The legend of the Somnus Hotel was intoxicating, a ghost story whispered among urban explorers and paranormal enthusiasts, too perfect to be true. A grand hotel, built in the heart of the remote Cascade Mountains in 1935 by the eccentric and reclusive millionaire, Julian Blackwood. A place of lavish parties and unparalleled luxury that operated for only three years. Then, one bitter winter night in December 1938, it simply went silent. A snowstorm, the worst in a century, had cut off the mountain pass for weeks. When the plow finally broke through, the authorities found the hotel pristine and empty of all life. The fires were cold, but a lavish dinner was set upon the tables in the grand dining hall, half-eaten. Wine glasses were still wet with dregs of claret. Luggage lay open in the guest rooms, clothes folded neatly within. But of Julian Blackwood, his staff, and his two dozen guests, there was no sign. No bodies, no footprints in the snow, nothing. The place was sealed by the county, deemed structurally unsound and haunted by tragedy, and for eighty years, it had remained a silent monument to an inexplicable mystery. It was this siren song of the unsolved that had drawn Leo, Chloe, Marcus, and Zara to its door. They were ‘Phasma Ex’, a small crew of online paranormal investigators whose channel was just starting to gain traction. The Somnus was their Everest. “GPS says we’re about a mile out,” Marcus said, his eyes glued to the tablet mounted on the dashboard of their battered 4×4. He was the tech guy, the pragmatist, armed with EMF meters, thermal cameras, and a healthy dose of skepticism that he claimed made their findings more credible. “Can’t see a thing,” Zara muttered from the back seat, wiping condensation from her window. She was the group’s sensitive, the one who claimed to feel shifts in atmosphere and hear whispers others couldn’t. It was great for the views, but Leo often wondered how much of it was genuine. Leo gripped the steering wheel, navigating the treacherous, unplowed service road. He was the leader, the driving force behind their expeditions. The Somnus had been his obsession for years. “It’s supposed to be hidden. Blackwood wanted privacy.” “He got it,” Chloe chimed in, adjusting the focus on her main camera. As the primary videographer and editor, she was the storyteller, framing their adventures for their audience. “Eternal privacy.” Finally, through a curtain of swirling snow, it appeared. The Somnus Hotel was a hulking silhouette against the bruised purple of the twilight sky. It was larger and more imposing than any photograph had suggested, a sprawling beast of timber and stone with sharp, gabled roofs that looked like teeth against the clouds. It didn’t look abandoned; it looked dormant, like a predator sleeping through the winter. They parked the truck in a sheltered cluster of pines and made their way towards the building, the crunch of their boots the only sound in the vast, snow-muffled wilderness. The air grew still, the wind dying as they approached the massive oak doors. A heavy, rusted chain and padlock, bearing the official seal of the county, was the only thing barring their way. “Well, Marcus,” Leo said with a grin, holding up a pair of bolt cutters. “Time to be pragmatic.” The padlock surrendered with a groan that was swallowed by the wind. Leo gave the heavy oak door a shove, and it scraped open just enough for a person to slip through. The air that billowed out was colder than the mountain pass itself, carrying a scent of dust, decaying opulence, and something else… something faintly like stale perfume and old cigar smoke. “Ladies and gentlemen,” Chloe whispered, her voice trembling with a mixture of fear and exhilaration as she raised her camera, its night-vision casting the entryway in an eerie green glow. “We are the first people to see the inside of the Somnus Hotel in over eighty years.” The grand lobby was a mausoleum of luxury. A thick carpet of dust covered everything, from the cracked leather armchairs to the once-grand piano that sat silently in the corner. Moonlight, filtered through a grimy, floor-to-ceiling window, illuminated the ghostly shapes of furniture draped in white cloths. A magnificent, taxidermied bear, its glass eyes staring into nothingness, stood on its hind legs by a sweeping staircase, one paw raised in a silent, eternal greeting. But it was the reception desk that drew their attention. An open guestbook lay upon it, the last entry dated December 21st, 1938. The signature was a flourish of ink: *Julian Blackwood*. “This is it,” Marcus breathed, pulling out his EMF meter. He ran a gloved finger over the name. “The owner. The man who vanished.” The meter remained silent. “I don’t like it here,” Zara said, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. “It feels… expectant. Like we just woke something up.” “That’s the idea, Z,” Leo said, though he couldn’t shake a similar feeling of being watched. He clapped his hands together, the sound unnervingly loud in the stillness. “Alright, team. Let’s sweep the ground floor first. Marcus, EMF and thermal. Chloe, you’re with me. Zara, stay close. We’re not splitting up.” They moved deeper into the hotel, their footsteps muffled by the thick carpets. They documented the lounge, with its cavernous fireplace filled with charred logs, and the library, where books lay open on tables as if their readers had just stepped away. The dust was a sacred shroud over everything, preserving the scene. Chloe’s camera drank it all in, the slow pans over forgotten lives creating a palpable sense of unease. Their exploration led them to the grand dining hall, the heart of the hotel’s legend. And it was exactly as the stories described. Long tables were set for dinner, complete with porcelain plates, silver cutlery, and crystal glasses. On the plates, however, was not food, but a dark, hardened substance that looked like desiccated remnants of a feast. “Incredible,” Chloe whispered, filming the macabre scene. “The Silent Supper.” Marcus’s EMF meter suddenly crackled to life, its needle jumping into the red. “Whoa, I’ve got a massive spike here. Right over this table.” They all converged on the spot. It was the head table, where a single place was set. A half-full wine glass stood next to the plate, the dark liquid within now a solid, crystalline residue. “This must have been Blackwood’s seat,” Leo surmised. As Marcus swept the meter over the chair, it shrieked, a high-pitched wail of electronic protest. Then, just as suddenly, it died. “What the hell? The batteries were brand new.” He tapped the device, but it was dead. A sudden, sharp metallic clang from the direction of the kitchen made them all jump. They spun around, flashlights cutting through the gloom. “Probably just the building settling,” Marcus said, his voice lacking its usual confidence. “I’ll check it out,” Leo said, his hand resting on the heavy Maglite he carried as much for a weapon as for light. “You guys stay here.” He pushed through the swinging doors into the vast, industrial kitchen. It was a forest of stainless steel and copper pots hanging from the ceiling like sleeping bats. His flashlight beam danced across countertops and massive stoves. Nothing seemed out of place. He was about to turn back when he saw it. On a large butcher’s block in the center of the room, a single, heavy meat cleaver lay perfectly positioned. It was pristine. Unlike everything else in the hotel, it was completely free of dust, its blade gleaming in the light as if it had been recently polished. Leo felt a cold dread creep up his spine. He backed away slowly, never taking his eyes off the cleaver. Rejoining the others, he decided not to mention it. It could have been a prank by a previous would-be explorer, though the unbroken seal made that unlikely. No need to spook the team further. They decided to head back to the lobby to set up a base camp before exploring the upper floors. As they stepped out of the dining hall, they were met with a sight that stopped their hearts. The giant taxidermied bear, which had been standing by the staircase, was no longer there. In its place on the floor were massive, deep gouges in the wooden planks, as if something incredibly heavy had been dragged away. “Where… where did it go?” Zara stammered, her face pale. Chloe swung her camera around, the night-vision sweeping across the empty space. “That’s not possible. It was right there!” Leo’s heart hammered against his ribs. He shone his powerful flashlight up the grand staircase, into the oppressive darkness of the second floor. Nothing. But then he lowered the beam, and his blood ran cold. On the first step, perfectly placed, was a single, small, glass eye. It stared up at them, seeming to catch the light with a malevolent glint. As if on cue, a sound echoed from the floors above. A soft, solitary note from a piano, hanging in the dead air for a moment before silence rushed back in, deeper and more absolute than before. They froze, four pairs of eyes wide in the gloom, staring up the dark staircase. The wind howled outside, a lonely and mournful sound. But the piano note had not come from outside. It had come from within. The Somnus Hotel was not as empty as they had thought. It was awake. And it knew they were here.
