No Return

The sound of the train wheels as it made its way along the tracks was like monotonous music, audible only to those exhausted by their thoughts. Youssef sat by the window, watching the seemingly endless expanse of the sea, where the horizon met the water in a scene that suggested tranquility, but he knew that behind this calm lay a world full of secrets.

He took his phone out of his pocket and looked again at the message from his friend with the name of the hotel where he would be staying: "The Old Port Hotel – Sea Street." He needed a quiet place, isolated from the noise of the city, so he could finish the novel he had been working on for months. The place seemed perfect, but he did not know that he was about to embark on an experience that would change everything in his life.

When the train arrived at the station, the air was slightly chilly, even though it wasn't winter. The main street was almost empty, except for a few fishermen returning from their night trips. Youssef slung his bag over his shoulder and headed for the taxis parked at the exit.

"To the Old Port Hotel, please," said Youssef as he closed the car door behind him.

The elderly driver looked at him in the mirror for a moment, then drove off without saying a word. Silence reigned for several minutes, until the driver broke it with a calm voice laden with unjustified mystery.

"Is this your first time visiting this city?"

"Yes, I'm looking for a quiet place to write," Yusuf replied, scanning the long, dark road ahead.

"You'll find it for sure... but some places don't just give you peace and quiet, they hold something more within their walls."

Youssef didn't understand what the driver meant, but he chose to ignore the conversation, content to observe the old buildings that appeared as they approached the seafront. The hotel was just as his friend had described it: an old stone building with long windows and dark wooden frames, dim light emanating from inside.

Youssef got out and paid the driver, but noticed that the man did not leave immediately. Instead, he stayed in the car for a few seconds, watching him before slowly driving away. It was strange, but he didn't think much of it.

Youssef entered the hotel, where he was greeted by a spacious lobby with walls decorated with black-and-white photographs of an old coastal town. Behind the reception desk stood a young woman with calm features, wearing a hotel employee uniform and a name tag that read "Fatima."

"Good evening, how can I help you?" she said with a formal smile.

"I have a reservation, Youssef Hassan," he said, taking out his phone to check the details.

Fatima looked at the screen in front of her, then slowly raised her eyes, hesitating for a moment.

"Your reservation is for... Room 7?"

"Yes, is there a problem?" he asked, noticing her confusion.

"No... nothing, it's just that it's a room that hardly anyone ever asks for," she replied quickly, before handing him the key.

Youssef took the key, thanked her, and headed for the elevator. The lobby was completely empty, and the sound of his footsteps echoed strangely. When the elevator opened, he found himself alone inside, so he stood in front of the mirror, watching his reflection for a moment before pressing the button for the third floor.

The atmosphere in the hallway was uncomfortably quiet. At the door of room number 7, he paused for a moment. There was a chill in the air, even though the heating was on. He inserted the key into the lock and heard a faint mechanical sound before the door slowly opened.

The room looked normal: a large bed, a wooden desk, a window overlooking the sea. But he sensed something different... a faint smell, a mixture of old wood and dampness, but there was something else, something he couldn't quite put his finger on.

He closed the door behind him, put his bag on the chair, and checked the place out. Everything seemed normal, but he couldn't shake that strange feeling, as if the room held something invisible, something lurking.

After several hours of writing, he turned off the lights and lay down on the bed, trying to sleep. But he didn't know that the night would bring with it the first signs that the room was no ordinary place.

Tap... tap... tap...

He opened his eyes suddenly. There was a sound, a faint knocking... but it wasn't at the door. It was at the window.

Youssef got up slowly and headed toward the window. There was nothing outside but the dark sea, but the sound did not stop. He got closer, and before he opened the curtains, the sound suddenly stopped.

He hesitated for a moment, then pulled the curtains open forcefully. But the window was empty. Nothing but the endless sea.

He took a deep breath, trying to convince himself that he had imagined it. But when he returned to his bed, before turning off the bedside lamp, he noticed something on the desk.

A small piece of paper that hadn't been there before. He picked it up with a trembling hand and read the words written in strange handwriting:

"Don't open the door, no matter what you hear."

This was just the beginning of the mystery that awaited him in Room 7.