It was a dark and stormy night when I arrived at the hotel. The wind was howling and the rain was pouring down in sheets. The hotel looked old and creaky, with a sign that read "Grand Hotel" in fading gold letters. I took a deep breath and stepped inside.

The lobby was dimly lit, with flickering candles casting ominous shadows on the walls. A strange smell hung in the air, a sickly sweet odor that made my stomach churn. I approached the front desk, where a middle-aged man with greasy hair and a sleazy grin greeted me.

"Welcome to the Grand Hotel," he said, his voice oily with insincerity. "How may I assist you?"

"I have a reservation," I replied, trying to ignore the uneasy feeling in my gut.

"Ah, yes," he said, tapping away at the keyboard. "Room 213. That would be a deluxe suite. Excellent choice, sir."

As he handed me the key, his eyes lingered on me in a way that made me feel uncomfortable. I quickly made my way to the elevator and went up to the second floor.

The hallway was just as dimly lit as the lobby, with peeling wallpaper and creaky floorboards. I had a feeling that I was the only guest in the hotel, which made the situation even more eerie. As I reached my room, I heard noises coming from the room next door. It sounded like somebody was laughing and moaning, but it wasn't a romantic sound.

I shuddered as I unlocked the door to the suite. The room was spacious and luxurious, with a large four-poster bed and a balcony overlooking the courtyard. But there was something off about the room. It was almost as if the air was heavy with an unseen presence.

As I unpacked my bags, I heard a knock at the door. It was the receptionist.

"Mr. Johnson," he said, his eyes lingering on my body. "I hope you're enjoying your stay so far."

"I am," I lied, wanting nothing more than to be left alone.

"I couldn't help but notice that you're traveling alone," he said, leaning in closer. "Perhaps I could show you around town later tonight? There's a great bar on the outskirts of town that I think you would enjoy."

His suggestion made my blood run cold. I quickly made up an excuse and closed the door, locking it behind me.

For the rest of the night, I couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. The moaning and laughing from the next room continued, getting louder and more disturbing by the minute. I tossed and turned in the bed, finally drifting off into a fitful sleep.

When I woke up, it was still dark outside. I checked the time and realized that it was only 3am. And that's when I saw him.

The receptionist was standing at the foot of my bed, staring down at me with an expression of lecherous hunger. I screamed and threw the nearest object at him, which happened to be a pillow.

He backed away, his face contorting in anger. "You should be more grateful," he hissed. "I was only trying to be friendly."

I grabbed my belongings and ran out of the room, as fast as I could. I never looked back.

To this day, I still shudder at the memory of that night. And whenever I see an old hotel with flickering lights and a greasy receptionist, I quickly hurry past.