The Room At The End Of The Hall

By Lori R. Lopez

A mix of quiet and psychological horror, nonstop dread, and mysterious lurkings to keep you wondering, while a chamber’s ominous secrets are explored.

The tale is told through innocent eyes that have glimpsed too much. This is no place for children. Yet the Teen Protagonist grew up at the edge of a forest on a secluded estate, raising seven younger siblings largely alone.

For generations the furtive peculiar Garand Family resided in their crumbling mansion — where faces in windows and an arcane forbidden door would invite speculation thick with tension. One night, as the Skeleton Key turns, a wealth of terrifying truths will be unlocked for a descendant chosen to carry out the Bloodline’s darkest traditions.

Some doors are better left unopened.

The Ghost Novella is part of Lori’s SPOOKTACULAR TALES Collection.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lori R. Lopez
• Release date: Dec 31, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215858455

Lori R. Lopez

Lori R. Lopez wears many hats as an Author and Speculative Poet of Horror, Fantasy, Suspense, Humor and more. She illustrates her books and has written songs, while being an Activist for animals and children. Growing up, Lori roamed graveyards and conducted funerals for dead birds, squirrels, insects and spiders. Her offbeat books include The Dark Mister Snark, Leery Lane, An Ill Wind Blows, Darkverse: The Shadow Hours, Odds & Ends, and The Fairy Fly. In 2023 Lori won Third Place in the Long Category for the SFPA Poetry Contest for "Wake Unto Death". Her Poetry Collection Darkverse was nominated for an Elgin Award and a Finalist in the Kindle Book Awards. Her poems "Crop Circles" and "Nocturnal Embers" were nominated for the Rhysling Award in 2020, "Social Graces" and "The Whistle Stop" in 2021, "Biting Sarcasm" in 2022, "The Whippoorwill" and "If Houses Could Talk" in 2023. Poems "The Maw" and "creatures of the macabre" received Editor's Choice Awards among other honors. Stories and verse have appeared in The Sirens Call, The Horror Zine, Space & Time, Spectral Realms, JOURN-E, Weirdbook, Bewildering Stories, Dreams & Nightmares, Impspired, Altered Reality, Aphelion, and anthologies such as California Screamin' (the Foreword Poem), HWA Poetry Showcases II, III, V, VI, and IX, Journals Of Horror, Grey Matter Monsters, Dead Harvest, Fearful Fathoms I, Terror Train I and II, Trickster's Treats #3, Speculations III (Weird Poets Society), and In Darkness We Play. A member of the Horror Writers Association, Science Fiction & Fantasy Poetry Association, and Lewis Carroll Society Of North America. Visit the Fairy Fly Entertainment Website Lori shares with her two talented sons, and their YouTube Channel @FairyFly. They have a Folk Band called The Fairyflies.

Book preview

The Room At The End Of The Hall

by Lori R. Lopez

Fairy Fly Entertainment

All rights reserved

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any

media without written permission from the author, except

brief excerpts in critical reviews and articles.

This is a work of fiction. Any and all references to real persons, events, and places are used fictitiously. Other characters, names, places, events and details are fabrications of the author’s imagination; any such resemblance to actual places, events or persons, whether living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2022 by Lori R. Lopez

Artwork by Lori R. Lopez

Cover Design by Fairy Fly Entertainment

Author Photo by Fairy Fly Entertainment

E-Book Edition

Table Of Contents

The Room At The End Of The Hall

Table Of Contents

The Room At The End Of The Hall

Author’s Note

About the author and artist

More works by Lori R. Lopez

Eerie and atmospheric, THE ROOM AT THE END OF THE HALL by Lori R. Lopez unfolds in the vein of an American Gothic Ghost Story: suspenseful, thrilling, dripping with chills . . .

A mix of quiet and psychological horror, nonstop dread, and mysterious lurkings to keep you wondering, while a chamber’s ominous secrets are explored.

The tale is told through innocent eyes that have glimpsed too much. This is no place for children. Yet the Teen Protagonist grew up at the edge of a forest on a secluded estate, raising seven younger siblings largely alone.

For generations the furtive peculiar Garand Family resided in their crumbling mansion — where faces in windows and an arcane forbidden door would invite speculation thick with tension. One night, as the Skeleton Key turns, a wealth of terrifying truths will be unlocked for a descendant chosen to carry out the Bloodline’s darkest traditions.

Some doors are better left unopened.

The Ghost Novella is part of Lori’s SPOOKTACULAR TALES Collection.

The Room At The End Of The Hall

We were never told not to enter. It was strongly implied.

Don’t know why the silence of restriction, a stern unspoken rule, inspired the mind to dwell, whether daydreaming or asleep, in the space beyond that door.

Blue paint intrigued: not as pale as a broken shell of sky; a richer hue. Masquerading all sorts of purposes behind its facade. Ulterior reasons for whatever type of room abided, festering with morbid inhabitants. I reposed in bed and believed at every sound of the house settling, the rumble of wind or pipe, a sibling’s stir — I heard it rattle, shudder, creak. A slab of wood possessed. Frigid nightmares envisioned lights and shadows in the crack beneath. Mists and odors emanated, wafting, rising. Or so my Senses conjured. A coppery taste riled the mouth whenever I was in its vicinity . . . down an elongated shaft.

Not that I went there often. In spite of my preoccupation, I kept a wary distance. Curious but not dumb, I hadn’t tried the knob. I wasn’t brave enough, and I was the eldest of the children.

None, far as I discerned, ever dared to trek across the barrier, that forbidden threshold: the room at the end of the hall. And not once had I witnessed a soul alive or dead step out.

Grandma warned me . . . in rapt diamond glints of apprehension, sparkling from glossy pools. Her body incapacitated by a Stroke, but her eyes lucid. Gramps, I fancied, would swallow his qualms for the sake of wife and kids, while Mother and Dad refused to acknowledge it. As if the blue door didn’t exist!

I knew better. It was there, enticing; inviting meditation, conjecture. The cliff you couldn’t resist peering over, though the verge may crumble underfoot. Commanding my absolute strength to not go near. Not grip the knob and peek within — or incur the wrath of twin gatekeepers, my aunt and uncle, whose scowls haunt me to this day. Rounding corners, emerging from the gloom to grin like something feral, cruel to the core. Rita and Rick were scary, and us kids obeyed. We weren’t as much disciplined as cowards.

And now, returned home to a Family Estate I swore I would never revisit except in bad dreams, I have no alternative but to open that door, complete my mission. To purge this insatiable legacy.

Inserting a Skeleton Key with a skull, my head feels as hollow. Void of images, photographic recall.

I hear words: Being on the right side isn’t always clear.

Braced for disgust and queasiness, I blink wall to wall. Are there walls? Agape at a storage chamber of countless horrors: a true den of iniquity, not a trove of priceless Heirlooms. Attributes can’t register. Contours, labels neglect to sink in. Nothing could compare with the fertile ranks of atrocities I concocted growing up. That’s what I behold, submerged in a fog of juvenile fantasies and frights.

Emotions bottom, a rapid descent. An elevator crashing to my feet.

Orbs shut tight, sagging onto knees, I shake and quiver.

Panic Attack? More like Electric Shock. An odious connection as the interior stretches toward me, to reclaim a prize lost.

Memory bounces . . . before a bleak rainy night the room’s portal swung wide.

Granddad squeezed my hand that gilded morning. I could tell ya’d be the one. You’re the toughest. The best, and ultimately the worst. We walked in the shade of Sycamores, Magnolias and Maples, at the edge of the serene encroaching forest our ramshackle Gothic Mansion bordered upon. Away from the house and those prying eyes. Just Gramps and me, a casual stroll, like ordinary people! The rareness of the moment heightened its solemnness, and solitude.

What did he mean the worst? A quizzical frown developed, and the pride, the satisfaction melted. Why was I the worst?

I couldn’t say this till now, till it’s nigh too late. Was a risk they’d hammer it in, brainwash ya with their lies.

Matching his graveness, I wondered if he would continue to speak in riddles.

The pace stalled. He spun me and elaborated. I have faith in your character to recognize what’s imperative. Some are guided by terms in a book, others by the writin’ on walls. Duty to a tenet or teachin’ is worth less than to your own. Family! Make that your Creed. Protect them kids. Don’t let nobody convince you differ’nt.

Flummoxed, desperate to understand, I nodded. A contract was sealed.

His bony clasp bruised my wrist. "You just