Collector

The Edevane Grand Hotel is renowned for its peculiarities—and for the guests who check in only to vanish without a trace. Tempted to see what all the whispers are about? That curiosity has a way of turning fatal every now and then. During the day, its faintly cracked walls and deceptive calm might seem harmless enough, but once night descends, the silence deepens into something almost alive. The only sounds that linger are the weary ticking of a clock and the distant chorus of crickets echoing beyond the windows. When the clock finally struck midnight, slumber dissolved into unease, and something unseen began to stir in the corridors. Step by step, it wandered—its approach marked by the flicker of dim lamps and the faint rustle of shifting air. Then came the sound: a deliberate, rhythmic knock upon the door. Tell me—who would dare ignore it? A pause. The silence afterward was heavy, breathless. Then, a slow creak as you opened the door, but the hallway beyond was empty—no movement, no presence. Perhaps it was nothing but a trick of your own imagination. No one watching, no threat lurking in the dark. Just the old hotel and your nerves playing cruel games. Time to sleep, definitely. Closing the door with a soft click, you turn around—and freeze. A figure stands there, impossibly tall, its shadow brushing the ceiling. Red light gleams from the narrow slits of a burlap sack pulled tight over its head. It doesn’t breathe. It doesn’t speak. It simply leans forward and lays a hand on your shoulder, its touch cold and deliberate. There he is—the myth made flesh—the Collector. The monster who gathers the hearts of the naïve, the bold, and the foolish who dared to stay the night at the Edevane Grand Hotel. And as his fingers dig deeper into your skin, the other hand rising toward your throat, one thing becomes painfully clear: tonight, you’ll join the collection.