The Guest in the Guest Room

The old farmhouse had been in Lila’s family for three generations, but she had never felt truly at home there. After her grandmother passed, she inherited the place and moved in with her husband, Dan, and their two kids. The house was drafty, with creaky floors and a sprawling, half-finished attic. To help with the upkeep, they hired a live-in maid, an immigrant woman named Elara. She was around 50, with deep-set eyes and a quiet demeanor.

Elara arrived in late spring, during a particularly humid week. She settled into the small guest room off the kitchen, a room that had always felt cold despite the weather. Within days, she started complaining of sleepless nights. She said she felt a presence at the foot of her bed, watching her. At first, Lila dismissed it as the old house settling. But Elara grew increasingly agitated, her usual calm replaced by a nervous twitch.

One morning, Elara came to breakfast looking pale. She told Lila that the night before, she had woken up gasping for air. She said a black silhouette, like a dense smoke, was perched on her chest, pressing down on her throat. She tried to pray, and as she whispered a Hail Mary, the figure dissolved. She was convinced something in that room wanted to kill her.

Lila’s skepticism began to waver when her son, Jake, mentioned waking up with a strange mark on his arm, a small bruise in the shape of a hand. Dan told her it was probably a spider bite, but Lila couldn’t shake the feeling. She started checking on Elara at night, and one evening, through the half-open door, she saw Elara sleeping fitfully, tossing and turning, her mouth opening and closing as if fighting for breath. There was no figure, but the air in the room felt thick, almost alive.

A week later, Elara quit without notice. She packed her bags and called a taxi, refusing to utter a word about why. She left behind only a small, blackened book of Psalms. Lila tried to call her, but the number was disconnected. After she left, the strange occurrences persisted. Lights flickered at odd hours, doors went ajar on their own, and a deep, rhythmic breathing could be heard in the guest room at night.

One night, Lila couldn’t sleep. She walked past the guest room and heard a faint, gurgling sound, like someone drowning. She pushed the door open and saw a figure on the bed – a shadowy, humanoid shape huddled under the sheets, its form shifting and writhing. It turned its head, and in the dim light, Lila saw a face that was a grotesque distortion of Elara’s, its mouth stretched into a silent scream. The thing stared at her with empty sockets, and Lila felt a cold hand on her shoulder, even though she was alone.

She ran to the kitchen, grabbed the book of Psalms, and threw it into the fireplace, watching it burn. The flames seemed to consume the darkness, and for a moment, the house felt quiet. But as she turned, she saw the figure standing in the doorway, taller now, with long, skeletal fingers reaching for her. She stumbled backward, and the thing whispered in a distorted voice, ‘You see me too.’ The fire flickered, and the figure vanished.

The next morning, Lila found the book on the kitchen counter, unburned, its pages open to a psalm about deliverance. She and Dan decided to sell the house, but before they could, Jake told them he saw a woman in his room, a woman with a black, gaping mouth. They packed their bags and moved to a city apartment, but Lila still sometimes feels the presence, watching from the foot of her bed. She never found out what Elara really was, but she knows the guest room is still waiting, its door ajar, for its next victim.