There are 31 door knobs along the 6th floor hallway of the Penrose Hotel, each of them sturdy polished brass. Last night, as I made my rounds, I touched every doorknob once. I do it on every floor. It’s a minor compulsion, but it’s almost intolerable on the 6th floor, because of the absent knob on the 32nd door.

But we don’t open Room 607.

I rode the elevator down to the Lobby when I was finished and watched Teresa hang the No Vacancy sign over the front desk.

Damnit.

No Vacancy meant that 605 and 609 were booked, which meant late night calldowns from frightened guests. It meant lying with a smiling voice. And it meant more hassle the following morning.

Predictably, it began around midnight.

“Hello? I’m in Room 605 and I think I just heard a scream in the next room.”

I sighed, “probably a movie, ma’am. Apologies.”

I used to try more. Now I just try to get off the phone. Teresa got the next one.

“Our fire detection system would show a fire, sir,” she droned. “They probably just have their heat up.”

“Um, hi. I heard a baby next door screaming and then a sound like breaking glass. I’m in 609.”

“We’ll check it out, sir,” I lied. “Thanks.”

Teresa grimaced impatiently with her next call. “I think you mean 407, ma’am. And it wasn’t a baby. We’re on top of it.”

She rolled her eyes and the phone rang again almost immediately. It was my turn.

“Front desk.”

“Oh, fucking finally! I’m in 609. Someone has been knocking on our door for two hours straight. But our door won’t open. Can you help? I’ve got no cell signal.”

I checked the clock. 12:33am.

“Did you say two hours?” I asked.

“Yeah, since like 1:30 maybe 2:00. Please. My family’s scared and this has gotta be a fire hazard, right?”

Teresa looked perplexed and raised her arms into a What? gesture.

I shrugged back. “I’ll be right up, sir.”

The elevator doors opened on 6 to a dense haze. Smoke? I thought at first. Fuck! But it didn’t choke or burn. It didn’t cling to the ceiling.

Fog.

I felt along the left wall. Felt for door knobs.

601. Nothing. 603. Nothing. 605. Nothing. 607…

My stomach lurched. 607. Open.

I turned and ran for the elevator. When I got to the lobby, Teresa was pale and smoking a cigarette at the desk.

“What’s—“ she began.

“They’re gone,” I answered. The knobs. And—and the doors. There’s only one door now.”

Teresa shook. “The window in 611 is broken. I—I think they were trying to save their child. I checked, and…”

She trailed off and stared blankly as her cigarette burned. The phone had gone quiet. And around 1:00 when I had worked up the courage to return, I got into the elevator and stroked the buttons compulsively.

L-2-3-4-5 7

Six buttons.

It had been easier when we lost Floor 8.