Adele Vasquez poured the coffee into the carafe, the hiss of the pot a familiar comfort. She'd been coming to the Oakwood Motel for weeks now, every Thursday afternoon, to review the books for her uncle's small empire of roadside diners and motels. The owners were struggling, and Adele was trying to help them balance the ledgers before the audit in April. Her uncle had promised her a cut of the profits if she could get everything shipshape by then.
She worked from the small office behind the front desk, surrounded by dusty files and a shelf of worn binders. The air was stale, but the coffee machine, a behemoth of chrome and plastic, still churned out decent cups. Adele had grown fond of its slightly burnt taste, like someone's grandmother made it just for her.
Four rooms were occupied tonight: the Petersons from Des Moines in room 2, two truckers in room 3, Mrs. Jenkins with her corgi in room 1, and a quiet guy who came in around lunchtime, his face obscured by a hoodie, in room 4. Adele had only seen him briefly as he signed the register, but something about his slumped shoulders made her think he was hiding from something.
She stood up to stretch, yawned, and caught a glimpse of herself in the small mirror on the wall. Her dark hair was tied back in a ponytail, and she wore her glasses perched on the end of her nose. She scribbled some notes onto a pad of paper on her desk and tugged at the collar of her jacket to loosen it – the one with the worn leather patches on the elbows. Her eyes watered as she folded the sleeves back up, exposing a thin piece of paper tucked between the lining and the collar. It was just a receipt from the diner downtown, but the scribbled notes on it looked like...
Adele let out a gentle snort and refocused on her work, pushing the jacket off to one side as she made herself another cup of coffee. The machine whirred back to life, and she returned to her ledgers, fingers tracing the worn plastic edges of the files.
Adele's eyes flicked to the clock on the wall as the hum of the coffee machine subsided into silence. 8:47 a.m. The morning was crawling along like any other, the silence broken only by the occasional rumble of a truck driving by outside.
She refocused on her work, fingers drumming a rhythm on the edge of a ledger. That's when she noticed it – a knock at the door, followed by the creak of the handle as it swung open. Adele looked up to see one of the motel's guests, Jenkins from room 14, standing in the doorway with a delivery person behind him.
"Hey, sorry to bother you," Jenkins said, "but I think this must be mine." The delivery person held out a box wrapped in brown paper and twine. Jenkins took it, examining the label on the side.
Adele's eyes followed Jenkins as he walked over to the desk and set the box down. She noticed the delivery person lingering by the door, fidgeting with their hat.
"Uh, I'm just going to go," they said finally, backing out into the hallway before Adele could even acknowledge them.
Jenkins turned back to her, holding up the box. "Guess I ordered some parts for my truck online. Must have been delivered overnight."
Adele nodded, making a note on her ledger. "Okay, that makes sense." She glanced at the clock again – 8:51 a.m. – and wondered why she'd even bothered to double-check.
The door creaked shut behind Jenkins, and Adele turned back to her work. Her eyes settled on the coffee cup in front of her, still half-full from her earlier brew. The surface was dotted with faint rings where the condensation had beaded up.
As she reached for the cup, a floorboard beneath her creaked, taking weight that wasn't there.
Adele's eyes flicked back to her ledger as Jenkins' room door creaked open again, this time with a faint squeak that made her pause. She jotted down another note and glanced up at him. "How's it going in there?" she asked, already knowing the answer.
"Fine," Jenkins replied, his voice neutral. He held up the box from the previous morning. "I think I figured out what this is for."
Adele raised an eyebrow but said nothing, letting him continue as he worked.
She went back to her task, adding up expenses with a practiced hand. The coffee cup still sat in front of her, its condensation rings unchanged from when she last looked at it. A faint scent of burnt toast wafted from the kitchen, where Mrs. Lopez was cooking breakfast for the few guests. Adele's stomach growled, reminding her she'd skipped lunch.
Adele's gaze drifted to the clock on the wall – 8:58 a.m. – and she felt a twinge of annoyance at herself for glancing at it again. Jenkins' room door creaked open once more, this time with an extra jolt that made Adele's head jerk up.
She smiled apologetically as he stepped out, adjusting the thin wires from the box in his hand. "Sorry about the mess," he said, his voice smooth. "Guess I just need to get used to the room."
Adele shrugged, turning back to her work. But when she looked up, Jenkins was standing in front of the reception desk, not by his own door. The distance between them had shifted, making him appear a half-step closer than before.
She blinked, telling herself it was just her mind playing tricks from staring too intently at the clock. "You must have moved," she said, forcing a chuckle to ease the tension.
But the space between them remained off-kilter, lingering in Adele's awareness like an unshaken water drop on the coffee cup's surface.
Adele's fingers hesitated over her phone as she stared at Jenkins now calmly browsing through the motel's dated brochure. She couldn't remember if she had any signal left or if it was just her usual dead zone on this stretch of highway, but something kept her from dialing. Maybe it was his easy manner, the way he'd dismissed the mess in his room as if it was nothing. Maybe it was the growing sense that something about this place wasn't right.
She decided to try the motel's old payphone instead, digging through the dusty phone book on the counter for a number to call. The cord, however, refused to budge from its wall anchor when she tried to pull it free. She yanked harder, but it just wouldn't come loose.
"Need some help with that?" Jenkins said, sauntering over as if this were his motel too.
Adele shook her head, embarrassed at her struggle. "Just my luck," she muttered, dropping the phone book back onto its shelf. The cord hung limp and useless now, a snub of rust on its anchor like a stubborn reminder that sometimes things just didn't want to cooperate.
Jenkins nodded sympathetically but his eyes flicked towards the clock on the wall. "Guess I should get some work done myself," he said, glancing back at Adele for an instant before turning away. The silence that followed made her realize she'd been staring at him for a little too long.
She glanced down at her watch. 9:02 a.m. Still early. And the lobby was still quiet. No cars outside, no signs of life on the deserted highway. It was just another ordinary morning in this forsaken place, but Adele's skin prickled with unease as she wondered how long it would stay that way.
Adele's eyes drifted towards the lobby's entrance as she sipped her lukewarm coffee. Jenkins was nowhere to be seen, probably in his office doing paperwork. She returned to her task, rechecking the ledger entries for errors. The silence felt oppressive, but it was still early.
Her gaze strayed to the clock on the wall. 9:03 a.m. Her wristwatch seemed to be running a little fast – four minutes and counting since she last reset it. She made a mental note to sync it later.
A faint creak echoed from the hallway. Adele's attention snapped towards it, but it was just the wind outside, or so she thought. The sound had been almost imperceptible, a soft groan from the floorboards. It sounded like the weight of something shifted, then settled again.
She rose from her chair, her curiosity piqued. The lobby seemed to be holding its breath. No dust motes danced in the faint sunlight streaming through the windows. Adele's skin prickled as she padded towards the hallway, her footsteps muffled on the thick carpet.
Another creak followed, louder this time. It was unmistakable – a floorboard taking weight that wasn't there. This is just the old building settling, she thought, but a tremor ran through her hands as she reached the entrance to her room.
She stepped inside, her eyes scanning the space. Everything seemed normal: bed, dresser, desk in the corner. But something felt off. She couldn't quite put her finger on it. The room's layout had changed slightly since the last time she'd been in here. It wasn't just her imagination; this was different.
Adele's gaze fell to the floor, and for an instant, she thought she saw a faint line where the wall should be. Her heart skipped a beat as she realized it wasn't there when she looked again. Don't be ridiculous, she told herself, but the words echoed hollowly in her mind.
Adele's gaze lingered on the spot where she thought she'd seen the line. It's just nerves. But as she turned to close the door, her hand encountered a cold patch on the frame. She frowned, her fingers tracing the edge of something hard and flat. A new piece of drywall, installed since yesterday's inspection. Not exactly what she'd expected to see.
She pushed off from the wall, her back against it as she scanned the room again. Everything seemed to have shifted slightly, like a photograph blown up from microfilm. The dresser was still in its place, but now it was on the opposite side of the room. The desk in the corner was still there too, but its surface was slick with water, and a small puddle reflected the fluorescent light overhead.
Adele's breath caught as she realized the air inside was thickening, like someone had cranked up the thermostat overnight. She could feel it pressing against her skin, a heavy, humid weight that made her want to sweat. And then she heard the breathing – her own, she told herself at first – but no, it was louder than that, steady and deliberate.
She took a step back from the wall, her eyes locked on something behind the bed. The sheets were rumpled, like someone had lain down recently, but there was something else tangled in them, too – a wire, maybe? Adele's heart was racing now as she tried to make out what it was. Get out of here, she thought, but her legs felt heavy, rooted to the spot.
The air seemed to vibrate with pressure, like it was building up inside her lungs. She could feel her chest expanding, straining against some unseen force. And then she heard the breathing again, louder this time, more insistent, and she knew – knew – she wasn't alone in the room anymore.
The door creaked open, and a man in a simple white robe stood in the doorway, his eyes fixed on Adele. She recognized the shape of his collar, the way his hair was cut back from his forehead. He'd been here before, come to perform the intake when she first arrived.
"Priest Jenkins," Adele said, her voice barely above a whisper.
He nodded, his expression somber. "Adele Vasquez, we've been expecting you."
The sheets on the bed behind her rustled as she stepped back, but it wasn't the sound of someone moving in and out of the bed. It was something else, something heavy, dragging against the fabric. The air still vibrated with pressure, making her chest ache.
Priest Jenkins took a step closer, his eyes never leaving hers. "You know why you're here."
Adele shook her head, feeling a cold dread creep up her spine. She'd been so sure it was some kind of accident, that the motel's age and neglect were to blame for the strange occurrences.
Priest Jenkins reached into his pocket and produced a small folder. He flipped it open, revealing a series of pages filled with Adele's own handwriting. The dates on the top of each page matched the ones she'd been keeping track of since her arrival – 8:47 a.m., 8:51 a.m., 8:58 a.m., all the way down to the latest entry.
"These are your volunteering forms," Priest Jenkins said, his voice matter-of-fact. "You applied specifically for this opportunity."
Adele's eyes widened as she took in the handwriting, the scribbled notes in the margins. She remembered now – the feel of the pen in her hand, the way the words seemed to flow onto the page of their own accord.
The breathing behind her grew louder still, more insistent. Adele felt her chest expanding, straining against some unseen force. And then she knew – she'd been here before, too.
The days blurred together at the motel. Room 12 was always clean now, but not like it used to be – the fresh laundry smell had given way to the acrid tang of disinfectant. Jenkins took care of the finances in his own way, keeping track of everything in a battered ledger on his desk. Adele's name still appeared on the page, her volunteering forms and expenses marked down with the same meticulous handwriting she remembered.
Lopez, the owner, was usually quiet this time of year, but sometimes he'd drop by Jenkins' office to review the books. He had a way of talking about numbers like they were people – "She's been averaging twenty-five hours a week, good work" – and Adele would exchange a brief smile with Jenkins before returning to her own tasks.
It was a routine that held together only because no one looked too closely. At nine this morning, the motel's lone guest, Mr. Kessler, checked out of room 14. He left behind a stack of unpaid bills, which Jenkins methodically sorted through as Lopez restocked the vending machines in the lobby.
Adele sat at her desk, eyes on the numbers streaming by – fifty-three dollars in laundry fees for one of the rooms, two hundred seventy-five for room service... Her pen scratched across the page as she made a note to talk to Jenkins about the discrepancies in Mr. Kessler's account.
Creaking creaked through the motel's corridors: 9:04 a.m., 9:05 a.m. Then it stopped, and an absolute stillness took its place.
The floorboard beneath her desk creaked again, the sound steady as a heartbeat – 9:06 a.m.