The Guest Room is not haunted

Chapter 16: The Keeper's Oath

The morning sun filters through the curtains, casting soft, golden light across Sam's room. He blinks awake, groggy, his mind clouded with lingering thoughts from the night before.

The words won't leave him.

> Help me.

They whisper through his consciousness like an echo, refusing to fade.

Sitting up, he rubs his face and exhales. The weight of everything presses against his chest—the ghostly presence, the cryptic warnings, the overwhelming realization that whatever his uncle was involved in, Sam was now tangled in it too.

And then there was the guestbook.

His gaze shifts to the worn leather-bound book resting on his nightstand. The air in the room feels heavier just looking at it, as if it's waiting for him.

He reaches out, fingers brushing over the rough cover before picking it up.

> This is the only thing that can give me answers.

If his uncle had managed to help the tenants of the locked guest room, then surely he could too.

Maybe.

He takes a deep breath and flips the book open. The pages are still blank, the texture rough under his fingertips.

His voice is steady when he speaks.

Sam: "Alright, Ledger. You said my uncle used you to help them. How?"

For a moment, nothing happens. Then, a faint hum vibrates through the book. Slowly, words begin to form, written in dark ink that bleeds across the page as if responding to his question.

Ledger: He was taught, just as I will teach you.

Sam leans forward, his pulse quickening.

Sam: "Taught by who?"

Ledger: The last Keeper. The one before him.

His breath catches. He had never considered that before. He had assumed his uncle somehow figured everything out on his own, but now…

Sam: "So someone trained him?"

Ledger: Yes. Just as I will train you.

The weight of those words settles over him. He barely understands what any of this means, but he wants to.

Sam: "Then tell me everything."

The book remains still for a long moment, as if considering his request. Then, the ink moves again, forming slow, deliberate sentences.

Ledger: Your uncle inherited this duty, just as you have. The Keeper before him chose him, just as fate has chosen you.

Sam tightens his grip on the book.

Sam: "But I wasn't chosen. I just… ended up here."

Ledger: Yet here you are.

Sam exhales sharply. He's not going to win an argument with a book.

Sam: "And my uncle? What exactly did he do?"

Ledger: He kept the balance. He learned the rules. He guided those who remained.

Sam frowns.

Sam: "The tenants. The ones in the locked room."

Ledger: Yes.

Sam: "Then tell me how. Tell me what I have to do."

The ink darkens.

Ledger: You will only understand when you help the shadow.

Sam clenches his jaw. There it is again—that cryptic insistence that the shadow is the key to all of this.

But if that's the case, then he needs something concrete to work with.

He leans back, running a hand through his hair.

Sam: "Fine. Then help me help the shadow. Start with a name."

A strange pulse radiates from the book, like a heartbeat. The ink spreads slowly, carving out a name in deliberate, bold strokes.

Ledger: Elias.

Sam blinks.

That… wasn't what he expected.

A name. A real name.

It makes the shadow feel less like some faceless entity lurking in the dark.

More like a person.

He repeats it, testing the weight of it on his tongue.

Sam: "Elias."

The name feels strange. Foreign, yet oddly familiar.

Sam: "Alright. I'll help him. But if I'm supposed to be a Keeper, I need to know everything. No more vague answers."

The air thickens, and the ink moves again.

Ledger: Then you must uphold your duty.

Sam: "Which is?"

A pause. Then—

Ledger: Sustenance.

Sam frowns.

Sam: "…What?"

Ledger: To guide. To protect. To feed.

The last word sends a shiver down his spine.

Sam: "Feed what?"

Ledger: Me.

The air in the room suddenly feels colder.

Ledger: My energy have been dwindling for years. Your uncle fed me sufficiently. You must do the same.

Sam's throat tightens.

Sam: "What does that even mean?"

Ledger: You will understand in time.

Another cryptic answer. Of course.

But one thing is clear—this guestbook, this ledger, isn't just a record of names. It's something more.

And now, it's his responsibility.

Sam exhales sharply, dragging a hand down his face.

Sam: "Fine. If this is my job now… then I'll do it."

He doesn't know how.

He doesn't know if he can.

But for now, one thing is certain.

He has a name.

Elias.

And that's where he'll start.