## Chapter 1: Welcome to Hotel Alex Johnson

Baited by the tales of ghost encounters and eager for a thrill, journalist Tim Monroe checked into room 812. As he crossed the threshold, a cold draft swept past him, causing shivers to run down his spine. He quickly shrugged it off as mere air conditioning, but the feeling of unease lingered in his gut.

Tim flicked on the room’s light switch, bathing the dated decor in a harsh yellow glow. Warily, he scanned the room, expecting some telltale sign of an other-worldly presence— a floating chandelier, a bleeding wall, maybe even a spectral figure waving at him from the mirror. Nothing. Empty and silent, Room 812 was like any other century-old hotel suite, furnished with heavy drapes, thick carpets and age-worn wooden drawers.

Nevertheless, there was something distinctly unsettling about it. An energy. A vibration that couldn’t be defined by the fray of the rug or the sag of the bed. Tim paused, grounding himself, before realizing it was the air—it felt dense, and it carried a distinct low hum. A hum that seemed to whisper, “You’re not alone.”

## Chapter 2: The Chill of the Night

As dusk turned into night, the eerie quiet was disrupted by the short, sharp pings of water droplets falling onto the porcelain sink. “Damn leaky faucets,” Tim mumbled as he sunk into his bed, tugging the worn-out quilt up to his chin. The hum he had felt earlier was now more pronounced, the whispers echoing in the draughtier corners of the room. The tick-tock of the wall clock seemed to sync with his heartbeat.

Suddenly, he felt it – an icy patch of cold on his face. His heart pounded in his chest as he slowly rolled over, touching the frost-laden spot. Suddenly, the room fell deafeningly silent. The soft ticking of the wall clock had vanished, replaced by a heavy, palpable silence. Then, the chill turned into an unforgiving gust, whipping through his room, sending papers flying off his desk and violently rustling the heavy drapes.

As quickly as the cold gust had arrived, it dissipated, leaving an unnerving stillness in its wake. Shaken but undeterred, Tim clung to the veneer of rationality: The window must be broken, he told himself, ignoring the truth his rattling nerves knew all too well.

## Chapter 3: Dancing with Shadows

The whisper of the spectral voice grew clearer, its sadistic lullaby haunting Tim with every passing second. Tim was certain he could hear the faint strain of a woman’s voice, the softest whimper, echoing through the room. Accustomed to the adrenaline surges that chasing ghosts brought, Tim resisted the impulse to bolt, choosing instead to engage.

“I mean you no harm,” he said, his voice loud and assertive, yet filled with more trepidation than he would have liked. “Make your presence known!”

Suddenly, the shadows in the room began flickering, dancing along the walls in tandem with Tim’s racing heart. One particular shadow in the corner twisted and twirled with an ethereal grace that sucked the breath right out of his lungs. As the room temperature seemed to drop several degrees, the shadow swirled into a human figure, a spectral outline that shimmered like a mirage.

## Chapter 4: Revelations in the Dark

In the dimmed light, the specter’s silhouette was distinctly feminine, her edges softened by the moonlight that dared to peek through the window’s crack. A sudden chill gripped him as the raspy whispers finally coalesced into coherent words.

“Help me,” the voice whispered, echoing in the cold, empty room. Was this the same ‘Lady in White’ guests had claimed to encounter?

Tim felt his heart pounding as if it were trying to break free, but his journalistic instinct kicked in. “Who are you? What happened to you?”

However, like smoke dispersing in the wind, the spectral figure started to untwine, her request lingering in the cold air long after she vanished, leaving Tim grappling with the revelation .

## Chapter 5: The Haunting Departure

For the rest of the night, Tim lay wide awake, every sound making him jerk in alertness. As dawn’s first light timidly crept into room 812, it seemed to chase away the spectral presence he had encountered throughout the night.

As he walked out of the room, with the tale of his chilling encounter filed away among his ghostly experiences, the whispers ceased entirely, replaced by an oppressive silence that seemed to mourn the loosening grip of the departed ghost.

He turned back for one last glance at room 812. In his mind’s eye, he saw the ethereal figure, white as a winter’s snow and lost in an eternal plight, fading in the morning light. The echo of her plea for help seemed to be forever etched in the silent halls of Hotel Alex Johnson.

An insatiable curiosity burned within him about the mystery that lay entombed within these walls, the enigma of the ‘lady in white’. But for now, the ghost of room 812 was just another unexplained mystery in the realm of the supernatural.