I am an old woman. Post-retirement, I thought I would be happier, but things grew darker. My workplace asked me to return part-time, which I didn’t mind. One night, as I slowly made my way to the parking lot of the old motel where I was staying—too tired to drive the two hours home—I saw something strange in the rearview mirror. A pale, blurry creature appeared, animal-like, with three legs and an abnormally large head. Its eyes locked with mine, unblinking. I couldn’t place it—maybe a raccoon or a strange rodent?
I parked and began walking to the entrance, sensing someone—or something—trailing me. Too exhausted, I ignored it. Then, a sudden gust of icy wind slammed through me, knocking me flat onto the pavement. I was dazed. It felt like the creature had entered me—or passed through me—leaving an unnatural chill behind. Shivering, I scrambled to gather my things and rushed inside.
Just then, another traveler approached. He had witnessed my fall while smoking outside. He said something odd—he felt a presence the night before, something small had tried to grab him from behind. A child, perhaps—or an animal. We entered the lobby, which was gloomier than usual. A man at the front desk, eyes bloodshot from sleepless nights, made entries in a dusty log.
When I asked about anything strange, he said a monkey had escaped from the nearby zoo. It was bruised, violent, and desperate for food. But his tone was strange, as if hiding something. At breakfast the next morning, other guests whispered a chilling tale of a dwarf attendant who had died a year ago after being attacked by a wild animal—some said a wolf, others a mountain lion. His body was wounded and bruised badly and he was left forgotten deep in the forest for days until a hunter happen to find his rotten body after months had passed. Since then, his ghost lingers. They say if you arrive at midnight, you always see him—watching from your mirror.
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