The Guest Room is not haunted

"With the right set of mind, with the right people, with the right support, things happen." - Grigor Dimitrov

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Chapter 8 – A Cold Performance

Sometime ago…

The dim glow of a bedside lamp cast long shadows across Sam's room as he practiced his lines, his voice dipping low in an attempt to sound more menacing. He stared at his reflection in the mirror, adjusting his posture, his expression, the tilt of his head—searching for the perfect balance between arrogance and intimidation.

"You think mercy is given?" His voice wavered, then steadied. "No. It is taken, pried from my hands. And you—" He exhaled slowly. "You will have none."

For a moment, he almost believed himself. Almost.

In the farthest corner of the room, where the lamplight barely reached, something watched.

A figure, dark and indistinct, stood motionless. Its form wavered like a shadow cast by nothing. It did not move closer. It did not breathe. It simply watched.

Sam adjusted his stance, ran the line again. His frustration was evident—he had improved, but something was missing. A certain weight to his words. A stillness in his delivery. He was acting, but he wasn't yet convincing.

The shadow tilted its head, as if considering something. Then, without a sound, it stepped forward.

The air behind Sam shifted, and though he didn't notice, a coldness settled over his shoulders. A presence, just behind him, as if an unseen mentor stood at his back, shaping the performance without words.

Sam's fingers curled. His posture adjusted. His breath slowed.

Something clicked.

He tried the line again, and this time… it felt right.

Not perfect, but closer than before.

The shadow lingered only a moment longer, then withdrew, slipping back into the darkness where it belonged.

Sam shivered slightly, rubbing the back of his neck as if shaking off the chill. He glanced at his reflection, a fleeting thought passing through his mind.

Why does it feel like I wasn't alone just now?

The thought faded as quickly as it came.

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Present day…

Sunlight streamed through the guesthouse windows, illuminating the dust that drifted lazily in the air. The quiet of morning felt oddly normal—no eerie disturbances, no misplaced objects. Just another day.

Sam went about his routine, preparing for the audition. He made himself a light breakfast, checked his phone, and grabbed his script. As he locked the front door behind him, he took a deep breath.

The guesthouse sat on the outskirts of the city, far from the rush of morning traffic. It wasn't isolated, but the silence of this part of town was stark compared to where he used to live. Before all this, he had rented a small room in the middle of the city, surrounded by high-rise apartments and endless noise.

Now, as he boarded the bus and found a seat near the window, he watched the scenery shift.

The city was already awake. Cars honked. Pedestrians rushed across streets, some sipping coffee, others glued to their phones. Vendors set up their stalls, and office workers navigated through the crowd in well-practiced strides. The sun hung high in the clear sky, promising another hot day.

It was a stark contrast to the guesthouse—where time seemed to move slower, where shadows stretched just a little too long.

Sam sighed and flipped open his script, skimming the lines one last time.

Final revision. No supernatural nonsense. No distractions. Just him, the city, and the audition ahead.

As the bus neared his stop, he tucked the script into his bag and stepped off.

Just outside the club, leaning against the railing with his arms crossed, Ethan was waiting.

Sam rolled his shoulders, shaking off any lingering tension.

"Ready for this?" Ethan asked as soon as their eyes met.

Sam smirked, feigning confidence. "Born ready."

With that, they headed inside.

The entrance to the club was already bustling with activity. People were scattered around, some standing in small groups chatting, others going over their scripts or scrolling through their phones. The atmosphere was a mix of nervous energy and quiet confidence, the usual for audition days.

Sam and Ethan moved through the crowd toward the elevators. The metallic doors slid open, revealing a few club members already inside, deep in conversation. Sam stepped in, pressing the button for the third floor, where Auditorium No. 2 was located.

As the elevator ascended, Ethan leaned slightly toward Sam. "So, looks like a full house today. I heard some of the senior members are trying for roles too."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Anyone I should be worried about?"

Ethan smirked. "Well, you've got Lucas aiming for the lead again. No surprise there."

Lucas. Tall, charming, and with just the right amount of stage presence to make the audience eat out of his hand. The kind of guy casting directors loved. Sam had no strong opinion on him—he was good at what he did, but that was about it.

"And," Ethan continued, lowering his voice slightly, "Victoria's trying out again. You know how it is with her."

Sam sighed inwardly but kept his face neutral.

Victoria. The club's unofficial diva. Admired by many, envied by some. Her performances were dramatic, her presence hard to ignore. But to Sam, she was just… there. He neither admired nor disliked her—she simply existed in the same space, like an expensive chandelier in a grand hall.

Ethan, catching his lack of reaction, chuckled. "You really don't care, do you?"

Sam shrugged. "Not enough to make a big deal out of it."

The elevator chimed as they reached their floor. Stepping out, they walked through the hallway toward the entrance of Auditorium No. 2. A few more people were gathered outside, waiting for their turn or chatting about past auditions.

Sam adjusted his grip on his script as they reached the door.

"Alright," Ethan said, stretching his arms. "Time to see if you can finally nail that villain role."

Sam exhaled through his nose. "Guess we'll find out soon enough."

With that, they pushed open the doors and stepped inside.

—END.