The Frosted Glass

In the autumn of last year, I took a position as the night auditor at the Meridian Spire Hotel, a sleek glass tower on the outskirts of a city that never quite slept. The Spire had 111 floors, each with a single room that wrapped around the core, offering panoramic views of the sprawling metropolis below. The lobby was a cavern of marble and chrome, but the true nerve center was the back office, a glass box where I could see the corridor leading to the elevators. Through the frosted panels, I watched the spectral silhouettes of guests as they came and went, their forms always blurring, always indistinct.

My shifts were solitary, shared with only one other employee, a quiet man named Elias who had been there for years. We rarely crossed paths, trading keys and a few terse notes. The hotel was nearly empty this time of year, so my rounds were more about ritual than necessity. Each night, I walked the halls, checking locks, ensuring the fire doors were sealed, and listening to the building’s hum. The only sound was the soft whir of the HVAC and my own footsteps on the plush carpet.

One night, a blizzard raged outside, hurling ice against the windows like desperate fingers. I was in the office, updating logs, when a shadow appeared in the frosted glass. It was tall, but too tall, with limbs that seemed elongated and a head that swayed slightly. I assumed it was a guest from a late arrival, though I hadn’t heard any check-ins. I rose and moved to the front desk, but by the time I got there, the corridor was empty. I peered down the hall, but there was no one. The elevator doors were closed, and the floor indicator was still on ‘L’. I shrugged it off, returned to my chair, but a chill crawled up my spine.

Thirty minutes later, another shadow. This time it paused right at the glass, as if peering in, but the glass was frosted, so I saw only a vague shape. It moved away, and again, no one appeared. I grabbed my keycard and a flashlight, deciding to investigate. The corridor beyond the office was straight, leading to two elevators and a stairwell. The elevators were empty, the stairwell door was ajar. I pushed it open and called out, but only my voice echoed back. The stairwell was dark, with emergency lights casting a sickly green. I closed the door firmly and returned, but I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched.

On my rounds, I always took the service elevator to the top floor and worked my way down. But this night, I opted for the stairs, thinking I might catch the mysterious visitor. The stairwell was cold, the air stale. On the second floor, I paused, and I heard a faint tapping, like knuckles against glass. It came from the corridor beyond the stairwell door. I eased it open and stepped into a hallway that was dimly lit, the sconces casting long shadows. At the far end, a shadow stood, unmoving, as if waiting. I called out, but it didn’t respond. I started walking, and the shadow began to move away, always keeping the same distance. It led me down the hall, around a corner, and then vanished. I found myself outside room 111, a room that was supposed to be vacant. The door was ajar, a sliver of darkness inside. My heart pounded. I pushed it open and saw that the furniture was covered in white sheets, but one sheet had been pulled aside, revealing a bed with a deep impression, as if someone had just been lying there. On the pillow, there was a single black hair, long and coarse.

I reported the incident to security, but they found nothing. The next night, Elias was on duty, and I couldn’t help but ask if he’d ever seen anything odd. He gave me a long look and said, ‘Room 111 has been off-limits for years. There was a fire, and a woman died there. They say her shadow still roams the halls, looking for her lost key.’ I laughed it off, but I didn’t feel like laughing.

As the weeks passed, I began to see the shadow more often. It would appear in the frosted glass, always moving, never staying. I learned to ignore it, but one night, it didn’t pass by. It stood at the glass, and I saw a hand press against it, leaving a foggy imprint. I stared at the hand, and I realized it was too small, almost childish. Then the shadow spoke, not with a voice, but with a whisper that seemed to emanate from the walls. ‘They took my key.’ I felt a cold dread. I responded, ‘What key?’ But no answer came. The shadow receded.

I decided to research the hotel’s history. In the archives, I found a newspaper clipping from 1987: a fire on the 111th floor, in a room that was later sealed. The victim was a young girl named Elspeth, who had been staying with her family. She had died in the blaze, but her body was never found. The official report said she had been trapped, but some believed she had been trying to reach the fire escape, but couldn’t find the key to the window lock. I shivered. The key. That’s what the shadow wanted.

That night, I couldn’t sleep. I went to the lobby and stood before the frosted glass. The shadow appeared, more defined than ever, a small figure with a twisted neck. It pointed a finger towards the stairwell. I followed its direction and found a maintenance closet that I had never noticed before, tucked behind a false panel. Inside, on a dusty shelf, was an old brass key with a tag that read ‘R111’. I took it, and as I held it, I felt a warmth, as if the key itself was grateful. I walked to the stairs, up to the 111th floor, and stood before room 111.

The door was locked, but the key fit perfectly. I turned it, and the door swung open. The room was as I had left it, but now the shadow was there, full-bodied, a girl around ten, with moist eyes. She pointed to the window. I walked over and saw that the window lock was broken. She couldn’t have opened it. I pushed it open, and the cold wind rushed in. The girl smiled, and then she walked towards the window, and I watched as she stepped out into the night, her form dissolving into the snow and darkness. I closed the window, and the key crumbled to dust in my hand.

Since then, I’ve never seen the shadow again. But every night, when I look at the frosted glass, I half-expect to see her pale face, and I wonder if she found what she was looking for, or if she left a piece of herself behind, waiting to be found by someone else who might need a key of their own.