The Grand Elara Hotel in downtown Atlanta had always been quiet in the off-season. The velvet carpets muffled footsteps. The chandeliers glowed but never sparkled. Guests came and went, but few stayed long enough to notice the small oddities. The lift skipped the 13th floor. The bar closed too early. And Room 413 was never on the reservation list.
Because Room 413 didn’t exist on paper.
But on the night of April 14th, the front desk received a phone call—from Room 413.
Chapter 1: The Night Clerk
Jordan Price, 27, had worked the night shift for nearly six months. He preferred the quiet, the absence of people. After a messy breakup and a failed graphic design business, isolation was a comfort.
It was 1:13 a.m. when the hotel’s main desk phone buzzed.
ROOM 413 – LINE 1
He stared at the screen, confused. “There is no Room 413,” he muttered.
Thinking it was a glitch, he answered.
“Grand Elara, night desk—hello?”
Static. Then breathing.
“Help… he’s coming,” a woman whispered, her voice trembling. “Don’t trust the man in the mirror.”
The line went dead.
Jordan stared at the receiver, his heartbeat quickening.
Chapter 2: The Room That Shouldn’t Be
He knew the hotel layout. There was no Room 413. After the renovation in 2015, all rooms ending in “13” had been removed for “superstition reasons.”
Still, he took the service elevator to the 4th floor.
413 was where the fire escape should have been.
But tonight, there was a door.
A dusty brass plaque read 413. The paint was chipped, the hallway around it darker than the others. The keycard reader blinked red. Jordan tried his master key. The light turned green.
The door opened with a soft click.
Inside: a room frozen in time. Rotary phone. Floral wallpaper. Faint smell of lavender and burnt wood. A record player spun without sound.
And on the bed—an old photograph. A woman, eyes wide with fear. A man’s reflection behind her, not visible in the room’s mirror.
Chapter 3: Buried Records
Back at the desk, Jordan couldn’t shake the feeling. He searched the hotel’s old system logs, digging deep into archived files. Hidden beneath maintenance reports from 2007, he found it:
Incident Report – April 14, 1998
Room 413
“Guest (female, approx. 28) found deceased. Cause: self-inflicted trauma. No sign of forced entry. Mirror shattered. Guest reported ‘paranoia’ and claimed ‘someone lived inside the glass.’ Room sealed. Incident not disclosed publicly.”
The name: Isabel Dunn.
He checked local news archives. No death reported at the Elara Hotel that week. The hotel had erased her. But why?
And then—another call.
ROOM 413 – LINE 1
This time, the voice was lower. Male. Cold.
“Stop digging.”
Chapter 4: The Mirror Man
Over the next few nights, Jordan became obsessed. Guests reported cold drafts, TVs turning on by themselves, and strange whispers in their rooms—especially near Room 411 and 415.
He began dreaming of mirrors—faces in them that weren’t his. Shadows moving behind him when his reflection stood still.
He met a former employee, Marlene, who had retired in 2000.
“There were always stories about that room,” she said. “Isabel wasn’t the first. And she wasn’t crazy. That mirror—it doesn’t show your reflection. It shows who’s watching you.”
“What happened to it?”
“They tried to move it. Broke it. Covered it up. But the mirror always comes back.”
Chapter 5: The Return
One week later, Room 413 vanished again. No door. No plaque.
But the mirror didn’t.
It appeared in the lobby—an antique decoration the manager claimed was “found in storage.” Jordan begged them to remove it. They refused.
That night, Jordan saw himself in the mirror—except he wasn’t alone. A man in a black coat stood behind him, grinning, motionless. When Jordan turned around, the lobby was empty.
The next morning, Jordan was gone.
His shift log ended at 1:13 a.m.
The mirror remains in the lobby.
And once again, the desk phone rang.
Epilogue: If You Stay at the Elara
If you visit the Grand Elara Hotel, never book a room ending in 13. Don’t look into the mirror in the lobby for too long. And if the phone rings and the screen says “413,” do not answer.
Because Room 413 doesn’t exist.
Except when it wants to.
