Genre: Horror / Survival / System
Chapter 1: The Glitch
It was roughly 11:45 PM. A terrible storm had seized the city. Lightning tore through the sky, followed by thunder so loud it felt as though the heavens were tearing apart. Thick raindrops hammered against the taxi window like bullets, blurring the world outside into a watery smear.
Inside the taxi, Aryan sat in the backseat, attempting to type on his laptop, but the potholes in the road made it impossible to work.
"Sir, we are almost there," the driver spoke from the front. There was a strange nervousness in his voice. He kept glancing into the rear-view mirror—not at Aryan, but at the empty road behind them. "By the way... why do you want to stay at this hotel? There are much better places in the city."
Aryan looked up from his screen. "Budget and location," he replied in a flat tone. "I have a client meeting at the Tech Park nearby early tomorrow morning. This hotel is the closest."
The driver muttered something under his breath that Aryan couldn't quite catch, though it sounded like—"Closest, yes. But not right..."
The taxi came to a halt with a sharp jerk.
Standing before them was an old, dilapidated building. The neon signboard above read "Regency Inn," but it flickered badly. The letters 'R' and 'Y' had burnt out long ago, leaving it to read "egenc Inn." A strange, low humming sound emanated from the sign. The area around the hotel was pitch black, as if the streetlights nearby had refused to illuminate this specific spot.
"This is the place," the driver said. He didn't even turn off the meter; he just unlocked the doors. "Pay the fare online, sir. Please, get out quickly."
Aryan found the behavior odd. Aryan, twenty-four years old, was a man of logic. He was a software engineer who looked for patterns and codes in everything. He despised superstition and irrational fear. He assumed the driver just wanted to get home before the storm got worse.
He pulled his hood over his head, grabbed his backpack, and stepped out.
"Thanks," Aryan said, but before he could even close the door properly, the driver slammed on the accelerator. The taxi vanished into the storm, spraying mud from its tires.
"Great service," Aryan muttered sarcastically, turning toward the hotel.
The building looked Victorian in style—tall arched windows, stone walls, and a heavy wooden door with glass panels. As Aryan pushed the door open, an old brass bell chimed overhead—Ting-a-ling!
The moment he stepped inside, the roar of the storm outside vanished completely.
The silence wasn't soothing; it was piercing. The lobby was unexpectedly large. A deep maroon carpet covered the floor, embroidered with golden vines, though it was worn threadbare in places. The air carried a very old smell—like ancient books kept in a closed room mixed with the scent of dried flowers.
The reception desk was made of dark mahogany wood. Behind it stood a man. He was perfectly still, like a wax statue.
He appeared to be around fifty. His hair was oiled and combed back neatly, and his face wore a pasted-on smile that looked slightly too yellow. He wore an old-fashioned suit that didn't have a single speck of dust on it.
Aryan walked up to the desk. His wet sneakers squeaked against the floor—Squeak... squeak—echoing loudly in the empty hall.
"Check-in?" Aryan asked, pulling his wallet from his pocket.
The receptionist didn't blink. His black eyes were fixed on Aryan's face. for a moment, Aryan wondered if the man was blind.
"Mr. Aryan," the receptionist's voice sounded like dry leaves being crushed.
How did he know the name? Aryan hadn't introduced himself yet.
"How did you... know my name?" Aryan raised an eyebrow. His logical mind immediately sought a reason—I must be the only guest who booked online for tonight.
"We always wait for our guests," the receptionist opened a massive ledger. The pages were yellowed with age. He picked up an antique fountain pen. "The weather is terrible tonight. In such weather, people often lose their way."
"I'm not lost," Aryan placed his ID card on the counter. "I just need to stay for one night. I'll check out tomorrow morning."
The receptionist didn't touch the ID card. He just kept smiling. "Of course. Everyone who comes here thinks the same thing."
He scribbled something in the register and then pulled a key from under the counter.
It wasn't an electronic key card. It was a heavy, old-style brass key with spots of rust on it. Attached to it was a metal tag with a number engraved: 404.
"404?" Aryan chuckled slightly. As a coder, the number was just a joke to him. "Error: Room Not Found. I hope my room actually exists."
The receptionist's smile widened a fraction, making the wrinkles on his face deepen unnaturaly. "It is just a number, sir. Fourth floor. The elevator is to your left."
Aryan picked up the key. It felt ice-cold in his palm.
"The elevator is a bit... moody," the receptionist said suddenly, just as Aryan turned to leave. "If it takes you to another floor, do not get out. Just keep pressing the button."
Aryan paused. "What does that mean?"
"Good night, Mr. Aryan," the receptionist bowed his head instead of answering and went back to reading his ledger.
Aryan shook his head. "Madness," he muttered, walking toward the elevator. He was exhausted and had no interest in solving riddles.
The elevator doors were brass, etched with strange carvings that looked like snakes and ladders. Aryan pressed the button.
Clank!
The doors opened immediately. The light inside was yellow and dim. There was a large mirror on the back wall of the elevator, but it was so foggy that Aryan couldn't see his reflection clearly. Just a dark silhouette.
He stepped inside and pressed the button for '4'.
The doors slid shut, and the elevator began to ascend.
Whirrrr... Whirrrr...
The sound of the machinery was heavy. Aryan checked his watch. 11:58 PM.
The elevator was moving slowly. Aryan checked his phone for a signal. 'No Service'.
"Great," he thought. "Hopefully, the room has Wi-Fi."
Then he realized the elevator had been moving for too long. This was only a four-story building. He should have arrived by now.
He looked at the display panel above the door. The red digital numbers were changing.
1... 2... 3...
Then 4 appeared. Aryan waited for the doors to open.
But the doors didn't open. The elevator didn't stop.
The numbers on the display began to change again: 5... 6... 7... 8...
Confusion clouded Aryan's eyes. "What the hell?" He pressed the 'Open Door' button. Nothing happened. He pressed '4' again. The button clicked, but there was no response.
The numbers started climbing faster: 15... 20... 35... 50...
The speed of the elevator increased. Aryan felt the vibration in his legs. The bulb inside the elevator began to flicker violently.
"Stop! STOP!" Aryan slammed his palm against the control panel, hitting all the buttons at once. "This building isn't this high!"
His logical mind demanded an answer. How is this possible? Am I hallucinating? Did the driver drug me?
The display panel had gone berserk.
99... 150... 200... 300...
And then, suddenly, a loud BEEP pierced the air—like a computer crashing.
Beep—!
The numbers vanished from the display. Instead, text began to scroll across it:
CONNECTING TO SERVER... CONNECTING... SYSTEM ONLINE.
And then, a number appeared: 404.
BOOM!
The elevator stopped with a violent jerk. Aryan lost his balance and crashed against the wall. The lights went out completely. Pitch darkness filled the box.
Aryan's breathing was ragged. He immediately pulled out his phone and turned on the flashlight. His hand was trembling slightly—not from fear, but from adrenaline.
"Okay, Aryan. Calm down. The elevator malfunctioned. That's all," he reassured himself.
Ting!
The elevator doors opened slowly, grinding against the metal tracks.
Aryan shone his flashlight beam outward. He expected to see a brick wall or the roof. But what he saw made his mind go blank.
In front of him was a corridor.
The same hotel corridor, the same maroon carpet, the same wallpaper. But... it was Infinite.
As far as Aryan's eyes could see, the corridor stretched straight ahead and vanished into the darkness. Thousands of doors lined the left and right sides. And the most terrifying part—the walls weren't static. The floral designs on the wallpaper were expanding and contracting, as if the walls were breathing.
Aryan stepped out of the elevator, disbelief in his eyes.
"Hello? Is anyone there?" he called out. His voice echoed down the hall, but nothing returned.
Suddenly, the elevator doors behind him slammed shut with a deafening BANG.
Aryan spun around. He reached out to press the button to call the lift back.
But there were no buttons.
There were no elevator doors.
There was only a wall. A plain, solid wall. The elevator had vanished as if it had never existed.
"This... this is impossible," Aryan punched the wall. "The laws of physics don't work like this!"
At that exact moment, a strange sound came from the phone in his hand—like the start-up sound of a retro video game.
[SYSTEM ALERT]
Aryan looked at the screen. His wallpaper image was gone. The entire screen was blood-red, and white text was typing itself out:
[WELCOME, PLAYER 1]
Scenario: The Infinite Hotel
Current Floor: 404 (The Lost Floor)
Objective: Survive until Check-Out (06:00 AM)
Sanity Level: 100%
WARNING: 'Housekeeping' staff is approaching from the North corridor. Hide immediately.
Aryan had barely finished reading the message when he heard a sound.
From the deep darkness ahead... the sound of something dragging along the floor.
Scrape... Scrape... Scrape...
Accompanied by a heavy, wet rasping breath.
Aryan swung his flashlight in that direction. At the very edge of the light, about 50 meters away, he saw something.
A Bellboy.
He was wearing the hotel's red uniform. He held a luggage trolley in his hand. But his head... there was no head on his shoulders. And his arms hung down, dragging lower than his knees.
The thing was moving slowly, limping toward Aryan.
Aryan's heart felt like it was about to burst through his ribs. His brain screamed—RUN!
The System's message was right. This wasn't a hotel. This was a game, and he was the prey.
Aryan clenched his fists and bolted in the opposite direction.
[Chapter 1 Ends]