Speaker 1: I currently live in a little town out west I
say town, not exactly what you picture, though. It's more
of like a ghost town than anything really. Population four.
The only businesses that are open or the post office,
the library, a singular privately owned pharmacy, a gas station,
and a hotel, the Hotel Bellamorte. I've worked there for
the better part of a century, ever since I was
twenty one. Unlike most kids my age, who jumped straight
out of high school and THENTO College, I had other plans,
or should I say other plans had me. I lived
the town over from the previously mentioned one, a town
that had far more people in businesses. I worked from
place to place for a couple of years, nothing substantial,
but it paid the bills. One day, I come home
from work, picked up my mail, and headed inside my house.
As I brewed a pot of fresh coffee, I absent
mindedly flipped through the bill's junk mail all I ever
seem to get. But then I had the second to
last piece of mail, and it felt well odd. It's
hard to describe, but the letter was ornate, to say
the least. It had a thick texture made from what
I could only imagine was some pretty expensive paper. In
the most beautiful flowing script was printed my full name,
clear as day, Autumn Winters. It had no return address,
and it didn't have my address either, just my name.
The fact that someone knew me immediately enough to hand
deliver a letter to me without me knowing was a
strange thought. I had very few friends because I grew
up in army brat. Only a handful of people knew
me well enough to actually know where I lived. Out
of sheer curiosity, I then proceeded to open the letter
on the finest parchment paper in the most delicate letterhead,
read the following words, Dear Miss Autumn Winters, I am
you to offer you the most prestigious position at our establishment,
the Hotel Buolamirte. For over two hundred years, our establishment
has been a haven for the weary and restless, the old,
the young, and the forgotten, and men and women and
animals alike. Recently, we have had an opening for a
new caretaker and would like to offer the position to you.
The letter went on to say that along with the position,
a hotel room or small apartment came with a job,
along with a salary. Four times when I was currently
making a year The name of the hotel seemed familiar,
yet everything about the letter and position seemed too good
to be true, like a scam of some sort. That's
what I noticed. At the bottom of the job offer
was the address that my friends was. When my interests
was truly pique, it was only one town over, and
that's when it all clicked in my head, the Hotel Belamte.
Ever since I could remember, there have been rumors and
stories about the Hotel Bolamante, Strange tales that seemed too
odd to be true, Tales of ghosts, strange travelers, and more.
Who heard the rumors, sure, but few people I knew
actually believed them. The kids in the town I lived
in would say that if you set foot in the hotel,
you'd be driven to madness and go loco. The tales
were just so bizarre, how can we believe them? So
after a few days of deliberating, I wrote back, accepting
the job offer. I got a letter back a few
days later to congratulate me and set the start date.
I was to start the next Monday around Nunish. As
I got ready that following Monday, I put my best
clothes on, did my makeup and hair, you know, the
girly things tripped over thin air as I went to
the kitchen to get my coffee to go. And then
I got in my nineteen sixty five red convertible Mustang
and made this short drive. On the way into town,
I passed by well nothing. The land is completely barren
outside the town I grew up in, except for the tumbleweeds,
brush and bracken. They looked perfect to start a brush
fire with, and the few twisted, gnarled elder trees that
once stood tall, but now we're nothing more than sorry
shadows of what they used to be. I think typical
Western movie scenes. The town that held the hotel looked
much more of the same, with rundown buildings that barely
could be considered standing. The further into the ghost town
you got, the more lifelike things became. The gas station
was the first thing that looked like it held any
living beings. The pharmacy was next, then the library, and
then the post office. They were all about equal in size,
looked just as run down as the others, with peeling
paint that fell into ribbons to the ground when the
wind was strong and acting up, and suddenly I saw
it for the first time, the Hotel Bellamirte, live and
in person, and it did not even compare to what
I had in mind. You see, when I pictured it,
I thought of a rundown building filled with cockroaches and rats,
with only the lowest kind of people staying there, the
kind of place that the police did stakeouts at to
bust drug dealers and hookers. What other kind of place
could be in this rundown town? But I was so
so wrong. The site that greeted me as I pulled
up to the parking lot of this place was one
that I could barely believe. The hotel was, in a word, magnificent.
It looked like it belonged in a fancy city, not
a barren wasteland. The outside of the hotel fit the
town and the time period of the eighteen hundreds, with
a high rise balcony and white pillars that stood tall
and straight. The brickwork was perfectly inlaid, faded red in
color due to the wear and tear of time, yet
still hardy in structure. I imagine it looked only a
little better in its heyday, nothing else than for its
Whoever owned the building took great care of it, whether
it was in restoration or simple upkeep, it was something
to see for sure. As I got out of my
car and walked up to the front steps, admiring all
the intricate woodwork that went into its structure, I looked
above the front door and read the sign the Hotel
Bellemirte established eighteen o two. I turned the knob of
the old door. No creeks or groans, just silence as
the door pivoted on its hinges and walked inside. Now,
as impressed as I was with the outside of the place,
it didn't even compare to what was before my eyes.
As you entered the lobby, the first thing that would
come to your attention was the grand staircase made of
beautiful mahogany wood, rich and cherry brown undertones, swooping as
it dipped from its height down to the floor. To
the left, I became aware of the lobby desk. It
was the same type of wood as the staircase, with
intricate design that swirled down its length, carved out by
some long dead carpenter. Behind the desk was the letterboxes
with the numbers carefully expertly placed in their centers, numbering
from one to fifteen. The parlor was to the right.
It looked as though it was frozen in time. Like
the rest of the place, with old furniture with floral
designs and high backs to the wallpaper, it looked much
of the same. It was stupendous. After I'd gotten done
admiring the lobby, I slowly walked over to the desk.
No one was there, not a single soul. I rang
the bell on the counter, yet no one came, and
after a few more minutes of waiting, I called out
a hello, and still no one came. I began to
wonder what I should do next and our correspondence. I
never got a phone number, just bye. Noticing an old
rotary phone on the desk near the letterboxes, then I
realized I actually never got a name of the person
I was corresponding with. I didn't even know who my
employer was. As I grappled with this realization, and the
phone began to ring, breaking the silence, I almost jumped
out of my skin, scared shitless by the loud ringing
in the otherwise quiet room. After no one magically appeared
to answer it, it fell silent after the fourth ring,
only to begin ringing once more. After regaining my composure,
I walked around the desk to the back, looking around
as I did so, and feeling as if I were
a child about to be caught with my hand in
the cookie jar. I picked up the phone. Hello, I
answered slowly. Yes, is this Autumn? Yes, yes it is,
I replied. Who is this? I'm the owner, Mary, and
my sister Martha is also on the phone. Oh oh, hi,
I said, stunned by the fact that the owner is
called instead of actually being there in person to greet me.
Are you coming by or are you somewhere? Oh? No, Han,
we aren't there. We're never at the hotel. That would
be ridiculous, Mary said, as her sister Martha chimed in
the background. Oh that's terribly ridiculous, she said, giggling. Oh okay,
I said, now terribly confused. No, we were just calling
to let you know there is a letter with your
instructions for the job next to the phone, and to
let you know that we will be checking in from
time to time. You're the only employee. The last one
left us a bit well, shall we say, unexpectedly the
last one? What does that mean the last one? She
said that as if there were a series of ones. Well,
I take it that means I'm starting immediately. Then we
wouldn't have it any other way, love, Martha replied. Everything
you'll need to know to run the place is in
the letter. Just make sure you read everything and don't
skip anything. Mary added, then both in unison said it
will be in touch, dear. As they hung up the phone,
I was a little weirded out by the whole conversation.
To be honest, it seems so callous yet rushed, despite
the cheery nature of their voices and reactions and the
weird pet names. Of course, I looked at the table
next to the phone, and as the sisters had said,
there was a letter. I opened the letter quickly, with
the ornate silver letter opener conveniently placed in the first
drawer that I happened to look through. Out from the
envelope popped a long, and I mean two foot long
letter made of the same parchment paper as my offer letter.
As I started to read, I became increasingly confused and
worried what had I gotten myself into. The letter started
out normally enough. It outlined the general duties of the job,
how to receive payment fifty dollars per night, studdingly low.
I thought for such a place as this, But I've
never been in the hotel business, and I wouldn't know otherwise.
Housekeeping even down to the way they wanted the toilet
paper changed the wrong way, with the paper going under
the roll. But hey, who am I to judge? Last,
but not least, was written a long set of rules
that honestly made no sense. Sense written in bold red
print was the following set of rules. Rule number one
hundred and twenty six. Never forget to lock the door
at night you don't want to let them in. Rule
one hundred and twenty seven. Make sure you feed his
sue every night or else. Rule one hundred and twenty eight.
Only take the trash out in daylight hours. Rule one
hundred and twenty nine. Make sure you face the dolls
in the doll room facing the wall at night. Rule
one hundred and thirty. Don't ever take candy from the pharmacist.
Rule one hundred and thirty one. Never return a book
late to the librarian. Rule one hundred and thirty two.
Always lick the stamps in the presence of the postman
rule one hundred and thirty three, never ever leave the
town under any circumstances, or you'll regret it. And that
was that. Not threatening at all or bizarre or extremely
specific at all, just a normal set of rules that
made the place seem a little more they were undesirable.
Now I was really thinking I got myself into something
and not something good. And yet I was thoroughly intrigued.
I mean, what happens if I leave the town? Why
did I have to lock the doors at night? And
who was them? Why did I have to take the
trash out only during the day, and who the hell
was his suit? Nothing made sense. Since I was gonna
be here a while, I decided I might as well
settle in. I looked at the letter again, and at
the end was my room number, and in the envelope
was my room key, room number sixteen. Turned out there
was one extra room in the hotel, and after I
got the key, I put the letter back into its
prior place, and I turned to walk up the stairs
to explore what was going to be my new home.
The doors on the second floor spanned three hallways in
a dining room attached to a kitchen, each room numbered
one through sixteen, alternated going from left side of the
hallway and then adjacent to the next room on the right,
and back again. The walls seemed to ever expand and
contract at the same time if you stood in one place,
a dizzying effect. To be sure. It reminded me of
the shining thank you, And as I walked the halls
reaching the dining room, I passed by and I could
have sworn I saw a dark shadow passed by the
half open door, but when I looked inside, there was nothing.
There were only the tables and chairs and waiting tables
lining the walls. Strange, I thought, but just shrug it
off and continued down the hall number thirteen, number fourteen,
number fifteen, and finally room number sixteen. As I jiggled
the old skeleton key in its lock, there appeared to
be a slight mumbling coming from the other side of
the door. I promptly stopped to listen, but there was nothing,
not a single solitary sound, so I proceeded to open
the door. Once unlocked, my room, like the rest of
the place, was absolutely beautiful, sized, bed with ornate canopy,
all white billowing, and the soft breeze from the open
window stood in the left hand side of the room,
towards the middle of the length of wall. The small
sitting area was to the right, with a wardrobe, small couch,
and two high backed chairs of the same make as
those in the sitting room downstairs, same floral patterns and everything.
The open balcony windows were straight ahead. As I walked
to them, I became all too aware of the mumbling again.
I spot around quickly to see that in the corner
of the right side of the room was a bird's
perch and cage. When I say bird, I don't mean
a parrot or a cockatoo, or even a parakeet or
a finch. What I saw was a raisin, and it
was talking, just strange phrases and random words, but human words. Nonetheless,
I began to approach the bird and let out a
loud squawk and began to flap its wings and flew
straight into my face, blinding me for a second. I
think it would be fair to mention, for visual's sake,
that I hate birds. Yeah they can be pretty, Yeah
they have beautiful songs and musical notes that they chipperly
sing out. And yes they perhaps make good companions for
some people. I, however, am not one of those people,
and I especially hate when they're little, or in this case,
big flappy wings come flying in my face or near
me or in my visual field. So of course I
screamed out loud, which only made it squawk louder with
its horrible croaky voice. Then as soon as it hit
me flew away. I took my arms down for a
moment once I knew it was gone, which had been
trying to shield my face, and began to look around
the room lot a bird in sight, and I just
dreamed I saw that too? Or was I starting to
go loco in that hotel, as the many rooms for
my childhood had said that you would if you stepped
into the hotel Bellamorte. After calming down a bit, I
began to shrug off the fear and placed it with
determination to settle in and set up the room with
my things. Once I had finished, and the exact moment
I put the last pair of pants in the wardrobe,
I heard a strange sound, a little ding. That's when
I realized I heard the bell from downstairs. Someone was
in the lobby. Hey, they're kids, it's me mister Kreepypasta.
And before we say goodnight, I just wanted to say
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