This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/No_Focus8984 on 2024-11-11 02:28:48+00:00.

The night started out like any other—cold, quiet, just a light flurry of snow coming down. I was working the late shift at the Pine Hollow Lodge, a little inn tucked away on the side of a winding, half-forgotten road up in the mountains. It was mostly empty this time of year, except for the occasional stranded traveler.

It was around midnight when the phone rang. I jumped, hearing the old rotary phone shriek into the silence. There was a delay before anyone spoke, then a woman’s voice, soft and trembling, crackled through.

“Please… do you have any rooms left?”

“Yes, we do,” I replied, trying to sound reassuring. “But the weather’s picking up. If you’re not nearby, it might be better to wait until morning.”

“No, I…” She hesitated, and there was a strange rustling on the other end. “I don’t have much time. Please, I’m almost there. I have to make it before the snow traps me.”

It sounded odd, but people get anxious during snowstorms. So I reassured her again and told her I’d leave the light on for her. She thanked me and hung up, and I waited, glancing out the window every few minutes. The snow was falling thicker now, like a wall of white descending around the lodge.

About twenty minutes later, I heard a car crunch to a stop in the parking lot. I stepped outside, letting the bitter air rush into the warmth of the lobby. But when I looked, I saw nothing. No headlights, no car—only endless snow stretching out under the dim glow of the lodge lights. I shook it off, assuming maybe she’d parked around the bend or out of sight.

Minutes later, the door opened. She stepped in quietly, her face pale, lips almost blue, clutching herself as if she’d been out in the cold for hours. She looked… worn, like she’d been on a long journey through the dark. Her hair was tangled, wet with melted snow, and her eyes were wide, scanning every corner of the room.

“Are you alright?” I asked, feeling an eerie unease prickling up my spine. She just nodded, giving me a weak smile.

“Yes… I’m alright now. Just… a long drive.”

“Do you have any luggage?”

She shook her head, eyes shifting to the door as if expecting someone. “No, I had to leave everything behind. I just needed to… get here.”

I didn’t press her further. It wasn’t my business, and she looked like she needed rest. I checked her in quickly, handed her a key, and told her I’d be at the desk if she needed anything.

But as she walked down the hall to her room, I noticed her shoes. They left no wet footprints on the floor. I blinked, figuring I must be imagining things, but then a gust of wind rattled the windows, and the lights flickered.

For the next few hours, I tried to focus on paperwork, but I kept catching movements in the corner of my eye. Shadows, faint sounds of footsteps that would vanish the moment I looked up. The woman hadn’t called down for anything, and by three a.m., I was about to go check on her when the phone rang again.

“Please…” The same woman’s voice, but this time lower, frantic. “Please… you have to help me. I’m trapped in my car. I don’t know if I’ll make it.”

I froze, staring at the guest register, seeing her name scrawled there in my handwriting. “You’re here… you checked in an hour ago. Are you alright?”

There was a silence on the other end, then a horrible, strangled sound, like she was choking. “He’s coming… I see him. He’s walking through the snow. He’s—”

The line went dead.

Heart pounding, I hung up and sprinted down the hall to her room. I knocked, but there was no answer. I fumbled with the master key, feeling sweat run down my back despite the chill in the air. The door creaked open, and the room was dark, empty, the bed untouched.

I backed away, my mind racing, trying to make sense of what was happening. Then I heard footsteps behind me. I spun around and saw her standing at the end of the hall, eyes hollow, face twisted in a terrified expression as if she was looking at something right behind me.

I couldn’t move, couldn’t even breathe. Her lips moved silently, forming one word: Run.

Then I felt a hand on my shoulder—ice-cold, pressing down with an impossible weight. The air around me was filled with a smell, sharp and metallic, like old, rusted iron. I turned my head slowly, and in the darkness of the empty hallway, I saw a face. It was nothing human—just a dark, twisted grin under hollow, bottomless eyes, his face graying and cracked like ice.

I tore away, stumbling and running for the lobby, my skin crawling as I felt that icy presence following close behind. I didn’t look back until I’d burst out into the snow, the wind slicing through me, almost comforting after the suffocating cold that had filled the lodge.

I stared back at the building, panting, watching as the windows flickered with a sickly, pale light. And just for a moment, I saw her face there, pressed against the window, mouthing that single, desperate word: Run.

I never went back. And every winter since, I’ve heard stories about Pine Hollow Lodge, about the woman who appears in snowstorms, begging for help from the side of the road. They say if you stop, she’ll vanish, but her warning will echo in your mind long after you’ve driven away:

He’s coming… and you don’t want to be trapped in the snow when he does.