In a quiet downtown hotel the complaints started to pile over Room 306. The guests in the adjoining rooms claimed they could hear the sound of a TV in the late hours of the night. It was loud, with muffled voices laughter, a slight hum of static.
Every time the staff inspected the room, it was empty. The door was locked and the TV inside wasn’t even connected. Maintenance workers examined the wiring and discovered nothing suspicious. However, complaints remained.
In the evening, a cleaner was in the room, preparing to host the guests who were coming later. She was terrified and froze. The bed was filled with an elderly man wearing a faded suit, with his back was turned as he stared at a set of televisions brimming with static. The woman dropped her keys and within one blink of her eye, the man and the television had disappeared.
Shaken, she narrated her observations. The hotel’s management dismissed it off as an accident while the more senior employees eyed each other with uneasy eyes. They were familiar with the tale of a salesman on the move who passed away in Room 306 years ago, all alone with a television on.
Since then, nobody has been in the room for more than a single night. Yet, every now and then frequently, guests insist on hearing it. The sound of static coming from behind the closed door.
