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It was whispered that the enigmatic occurrences tended to unfold when the ballroom lay dormant, the guests embraced by slumber, and a solitary soul found themselves the lone inhabitant within the vast expanse of the establishment's interior.196Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡY4acis0tYB
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As the last echoes of revelry faded from the ballroom and the guests retired to their rooms, Amelia Smith stirred from her slumber inside the compact office adjoining the ballroom. With a soft groan, she slowly blinked her eyes open, the dim light filtering through the room casting shadows on the walls. She shifted on the couch, feeling the stiffness in her limbs from sleeping in an awkward position. Sitting up slowly, she rubbed her eyes and ran a hand through her tousled hair, blinking away the remnants of sleep as she surveyed her surroundings with a sense of disorientation.
Amelia, her voice barely above a whisper, murmured to herself in the eerie stillness, "Why's it so quiet?" She rubbed the sleep dust from her eyes, squinting in the dim light as she surveyed the room. Then, with a sense of disorientation, she murmured again, "What time is it?" Her words hung in the air, the silence of the night amplifying their weight as she waited for a response that didn't come.
She rose from the couch, her movements slow and cautious in the dimly lit room. She walked to the door and gently pushed it open, stepping into the ballroom. The lights were dimmed, casting eerie shadows across the vast space. She peered around, but the room was deserted, and the silence was deafening. She realized with a start that everyone must have retired to their rooms for the night, leaving her alone in the empty ballroom.
"Dammit!" she exclaimed, her voice echoing faintly in the empty ballroom. "Wilma must've forgotten I was still here."
Amelia cautiously navigated through the dimly lit ballroom, her steps deliberate and measured to avoid stumbling over any obstacles in her path. She glanced around, noticing the locked door leading to the hallway, and realized that calling out to the concierge would be futile in his absence. Determined to reach the Arcade, she continued forward, feeling her way along the edges of the room. As she approached the entrance to the Arcade, her ears caught the faint sound of whispering. She froze in place, holding her breath to better hear the elusive voices, but they abruptly ceased, leaving her with an uneasy sense of anticipation.
"Hello? I'm a lady who needs help," she called out into the dimly lit ballroom as she stepped back from the entrance to the Arcade.
Silence.
She stood there in the darkness, her heart pounding in her chest as she waited for the reassurance of a friendly voice. Instead, the silence was shattered by the sudden revival of the jukebox. The air filled with an eerie, demonic cacophony as the machine came to life, emitting strange, otherworldly sounds that sent shivers down her spine. Then, as if to mock her fear, the jukebox began to play another Dolly Parton song, but this time, it was played backward instead of slow. Dolly's voice, once melodic and comforting, sounded distorted and haunting, like the echo of a lost soul trapped in the netherworld.
"Real funny, asshole," she muttered under her breath as she strode past the bar to the stage and jukebox, her frustration mounting with each step.
As Amelia rounded the north end of the bar and stepped into the main ballroom, a sudden chill enveloped her. The off-tone music abruptly halted, the warped melodies fading into an eerie silence that seemed to swallow the room whole. The air became thick with an unsettling stillness, sending a shiver down Amelia's spine. Just as she began to process the unnerving calm, a piercing sensation pierced her chest, sending an icy shockwave coursing through her body, as if something unseen had passed right through her, leaving her breathless and bewildered.
The room was hot! There was no reasonable explanation for her to feel something that cold. She became aware of another presence in the room. The smell of blood wafted through the room like a leaf blowing in the wind but then came the stench. The foul-smelling odor of human feces!
She suddenly realized that it wasn't the Long Island Ice Teas that had made her woozy earlier. She hadn't felt sick until she stepped foot in this place. It was the same force that was standing in the shadows with her, the same entity that had caused her illness tonight.
Now frightened beyond belief, she flashed her eyes to the stage but saw no one. The fecal smell closed in on her like a giant hand, wrapping itself around her body and squeezing at her senses. She held her hand over her mouth and gagged repeatedly. It was hard to breathe and she felt she would surely suffocate before she could escape this madhouse. She wanted to turn and run, to flee as fast as her feet would carry her, but a premonition told her to stay put. She felt a presence standing in the darkness, right behind her, breathing its foul breath against the nape of her neck. She was stuck in a nightmare that couldn't be escaped by just waking up.
As she stood there, almost in shock, she heard someone tapping their fingers on the bar. Somehow she found the courage to turn around and face her doom. The blood rose in her body like a jet as she slowly turned around, praying silently to herself, and looking through the darkness of the ballroom toward the bar. Her heart was pounding like a bass drum and large beads of sweat formed on her forehead. She slowly, methodically, scanned the rows of tables with her eyes, but couldn't see anyone until she fixed her sight on the wall clock hanging over the middle of the bar. In the dim light of the wall clock, a solitary figure sat, his silhouette cast against the darkness of the ballroom. Amelia couldn't make out the stranger's face, but she knew by the low snicker that she was in danger.
"Who are you?" Amelia demanded, her voice edged with a mixture of fear and determination, echoing through the eerie stillness of the ballroom.
The figure, not a man but a teenager, laughed louder, offering no response.
"Who are you?" Amelia screamed at him this time.
No response.
She couldn't take it anymore. Scared or not, she was going to find out who he was and why he wouldn't answer her. She saw an empty beer bottle sitting on the table in front of her and quickly reached down and picked it up, taking her eyes off this menacing kid for one split second.
"No way!" The words escaped the woman's lips in a horrified whisper. "He's gone!"
She had only looked away for an instant. The kid didn't have enough time to hide. He had not made a sound. There was no way that he could have hidden from her in such a short time and she knew it. Once again, the woman felt a sense of aloneness as a new wave of terror pounded against her.196Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡG8nUfwgZwv
Realizing that she had just encountered a ghost, Amelia gasped for air, and although she couldn't see him, she knew he was still in the room with her.
"Aaaaaammmmmeeeeeeeellllllllliiiiiiia," the bodiless voice called out in a choked whisper.196Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡwUyIaxSHaY
As Amelia stepped cautiously forward, the floor emitted creaks and groans as if it were alive and protesting her presence. Meanwhile, the wall clock emitted horrific sounds, its ticks echoing like ominous footsteps. The brutality of what was taking place sent the horrified woman over the edge. She shrieked and bolted through the room, knocking over tables and chairs, and fleeing for her very life. She raced past the open bar on her left and rounded the corner to the doorway. Her fists pounded frantically against the glass doors of the ballroom, the sound reverberating through the vacant expanse. With each strike, she screamed louder and louder, her voice desperate and tinged with fear: "Help! Somebody, help me! Please, I'm trapped in here! Somebody, please help!"
As Amelia's desperate cries echoed through the vacant expanse, the concierge finally returned and unlocked the door. "I'm so sorry for the oversight. What's the matter?" he asks, concern etched in his voice.
"I saw a ghost in there! You're going to think I'm crazy," Amelia exclaimed, her voice trembling with fear.
"Don't worry, Miss. I understand. This place has a reputation," the concierge reassured her, his tone empathetic.
As Amelia hastened toward the resort's exit, her pulse racing with apprehension, she was taken aback when a mysterious figure emerged—a man clad in a '60s-style three-piece suit, his hair slicked back in a '50s fashion. "The parking lot can be perilous at night, miss. Would you permit me to escort you to your car? I assure you, I can handle any potential danger," he offered, his voice exuding a calm confidence that belied the strangeness of the situation. Bewildered by the man's retro attire and unexpected chivalry, Amelia hesitated momentarily before the sincerity in his tone persuaded her to accept his assistance. Though puzzled by his anachronistic appearance, she nodded in acquiescence, grateful for the unexpected escort to her vehicle amidst the unsettling ambiance of the night.
As they approached her Volkswagen Rabbit, Amelia observed the mysterious man bowing his head, as though engaged in silent prayer. "You are now under protection," he declared solemnly, his voice carrying a weight of reassurance. "The ghost you encountered in the ballroom cannot pursue you, but you must return home without delay before the window of safety closes." Before Amelia could probe further, the enigmatic figure dissolved into the night, leaving her both perplexed and strangely comforted by his words. Embracing his guidance, she ignited her car's engine and accelerated away, her foot pressing a bit harder on the gas pedal in her urgency to flee the haunting specter of the resort. Despite the prospect of receiving a speeding ticket, she recognized the necessity of evading the malevolent force that lingered within those ominous walls.196Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡsD0JcnbPgd
