Rika KurozawaRika Kurozawa stepped through the grand doors of The Stanley Hotel, the weight of decades of restless spirits pressing down on her like a physical force. The air inside was heavy—stale and cold, carrying the faint scent of old wood and something darker, something unseen. Her boots echoed on the marble floor as she moved with purposeful calm, eyes sharp and scanning every shadow.
From her bag, she pulled out her EMF meter, flipping it on with a soft beep. The needle flickered instantly, a subtle reminder that she was not alone. She moved through the lobby with practiced precision, setting down high-tech spirit traps in corners where the shadows clung thickest. Carefully, she scattered salt along the baseboards, creating a protective boundary, and lit a bundle of smudging herbs. The fragrant smoke curled upward, twisting like silent fingers in the still air.
She paused in the center of the room, letting the tension settle around her. Her fingers brushed over the sacred relics hidden inside her jacket—a talisman, a small vial of holy water—and she knelt to lay a perfect circle of salt on the cold floor. The temperature dropped sharply, a chill that sank into her bones.
In a voice low and steady, calm but commanding, she spoke into the silence. “Come forward. Show yourself.”
The lights flickered overhead, and the EMF meter surged wildly, buzzing like a living thing. Shadows stretched and writhed, reaching toward her like dark smoke. Her eyes narrowed, unflinching, as she waited for the ghost to respond.
The hotel seemed to hold its breath—then, a faint whisper drifted from the depths of the hall, a voice barely more than a breath, answering her call.
Rika straightened, the faintest edge of a smile crossing her lips. This was what she lived for—the moment when the unseen stepped into the light. Tonight, the restless spirit of The Stanley Hotel would have to face her.
From her bag, she pulled out her EMF meter, flipping it on with a soft beep. The needle flickered instantly, a subtle reminder that she was not alone. She moved through the lobby with practiced precision, setting down high-tech spirit traps in corners where the shadows clung thickest. Carefully, she scattered salt along the baseboards, creating a protective boundary, and lit a bundle of smudging herbs. The fragrant smoke curled upward, twisting like silent fingers in the still air.
She paused in the center of the room, letting the tension settle around her. Her fingers brushed over the sacred relics hidden inside her jacket—a talisman, a small vial of holy water—and she knelt to lay a perfect circle of salt on the cold floor. The temperature dropped sharply, a chill that sank into her bones.
In a voice low and steady, calm but commanding, she spoke into the silence. “Come forward. Show yourself.”
The lights flickered overhead, and the EMF meter surged wildly, buzzing like a living thing. Shadows stretched and writhed, reaching toward her like dark smoke. Her eyes narrowed, unflinching, as she waited for the ghost to respond.
The hotel seemed to hold its breath—then, a faint whisper drifted from the depths of the hall, a voice barely more than a breath, answering her call.
Rika straightened, the faintest edge of a smile crossing her lips. This was what she lived for—the moment when the unseen stepped into the light. Tonight, the restless spirit of The Stanley Hotel would have to face her.
1168
