Room Thirteen

By Bakerj

From the minute we stepped into the room, unease slithered its way into my chest.  Ordinary enough to look at, with a bed, a dresser, and an old washstand with its built-in mirror, yet there was — Dammit.  Something clawed at me.

Despite my attempts to brush off the feeling, it persisted, growing in my belly like a brewing winter storm.  It was as if the room itself was mocking me, freezing my guts and sending shivers down my spine.

I sat on the bed and tried to relax.  But my feet refused to keep still, bouncing my knees on the edge.  Pacing the floor, from one side to the other, didn’t help, and when I stopped to stare out the window, my fingers drummed a beat on the sill.  Then, I paced again.

Finally, Hoss gave up on reading the leaflet for tomorrow’s auction and tossed it aside.  “What’s eating you anyhow?”

“You don’t feel that?”

“What?”

“I dunno.  The strange feeling in here.”  I glanced over my shoulder.  “A bad feeling.”

Hoss stared at me like I’d eaten loco weed.  Then he snapped his fingers.  “Hey.  Maybe the previous guest died in this here bed, and his ghost is haunting you.”  He let loose with a guffaw.  Funny!  Ignoring him, I opened the window.  “Hey!” 

“I need some air.”

“What air?  You’re just letting in dust and heat.”

He wasn’t wrong.  I slammed it back down.  “How about a cold beer?”

“The chance of getting a cold beer is about as good as getting rain.”

I threw out my arms.  “A warm beer then.”

Hoss rolled his eyes.  “Well, Little Brother, seeing as how you’re so determined.  Let’s go.”

When we hit the lobby, I told Hoss to go on ahead.  I wanted to talk to the clerk.  He cut me a look, but didn’t ask.

In his buttoned-up shirt and tie, the man behind the desk wiped sweat from his brow and forced a smile.

Brandishing my key, I asked, “Is there any chance we could move rooms?”

“Room Thirteen?  You superstitious or something?”

“No, but could we change?”

“Mister, what with the auction and the Admissions Day celebrations, there ain’t a spare room anywhere in town.  You were lucky to get the one you got.”

I bit my lip and tapped the desk, then took my shot.  “Did anyone die recently in that room?”

The man’s eyes widened.  “I beg your pardon.  I am the owner of this hotel, and we pride ourselves on its high standards of cleanliness.  We’re the only place in town that changes the sheets once a week!”

“I ain’t saying it smells, but—”

“For your information, we’ve just undergone a complete refurbishment.”

“Indeed, we have.”  I turned to the woman who appeared through the door behind the owner.  “Some of the furniture is antique and all the way from Europe.  I discovered it myself, in this little shop in San Francisco.”

Her husband nodded.  “I had to hire a wagon to cart it all back.”

The lady flicked the man a glance before adding, “In fact, you’re the first to occupy that room since we redecorated.”

I put up my hands in mute surrender.  “The room’s fine.”

Turning away, I grimaced on hearing the woman hiss to her husband, “You told me you didn’t mind hiring the wagon!”

“An’ I told you we shouldn’t have a room thirteen!”

Great.  I’d made myself real popular.

I found my brother in the saloon already enjoying his beer.  Mine sat on the table.  Taking a sip, I pulled a face.  Warm.  Looking up, Hoss smirked at me.  “What?” 

“Did you change our room?”

How did he …?  “No.  The hotel’s full to busting.”

“Not surprised.  I ain’t never seen Sacramento this busy.  Those celebrations they’ve lined up sound like a whole heap of fun.”  His eyes lit with excitement.  “What about staying an extra day or two?”

I took another gulp of my warm beer.  Any other time, I’d have jumped at the chance to attend the festivities, but that feeling of dread still clung to me like the stink of death that wouldn’t wash off.

“Pa will be expecting us to head right home with the horses we buy tomorrow.”

“C’mon, Joe.  It ain’t like you to turn down the chance for some fun.”  I stared down at the glass in front of me.  “The room really got you that spooked?”

“No!”

I glared at Hoss.  But there was no mocking in his expression, only concern.  “It’s just a room, Joe.”

My anger vanished.  Hoss didn’t deserve my ill humor.  Leaning across the table, I tapped his bicep with my fist and smiled.  “You wanna stay a coupla days, let’s do it.”

“Now you’re making sense.”

If he was happy, so was I.  But that beer got dragged out long enough to let Big Brother’s stomach do the rest.

“I’m starved.  Wanna grab something to eat?”

We found a café.  My appetite had vanished, but I stretched out the meal as long as possible.  When we stepped back onto the boardwalk, another idea hit me.  “Wanna get a whiskey before we turn in?”

“You buyin’?”

I should’ve seen that coming.  But it’d be worth it.  “Sure.”

Hoss set down his empty glass.  “I’m beat, an’ we gotta be ready for that auction tomorrow.”

The whiskey had done its job.  I threw back my shoulders.  “You’re right.  Let’s go.”

The oppressive heat of earlier had cooled.  Everything else was as we left it—just an ordinary little room.  The wave of relief made me laugh.  I shook my head at my stupidity.

“Dadburnit.”

“What’s the matter?” 

Hoss stood by the washstand, gazing into the water jug with a forlorn look on his face.  “We’re out of water.”  Plonking down on the bed, I grinned.  The rule of ‘he who finds the problem fixed it’ applied. 

The door closed behind Big Brother, leaving me alone.  My breath quickened.  There it was again.  A sensation that raised the hairs on the back of my neck and turned my stomach into knots.

My gaze traveled the room, lingering in every dark corner and shadow.  I breathed in air that had turned rancid.  What died in here?  A rat?

On hands and knees, I checked under the bed. Then tore open every drawer in the dresser.  Nothing!  My hands shook, and sweat trickled down my spine. Something was here.  I couldn’t see it, touch it, but I damn well felt it.

Glancing at the washstand mirror, I froze.  What was that on the glass?  Drawing close, I leaned forward.  Peering at my reflection, my heart began to race.  The silvery surface flexed — in, out — like a heartbeat.  The frame shuddered and groaned.  Then a bulge swelled in the middle, pushing out.  A hand.  Trying to break through! 

My heart hammered in my chest.  It was like no hand I’d ever seen — long, green, claw-like fingers uncurled out of the mist that formed behind it, reaching out into the space between us.  Closer, closer.  Inches from me. 

I couldn’t turn away.  Couldn’t move.  Couldn’t breathe!  But somehow I knew when those ghastly talons touched, I’d die — right here, in this room. 

Move, damn you!  Move! 

Paralyzed and helpless, I watched the black fingernails move nearer.  My gaze passed up the arm.  The breath froze in my throat.  A dark shape heaved and undulated within the swirling smoke that covered the glass.  My God, the hand belonged to that. 

My gaze met the monsters.  No.  It didn’t just want to kill me—it wanted my soul.  For eternity!

“Joe!  Get back!”

The explosion bounced off the walls.  Throwing up an arm, I flinched from the glass that showered me.  Wiping sweat from my top lip, I turned back.  The mirror lay shattered to pieces, and Hoss’s bullet was buried in the splintered, twisted wood behind. 

Clean air shuddered through my lungs — the room had come back to life.  Shaking from head to foot, I gazed open-mouthed at my savior. 

Slapping his gun back in its holster, Hoss dumped the water jug down and rushed toward me.  “What was that thing?”

“You … you saw it?”

“Yeah.”

Hoss took one look at my face and steered me to the bed.  My legs didn’t seem to want to cooperate, and I leaned into him for support. 

No sooner had I sat down than the hotel owner appeared at the door.  “What’s going on?  What happened to the mirror?”

I couldn’t think of a thing to say.  Hoss spoke up.  “It were an accident.  I were showing my brother a trick and my gun went off.  We’ll pay for it.”

“You sure—”

A screech cut him off, and his wife tottered into the room.  “Oh!  My beautiful washstand.  Ruined!”

Pointing a large finger at the mangled antique, Hoss asked, “You buy that?”

“Yeah,” I answered.  “She brought it all the way from San Francisco — on a wagon.”

The owner glared at me, then at Hoss.  “It’s wrecked!”

“If I were you, I’d chop the dadburned thing up for firewood.”

That did it.  The manager was fit to bust.  “You owe us twenty dollars for the stand.  And then you can pack your bags and get out!”

The man at the livery stable let us bed down with the horses once we’d handed over a dollar.  Flopping down onto my bedroll, I stretched back into the soft hay.  My muscles eased out, releasing the knots.  “Twenty dollars.  They sure took us.”

“We’d better remember to tell Pa and Adam never to stay there.”

I frowned.  “Why?”

“Who knows what else she brought back in that wagon?”

“Heck, I never thought of that.”  I chewed my bottom lip for a minute before asking, “What d’you think it was?”

Hoss shuffled around as if trying to find a soft spot.  “I don’t know, and I don’t wanna.  I’m just glad my shot got rid of it.”

“Yeah, me too.”  I released the shudder that ran through me, letting out a long breath to push away the image of that creature once and for all.  After a minute, I added, “Hoss?”

“What?”

“Thanks.”

Pulling his blanket up to his shoulder, Hoss nestled into the hay.  “Anytime, Little Brother.”

~ The End ~

Oct. 2025