I was sitting at a desk in a massive lecture hall. My professor was down at the front, talking about God knows what, and the rest of the other students were quietly taking their notes on either a computer or notepad. I had my laptop in front of me, but I wasn't paying even the slightest bit of attention to today's lesson.
With the brightness as low as possible, I pulled up the document I had been working on over these last few weeks. I scrolled to the top and read over everything I have typed so far.
The Hollywood Hills
By Jade Mason
Twenty floors, one hundred and sixty windows, two thousand disappearances, one mystery. The Hollywood Hills Hotel has held its eerie reputation as LA's most intimidating building for over sixty years. Ever since its construction in 1953 , nobody has been able to pinpoint what exactly its soul purpose is. While most remember it as the elegant, glamorous Hollywood resort it once was, others are convinced its glimmering façade was just a cover-up for the real monstrosities that lived beneath its surface.
Now mostly a tourist attraction for researchers and activists for the paranormal, The Hollywood Hills Hotel has been known for its links to a number of mysterious disappearances over the course of its lifetime. People both known and unknown have supposedly gone missing while checked into the hotel, though no solid proof has been found. Decades have gone by and the rumor remains: the Hollywood Hills Hotel is no place to spend the night. If you do, it's hard to make it out alive.
Again, that's just a rumor. Its been a rumor for years. However, after I, Jade Mason, checked in myself, I've finally found the answer. Thanks to an acquantaince of mine, Michael Clifford.
Formerly known as 5 Seconds of Summer's lead guitarist, his name has since faded from the media after he mysteriously went missing back in 2015 while he and his band were checked into the Hollywood Hills. Like all the other disappearances, no evidence was found to blame the hotel.
I booked a room and stayed a night at the end of September. Now it's almost the end of October, and somehow I've been able to challenge all the stigmas of the hotel, seeing that I am still alive today.
This is going to sound crazy, but just hear me out. I met Michael Clifford. The ghost of him, to be exact.
That's where it ended. I should have more by now, but so far it's been impossible to get Michael to talk. He won't tell me a thing. No matter how cleverly I word my questions, he seems to always think I'm up to something. Which I am, still. I wish he wasn't as smart as he actually is.
It's been about 2 weeks since he and I first spoke to each other. Ever since Michael showed me around the hotel, I've been there almost every day. However, I've gotten to know little about him, the other ghosts there, and the true meaning behind the hotel. I'm hoping sooner or later he'll open up a little bit.
My whole relationship with that hotel is strange. Of course I keep going back there, I'm trying to write an article about it. And, not to mention, that's where Michael is.
But there was something else about that place that intrigued me more than any other attraction ever has before. I was both physically and emotionally drawn to it. On the days I spent there, I would feel content. On the days I didn't go, anxiety would consume me until I was an apprehensive mess. It was almost as if I had to be there in order to feel satisfied.
When class was dismissed I gathered my belongings and rushed out of the lecture hall so quickly that I was the first one out. As I speed-walked down the hall toward my dorm, I decided to go see Michael today, since I didn't have anymore classes to go to until tomorrow morning. I haven't seen him in a few days. And I kinda missed him, not going to lie.
