IOHH 5

My uncle died by suicide. In this room.

The manager said it as calmly as if he were making small talk about the weather. His face was serene, almost too serene—like he didn’t realize how inappropriate his expression was for the situation. Even if what he said were true, no normal person would speak of such a thing with a smile. That’s just basic human decency.

I had taken only a single step into the room before I froze in place, unable to move forward. Standing still, I met the manager’s gaze and hesitantly asked,

“…You’re saying my uncle… took his own life? But why… how could that happen…?”

“I heard he jumped from the terrace,” he replied smoothly.

“So you weren’t the one who found him? Was there… no chance it was an accident?”

“It was another staff member who discovered him first. The door was locked, and his shoes were neatly placed in front of the railing. It’s hard to believe it was anything but suicide.”

I slowly looked up. Straight ahead, I could see the large terrace. That meant my uncle had jumped from there. My cheerful, optimistic uncle—the same man who used to joke that he’d live past eighty without a doubt.

I couldn’t tell how much of the manager’s story I could trust, but one thing was clear: my uncle hadn’t been living a happy life at this hotel.

Then, as if my complicated feelings meant nothing to him, the manager asked casually,

“Miss, may I come in?”

He could’ve just stepped inside. Why was he asking for permission? This wasn’t even my room like the one earlier—there was no need to get my approval. Was it some show of respect for me as my uncle’s only living relative? But as the general manager, he must’ve come in and out of this room plenty of times to handle my uncle’s belongings. So why now?

It was a simple question, one that most people wouldn’t think twice about. But something about it felt… off.

“Do you really need my permission?”

“May I come in?” he repeated.

“…”

It wasn’t the kind of question you ask again after being dismissed—unless it had to be asked. And he wasn’t just repeating it; he sounded slightly desperate. As if my permission wasn’t just a courtesy… but a requirement. His navy eyes glinted with something that felt all too familiar—something I had seen before in the garden. A subtle flicker of blood-red behind his irises. A gaze that made my skin crawl.

“Kaina, did you know? Evil things—when they want to enter a space that belongs to someone—they have to get that person’s permission. Without it, they can’t come in.”

My uncle used to tell me that when I was little, back when I was convinced monsters were hiding under the bed. He said as long as I didn’t give permission, they couldn’t enter. So I should never let anyone into my room without thinking.

Why did that memory suddenly surface now?

No way… Are you really going to suggest the person standing in front of you isn’t human? Get a grip, Kaina. That’s insane.

It was absurd. Even I knew that. And yet…

Then something else struck me. Another small detail that shouldn’t have stood out—but did.

It was four in the afternoon. Not exactly sunny, but still bright enough outside that sunlight streamed through the uncovered terrace windows. A time of day when anyone would cast a clear shadow.

I glanced down. My own shadow stretched long and distinct behind me.

But the manager—

“You… don’t have a shadow.”

The words slipped out of my mouth before I could stop them.

The smile vanished from the manager’s lips.

His expression hardened, eyes darting strangely in their sockets. They weren’t blue anymore. They were soaked in a deep, bloody red. His face twisted, melting into an unnatural shape, and his mouth began to stretch open far too wide.

May I come in? May I come in? May I come in? May I come in? May I come in? May I come in? May I come in? May I come in? May I come in? May I come in? May I come in? May I come in? May I come in? May I come in? May I come in?

His voice hit my ears like a broken phonograph, a warped, discordant sound. It was like a needle caught on a cracked record, looping in a grotesque rhythm. His body and face started to drip toward the floor—like overmixed cake batter oozing over the edges of a bowl. No… that wasn’t the right image. It was more like dew sliding off a leaf—one drop of flesh at a time.

Without thinking, I grabbed the pendant hanging around my neck and backed away.

This isn’t right. This isn’t right at all. If this keeps up… I might actually die. I need to run. I have to do something—anything—!

He reached out toward me with a wet, slithering hand.

I have to run into the room… but I can’t move. I can’t move. Do I have anything I can use to fight back?

No. Of course not. I had no weapon. No experience. No defense against… whatever this thing was.

Time slowed down as if someone had unraveled it and stretched it thin. I almost wished it was all a dream. That everything—from months ago until now—had just been one long, surreal nightmare.

And then, from deeper inside the room, I heard the sound of footsteps. A gentle voice followed.

“Do you need some help, miss?”

I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the grotesque figure in front of me, even as a flicker of familiarity in the voice tugged at my memory. Slowly, I turned my head—and there he was, standing behind me.

The manager.

With curly black hair and eyes as deep and blue as the ocean’s depths. No melting monster this time. Just the same ordinary human I’d seen earlier.

Two identical managers.

What… what am I even looking at? Twins? No. That can’t be it. So then, which one is real?

No—that question doesn’t even matter.

The moment our eyes met, every nerve in my body lit up like electricity surging through my bloodstream. It was so vivid, I could practically feel my blood itself reacting. Like a tiny fish peering into a vast, dark ocean… Whatever this man was, in whatever sense the word applies, he was the real one. Because I couldn’t imagine anything else in this world making me feel this way.

Grasping for a lifeline, I forced the words out of my tightening throat.

“P-Please… help me…”

“Of course. I’ll take care of that request right away~”

With a snap of his fingers, the grotesque creature standing by the door vanished instantly—no trace left behind. Not even a scrap of that oozing flesh. Gone, like magic in a storybook.

The manager turned to me with a bright, cheery smile.

“Were you satisfied with the service? I do apologize for the unpleasant situation. I was away for just a moment, and yet someone had the gall to pull a stunt like that.”

“So… what exactly is going on here? Who are you? Are you… really the manager?”

“Oh dear, still confused? That’s only natural. Humans react that way. But to put it simply…”

He placed a hand over his chest, gave a polite little bow of his head and waist, then straightened and spoke again in a cheerful tone. The crushing sense of pressure I’d felt earlier was completely gone.

“Hello there! The one you saw earlier was a fake manager, and starting now, I’m the real manager!”

That explains absolutely nothing.

“…There’s such a thing as a fake manager and a real one?”

“You saw it yourself, didn’t you? The one that melted? That was the fake. I’m the real deal. There are creatures out there that copy others’ appearances just to scare people.”

“Then… are you saying what I just saw was… some kind of ghost?”

“Well, that’s what some folks like to call them.”

Then he launched into a strange tangent about how people nowadays were too human-centric to bother naming “things like that.” I didn’t really get what he was trying to say.

Noticing the skepticism written all over my face, he quickly adjusted his tone—still friendly, but with a more courteous air.

“That said, it’s unusual for one of them to venture out of the guest rooms. It must’ve slipped past us somehow. That’s our fault here at Belvedere, and you’re welcome to take whatever action you see fit, Miss Lindetail.”

“Wait—guest room? Are you saying that thing was a guest at this hotel?”

“That’s correct.”

He said it so plainly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, that I almost blurted out Oh, okay, without thinking. Do none of the staff here understand basic common sense? Not that I’m the poster child for normalcy myself, but this entire conversation felt like it belonged on another planet. A hotel that welcomes horrifying monsters as guests? There’s no way this place is even remotely normal.

As if sensing my inner turmoil, the manager quickly added:

“Just to clarify, Belvedere doesn’t only accommodate guests like that. We accept human clients as well. We simply serve both humans and non-humans alike. Very inclusive, wouldn’t you say?”

Great. One more round of that “inclusivity” and I’ll be dead.