Horror story: the abandoned hotel guestbook that had my name in it

I wasn't going to post this but here we are.

So there's this old hotel. Back when the economy was good it was actually a popular staycation spot, people loved it. Then the guests stopped coming and eventually it just... shut down. Sat there rotting.

Someone tipped off an urban explorer forum that the lobby still has a guestbook sitting out. No dates, no authors. Just ink that's bled black and dark across the pages. And apparently if you open it, someone's name is written inside.

Your name.

I work as a travel writer. I specialize in ruins, abandoned places, historical sites with a story. So when I heard about "Prime Inn" I went. Winter 2023. It's on the outskirts of the Seoul metro area, near a lake that used to be a tourist destination. The road leading up to it was wrecked, totally unmaintained, and the whole building was buried under heavy snow.

The lobby was actually gorgeous once. You could tell. Wide open, high ceilings. But dust had settled into every corner and the chandelier had gone completely gray with cobwebs. Beautiful in a horrible way.

And there it was. In a dark corner. The guestbook.

Black ribbon binding. A few loose white pages sticking out. Most of it was gone, only a handful of pages left.

I flipped to the last page and found this:

2021.12 Jung ○○

2022.3 Kim ○○

2022.7 Lee ○○

Just names. Just dates. Nothing else. Simple like a grocery list. But the page was warm somehow, slightly curved like someone had been holding it recently.

I left it where it was, took photos, and headed upstairs.

Second floor. Third floor. Hallways of sealed-off guest rooms. I made it up to the sixth floor lounge.

The curtains were in shreds. And the floor was just. COVERED in tangerine peels. Like someone had sat there eating for hours.

On the wall someone had taped a piece of white paper. Big red letters.

"You were supposed to come here."

I got chills so bad I literally sprinted back down to the lobby.

I grabbed the guestbook. Flipped through it fast. And a torn page slipped out and stuck to my hand.

On it was my name.

My handwriting. My name. A date.

2024.1.15 Cha ○○

I spun around. Nobody. The lobby was empty in every direction.

I drove home that night and pulled up the photos I'd taken of the guestbook earlier.

My name was gone. The page was blank.

Later that night I heard knocking at my window.

"Tak... tak..."

I answered without even thinking. "Come in."

The door creaked open. A shape in the hallway. Face hidden. But holding something heavy in both hands, something that made a solid knock against the floor when they shifted their weight.

No expression. No greeting. They just said:

"The name written in the guestbook... needs to be taken out."

I called the police the next morning. They went to the hotel. Said there was a strong smell, something awful. But whatever shape I'd seen, whatever sounds I'd heard, the CCTV caught nothing. No one.

The names in the guestbook. Nobody knows who they are.

The paper on the sixth floor wall was gone too.

The only thing left was a photo on my phone. First picture in the album. Me, alone, walking down the lobby stairs in a daze. I don't remember taking that.

I showed it to a friend. She looked at it for a long time and then said:

"You were called. Someone called you by name."