My best friend claimed to be a money-saving expert.
During the Labor Day holiday, she insisted we stay at an abandoned hotel—for free.
Standing in front of the rusted gates overgrown with weeds, I hesitated, unease creeping down my spine.
“Samantha, this feels dangerous,” I said quietly. “Is saving a few bucks really worth the risk?”
She looked sheepish but forced a grin.
“It’s impossible to find a hotel now—it’s peak season. And don’t you think it’s exciting?” Her eyes sparkled. “We can use the money we save for a big feast!”
Even my boyfriend chimed in, laughing,
“Samantha's got a sense of adventure. Cherie, you’re too uptight. You don’t know how to enjoy life!”
I reluctantly followed. I had no idea this trip would be my last.
That night, I was stabbed in the throat—and died.
There were no cameras. No witnesses. I thought Samantha and my boyfriend would help the police, cry for me, fight for justice.
But at my funeral, they went live on social media, claiming I had insisted on staying in the abandoned hotel for the thrill of it. That my recklessness caused my own death.
The livestream went viral. Sympathy poured in. So did donations and compensation.
Then came the official couple reveal—my best friend and my boyfriend.
Grieving lover. Heartbroken bestie. Perfect victims.
The killer was caught soon after.
That was when the truth came out. The hotel had been shut down years ago due to a string of brutal murders.
Samantha knew. She even remembered the killer’s pattern—he always returned to the scene of the crime on the anniversary.
So she brought me here. Placed me in that room.
I was a pawn. Bait.
I couldn’t rest in peace. The truth screamed inside me.
And then—I opened my eyes again.
We were back at the gate of the same abandoned hotel. Samantha was smiling like nothing had ever happened.
——
“Cherie, let’s stay here tonight,” she chirped. “It’s still a five-star hotel, even if it’s been closed for years!”
“You have to treat me to a feast—we’re saving so much money!”
She pointed excitedly at the overgrown, crumbling building behind her.
But I stood frozen, my blood cold, my face pale.
Deja vu. No—this was more. This was a second chance.
Samantha noticed my hesitation and frowned.
“Why are you spacing out? Come on, don’t be dramatic.”
She reached out to pull me, just like before.
I slapped her hand away. My heart pounded like a drum.
In my last life, we came here too.
She didn’t ask. She planned everything. The booking, or lack of it. The room. The lies.
Back then, I only felt vague dread. Now, I remembered it all—too clearly.
So I looked her in the eye, calm but firm.
“Samantha, let’s not do this. Let’s stay somewhere safe. I don’t care if it’s a dingy internet café—I’m not stepping into that place.”
Her smile faltered. Just for a second. But I saw it.
The mask was slipping.
“The hotel’s facilities are still great,” she insisted. “I worked here, remember? It’s better than some of those cheap inns.”
“And it’s not haunted,” she added, almost too quickly.
I remembered then—she had worked here during college. She used to rant about the guests, call them suckers for paying so much.
But if the hotel was so luxurious… why did it shut down?
My gut twisted. My instincts screamed.
Suddenly, a gust of wind howled through the cracked glass doors of the lobby.
It sounded like a growl. A warning.
