Motel Darina in Romania

I pulled into the parking lot, the headlights cutting through the thick, velvet night near Târgu-Mure, and thats when I saw it Motel Darina, glowing like a ghostly welcome sign in the dark. The lights were too bright, too cheerful for a place this far from civilization. I thought Id just sleep here, grab a bite at the restaurant, and move on. But the moment I stepped inside, the air turned colder than the Romanian night. The lobby was empty, but the chairs at the restaurant table were still set, like someone had just left in a hurry. I heard it then faint, rhythmic footsteps on the stairs. I didnt look up. I didnt need to. The sign above me, Motel Darina, had a little orange pumpkin on it. Id never seen a pumpkin on a motel sign before. I tried to tell myself it was just decoration, but the pumpkins grin felt like it was watching me. I checked the room, and the door lock clicked with a sound that didnt sound right. I turned the light on, and the walls were all painted white, but the paint looked wet. Like it had just been splashed on. I saw the bed, and the sheets were rumpled, but the pillow was perfectly smooth. Like someone had just sat on it. I tried to sleep, but I kept hearing the rustling from the walls. The sound was like dry leaves scraping against something. I got up, turned on the lamp, and the light bulb didnt flicker. It just glowed. And the pumpkin on the sign outside? It was now glowing brighter than before. And the footsteps? They were getting closer. I ran to the door, but the lock wouldnt budge. I tried the window, but the latch was rusted shut. I was trapped. I was trapped in Motel Darina. And I knew, the moment I saw that pumpkin, that Id never leave this place alive.

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