gloria's face lit up. "Of course! We make it educational, yes? Jay, we can take him, it is good for his mind."
Jay, who would have agreed to anything if it meant Gloria stayed happy, immediately nodded.
Luke, Haley, and Alex had apparently made a pact to stay at the hotel. Luke wanted to use the pool table, Haley wanted to do "environmental content"—which seemed to mean taking photos of herself against Swiss backdrops—and Alex just wanted to read. They'd invited me to join them, and I'd agreed immediately.
"I'm staying too," I said. "I'm just... resting today."
Mitchell looked at me carefully, the way he does when he's trying to determine if I'm okay or just saying I'm okay. Whatever he saw seemed to satisfy him. "Yeah. Rest. You've earned it."
After everyone had scattered in their various directions—Claire and Phil heading into the city with Cam's enthusiastic chatter fading down the corridor, Jay and Gloria disappearing with Manny toward the museum—I grabbed my chess set from my room and made my way to what the hotel called the "games room."
It was exactly what I needed. Quiet, tastefully decorated, with a pool table at one end, a carrom board gathering dust in the corner, and a small library of board games. But more importantly, there was a window that looked directly at the mountains, and a comfortable chair with excellent light.
I set up my chess pieces, ordered a coffee from the café, and opened Pride and Prejudice.
Someone had recommended it to me months ago, some girl in the Spice Club who'd been ranting about Elizabeth Bennet, and I'd finally picked it up. It was better than I expected—Austen had this sharp, wry sense of humor. People being ridiculous, consequences following, and somehow it was all funny because it was true.
I read for maybe forty minutes before Luke burst in with the energy of a small explosion.
"Ryan! Pool!"
I marked my page and followed him. Haley and Alex were already there, Haley setting up a shot with the confidence of someone who'd never actually played pool before. I was, objectively, terrible at pool—my angles were always wrong, my power control was inconsistent. But I played anyway, losing spectacularly and with good humor.
That's when we heard the voices from outside the games room.
Two staff members were hurrying past in the hallway, their Swiss accents thick with concern. "—told people not to go to that room—now that man is traumatized, you know? Came screaming down the stairs—"
Luke's head snapped up like he'd been struck by lightning. "Did you hear that?"
"Hear what?" I said, already knowing.
"Room 305. Someone went in there and came out traumatized."
"It's haunted," Luke said with absolute certainty. "I'm telling you, it's haunted."
"There are no such things as ghosts," I said flatly.
"You enjoy Halloween," Haley pointed out, chalking her cue.
"For the pranks."
"You told me there were no psychics either, but you read my mind all the time."
I set down my cue. "That's different. That's observation and psychology. There's no such thing as actual psychics, Luke. Just people who are good at reading behavior. Ghosts don't exist. Haunted hotels are tourist marketing."
But Luke had the bit in his teeth now, and he wouldn't let go. "Prove it," he said. "Do the card trick. The one where you read minds with cards."
I sighed. This is what happens when you develop a reputation for being able to do things—suddenly everyone wants you to perform on demand. But I had cards in my pocket (I always have cards in my pocket), so I sighed, shuffled them, and handed the deck to Haley.
"Fine. Shuffle."
She shuffled with theatrical deliberation, clearly delighted that this was happening. "I've never seen you do this one!"
"Pick the top card. Look at it. Don't tell anyone."
She did, her eyes going wide. "Oh wow, this is actually—"
"Put it on your forehead."
"What? Why?"
"So the psychic energy connects with your brain," I said, completely straight-faced.
She did it, giggling. The card was the Ace of Hearts—I'd seen it when she picked it from the top of the deck. I'd palmed it, switched it back into the middle, and now I was just going to find it through basic card handling. It wasn't magic. It wasn't telepathy. It was just practice.
I looked through the deck slowly, counting, finding my card. "Is it the Ace of Hearts?"
Her mouth dropped open. "How did you—"
"Magicians never reveal their secrets."
"But you're not a magician."
"Your dad would be sad if he heard you say that," I said, gathering up my cards.
They left eventually after another round of pool that I lost even more spectacularly. I let them win—it was easier that way, and they seemed to need the validation more than I needed to prove I could be competent at a physical game, yes I told myself that to reassure.
Back in the games room, I set up my chess set again and returned to Elizabeth Bennet. I'd just gotten to the part where she was being absolutely cutting to Mr. Darcy when a man appeared in the doorway. He was maybe sixty, with that particular Swiss look—neat, precise, with the kind of calm that suggested he'd never had an unreturned email in his life.
"Hello there" he said. His English was perfect, colored only slightly by German consonants.
'Hello,' I said, marking my page in my book.
"I am Stefan, owner of Hotel Lapine. I saw you with the chess set. Would you play?"
I gestured to the chair across from me. "Sure."
Stefan was decent at chess, but not great. He played the kind of careful, defensive game you learn from books—opening theory was solid, but his middlegame was hesitant. I beat him in about twenty moves, using a simple tactic he should have seen coming but didn't.
He took the loss gracefully, actually smiling.
"You are very good," he said.
"Thank you."
I brought up Luke's ghost theory with him, curious about what was really in room 305.
"Your cousin thinks room 305 is haunted," he added, and I looked up. "Luke told one of the staff members. He's convinced there's a ghost."
I laughed despite myself. "Of course he does. Because of that warning at check-in?"
Stefan's expression shifted—something that might have been embarrassment. He leaned back in his chair.
"The truth is less interesting than the mystery," he said. "Room 305 had... an accident. Some renovation work damaged the walls. Iron fittings, rusty materials, sharp edges everywhere. It's not safe. So we close it until we fix it."
"And the receptionist just... warns people it's dangerous?"
"She's Swiss," Stefan said with a shrug. "We are direct. But your cousin—he hears danger and thinks ghost, yes?"
I grinned. "Apparently."
Stefan smiled back. "You will not tell him the truth?"
I considered. "Not immediately."
By the time everyone regrouped for dinner, the stories had accumulated like snow.
Phil and Claire had gotten lost trying to find the cathedral, ended up in a small bookshop run by a woman who'd spent an hour explaining Swiss literary history to them. Claire had bought three books she didn't have time to read. Phil had charmed the owner into giving them free hot chocolate.
Cam had found not one but four cheese shops and had apparently entered into a philosophical discussion with a vendor about the nature of aging and fermentation. He'd come back with approximately thirty pounds of various cheeses.
Jay had done exactly what he said he would—found a café, sat for three hours, and emerged looking like he'd solved all the world's problems. Gloria had gone shopping and was animatedly describing her adventures. She'd taken Manny to the museum, which he'd enjoyed.
"So," I said to Luke once everyone was settled back at the hotel, "about room 305."
His eyes went wide.
"What about it?"
"I asked Stefan about it."
Luke leaned forward. "And? Is it haunted?"
"Completely," I said. "Absolutely haunted. The ghost specifically haunts people who are too curious about things they shouldn't know about."
Luke looked torn between terror and defiance. "You're lying."
"Am I?"
I wasn't, technically. I was just creatively interpreting the truth. Luke spent the next three hours convinced that room 305 was home to the spirit of some wronged Swiss banker or jilted lover. He started doing "research," which mostly meant bothering the staff and asking increasingly specific questions about who had died in the hotel.
It was beautiful, honestly. I let it run for the rest of the evening, adding details when he asked questions. Yes, I'd heard strange noises. No, I wouldn't go up there if I were him. Definitely seems like the kind of thing that follows you home if you're not careful.
By bedtime, he was genuinely spooked.
The next morning, I found him in the breakfast room looking exhausted.
"You didn't sleep either?" I asked.
"There were noises," he said. "From above. From the third floor."
I poured myself juice and sat down. "Yeah. I heard them too."
"Ryan." His voice was small. "What if—"
"What if what?"
"What if it is actually haunted?"
I let that hang for a moment. Then I smiled. "Luke, room 305 isn't haunted. It's being renovated. It has rusty iron fittings and damaged walls. That's what the receptionist meant by dangerous. No ghost. Just old, pointy stuff that could hurt you."
He stared at me. "You knew. The whole time."
"I figured it out when I talked to Stefan. Decided to have some fun."
"That's not funny, Ryan."
"It's a little funny."
But Luke was genuinely upset—not angry, but that specific hurt that comes from being pranked by someone you trust. I felt the familiar guilt, the reminder that templates and tricks are fun until they're not, until someone's actual feelings get caught in the machinery.
"I'm sorry," I said, and I meant it. "I should have told you sooner. But you were having fun being scared, and I didn't think it would actually keep you up."
He softened slightly. "You're still annoying."
"Yeah. I am."
"But you're also kind of smart. For using my own assumptions against me like that."
I considered taking the compliment, then decided honesty was better. "It's not that smart. It's just observation. You wanted the mystery to be something interesting, so I gave you interesting. But the truth is usually boring."
"This time it was boring," Luke agreed. "Next time, just tell me."
"Deal."
By morning, the incident had mostly blown over. Luke had told Haley and Alex, who laughed at him for falling for it. The family was planning activities—skiing mostly and everyone had to participate so i closed my book and got ready to move out.
[Status Screen: No Change]
Mikhail Tal – Intermediate (3,500 / 25,000)
Kazuma Satou – Advanced (8,500 / 25,000)
Patrick Jane – Intermediate (4,650 / 30,000)
Sometimes the best vacation is the one where nothing needs solving.