Angela had seen her share of strange guests in all her years as a maid. It seemed nothing could surprise her anymore. That was until she noticed a little girl.

It all started on a Tuesday evening. Around 8:00 PM, a man in his forties walked into the motel. A girl of about eleven stood next to him—skinny, carrying a backpack. At first glance, they looked like father and daughter.

The girl didn’t say a word. She just stared at the floor. The man signed the register and asked for room 112 for one night. He asked not to come in to clean and… not to close the curtains.

The next night, it was the same: same man, same girl. On the third night, Angela felt a sense of unease that didn’t go away even after she went home. The girl looked increasingly depressed, and the man increasingly irritated. He was squeezing her shoulder too tightly.

On the sixth night, she made up her mind: leaving through the back entrance, she walked around the outside of the building and peered into the window of room 112. The curtain wasn’t completely closed. Only silhouettes were visible through the narrow gap… but those silhouettes were enough to make her knees buckle.

She saw the silhouette of a man leaning over a girl. The girl was sitting on the bed, her shoulders shaking. Angela stepped back from the window, her heart pounding. Everything looked… wrong.

And the next morning, at 10:19, something happened that finally confirmed her suspicions: the girl was walking next to the man, clutching her backpack so tightly that her knuckles were white. Her face was pale, her gaze guilty or frightened. She wasn’t smiling—and neither was he.