B-340

ALEXANDRE'S DIARY

September 28. Not long ago I thought about writing a story about a haunted hotel room, when inspired by a story that I saw published in the newspapers of the Queen Mary hotel, I was encouraged to do so. My wife was not overly enthusiastic about the idea of ​​me spending a single night at the Queen Mary, given its reputation for being one of the most haunted and paranormally active places in the world. Well, it is worth mentioning that my wife was never amused that I wrote ghost stories, but not only do they make the bills pay, but I am passionate about writing about lurid and mysterious things. I understand her point of view on this matter, to a large extent I also understand her concern. But there is something in horror stories that ends up seducing us in a strange way. I think that what scares us varies a lot from person to person and that fear means something different for each of us, because fear is not the same for everyone. Fear is one of those sensations that accompany us in life from the moment we are born until we die. It is that anguish that we feel when something bad happens to us (or we believe that something bad will happen to us) and our body and our mind try to warn us of the tragedy that looms over us. There are very few things that can be as irrational and at the same time as logical as fear. But hotel rooms have something creepy about themselves. Something that leads us to travel to the depths of our mind, which warns us that we must be alert. Sometimes I wondered when writing my notes in my journal about room B340. How many people have occupied that same bed? What sensations would they have when being inside room B340? How many of them were sick? How many of them cut their tongues when they saw themselves in the mirrors? How many were losing their minds? How many of them hanged themselves in the small dressing room, next to the living room? If you want to know more, the answer is at the end of the hall.

I

Alexandre Johann Morenz moved with his car from the beautiful city of Corona, which is located in Riverside County in the US state of California. He traveled with his car to Lakewood to a city in Los Angeles, where the fabulous RMS Queen Mary hotel is located. This one is in the port of Long Beach, a few miles from his home in Riverside, where he resides with his beautiful wife Anisha. The city of California is famous for its spectacular film production but also for hosting a large number of exquisite hotels, such as the royal hotel, the Mayan hotel, or the Hilton, to name a few of them but the Queen Mary has something that the others do they have, "ghosts" It is said to be one of the most terrifying places in the world and it is no wonder since its legacy is marked by tragedy. Today the RMS Queen Mary is anchored in the city of Long Beach, California, serving as a maritime museum and luxury hotel. Through the corridors of it echo the echoes of more than sixty years of history, a history tinged with the horror of World War II and not without bloody chapters. Through its entrails, they say, roam numerous spirits that many have been able to see, hear and even feel. A sailor was cut in half just as the door was closing on door 13. The "Queen Mary" may well rival the buildings of greater paranormal fame. However, the ocean liner is considered one of the most enchanted places in the world.

The Queen Mary was built at the John Brown & Company shipyards in Clyde, Scotland. The Great Depression paralyzed the ship for a time, and it wasn't until 1936 that she finally made her first voyage across the Atlantic. During the first three years of her existence, she crossed the Atlantic, serving as transportation for the richest and most famous personalities of the time. They were years full of glamor and carefree, where Greta Garbo, Clark Gable, Mary Pickford or Winston Churchill himself, among many others, stepped on the decks of the ocean liner. However, darker times came and when World War II broke out in 1939 the "Queen Mary" was assigned to troop transport duties. The ship was then painted with a grayish hue to camouflage it, which earned it the nickname "the Gray Ghost". She played a very important role in the war, participating in almost all the Allied campaigns. By the end of the war it had transported more than 800,000 soldiers and participated in the D-Day invasion. In 1967, after 31 years of service to Cunard, it was finally sold to the city of Long Beach where it made its 1001st voyage before being anchored. there forever. Throughout the history of the Queen Mary, there are numerous reports of strange events that occurred in the most luxurious rooms: the sound of running water from the taps in the middle of the night, and later checking that no taps were turned on; the phone ringing late at night, without anyone making the call; Passengers who complain that the next room makes a lot of noise and does not allow them to rest, however, the next room was found to be unoccupied.

THE FIRST CLASS POOL

This place has restricted access and only guided tours are allowed. In these pools, it is where more strange events have occurred. Many passengers have seen, with a certain degree of horror: how they appear and disappear without rational explanation, ladies in period bathing suits walking along the edge of the pool; the sound of splashing water, as if someone were swimming, when there was no one in the water; At times, stelae have been seen advancing, like those that occur when swimming, but on those occasions nobody swam; in others, the wet tracks of an invisible foot were seen advancing. There have been so many witnesses who claim to have seen surprising events, that in recent years, it has been decided to install a camera.

THE KITCHEN

But these deaths were not the only ones in wartime. During the Second Great War, there was the murder of a cook at the hands of his companions on board. Even today, there are people who claim to hear the cries of the unfortunate cook.

THE CABIN B340

This cabin holds the record for being the least rented. I mean, it has had very few guests. One of the reasons may be because continuous anomalous phenomena are registered in it. In this room a woman was murdered. "I have thought about it a lot since I had the idea, what it would be like to be in there, it must be a unique experience, and at one time terrifying, don't you think? Well in any case let's register to verify it. »

Alexandre Johann Morenz lit a cigarette to calm his nerves. Two fine lines appeared on his forehead as he looked at the great volume of the ship's frame. After taking a long drag on his cigarette, he found the courage and the guts to enter the lobby of the Queen Mary Hotel. He threw away his cigarette, reached out to look at his wristwatch, and saw that it was ten past eight at night. In doing so he couldn't help but think if it would be a good idea. Without looking up and with a firm step he prepared to cross the threshold. He walked down the hall to the reception table, where the concierge, a kindly mature, bearded man of medium height and stocky named Luc Lambert, waited on him.

"Good evening, sir," Lambert said kindly. "Good evening, I'm Alexander Johann Morenz, I made a reservation today," he replied. "Indeed, Mr. Morenz, with permission." He kindly left for a moment to collect the room key. "Here's his key." Sir, let me point out that it is unusual for people to occupy the B340, I daresay you already know why, right? He indicated. "Yes, I'll take care of it, thank you, I'll just stay one night," he replied.

‒I do not want to make him uncomfortable or cause him to change his mind about room B340, but I don't know if he knows that fifty people have died in that room. Coincidentally last week in that same room a lady was trapped in the closet. No one knows why she was trapped, she did not want to explain but it was a miracle that she could get out alive the next morning. ‒She pointed out with some irony.

‒Yes, I am faithfully informed of the events that occurred in that room, don't worry, I'll be careful. She pointed with polite discretion toward Mr. Lambert's statement of concern. Formally registered and after engaging in a light but interesting chat with Mr. Lambert, the concierge and duly informed of the atrocious crimes committed in that room, Alexandre J. Morenz picked up the electronic key and arranged to place his backpack on his shoulder again, in the who carried a change of clothes, a toothbrush and everything necessary for his investigation in the room that night. In which you could find a magnetic field detector, spectrometer, infrared camera to witness paranormal phenomena and even a simple Canon EOS 4000D video camera and EF-S 18-55mm III lens, a notebook and a case with various pens. Items absolutely necessary to make that crazy foray.

Just at those moments, when she was adjusting her backpack over her shoulder, a woman in an elegant red dress, looking somewhat disheveled by the wind she was doing in the street, approached the reception to comment on her reservation. Alexandre met the gaze with some suspicion, just a few seconds with that woman. After settling his backpack he started down the lighted corridor towards the B340.

II

As stated in the reports and in the interviews that he conducted with various people who had previously occupied that room, he was able to verify first-hand that it lacked the gold plate where the corresponding room could be identified. Since the people who visited the hotel, in a certain way they tended to annoy and shake the tranquility of the tenants and later steal said plate. Upon learning of the multiple incidents, the hotel management took the respective measures not to place any identification plate, which was not necessary since the location of said room had no loss, in any case its location was very easy and did not need any specific guidance to locate stateroom B340. Upon reaching the door of the room, Alexandre's face seemed to be contorted into a grimace of uncertainty for an instant. He never thought that one day he would be face to face with his greatest fears, where there had been the scariest cases of murder and cosmic phenomenology, which he had been working on for so long. Where it was said that terrible beasts lurked at certain times of the night to devour you while you slept, where nightmares became so real that the conscience of the unwary could not discern between reality or paranoia.

He glanced down the corridor one last time before entering the shaft where the B340 was located. She was not how he had imagined her, in fact she had seen many photos of that place but the feeling being there was different and it was not at all as he had imagined it. He tried to calm his senses and not get carried away by fear and convince himself that it was just a ship and that everything was going to be fine, as on the other occasions when he had been in a supposedly haunted hotel. Even so, he fearfully inserted the electronic key into the lock and opened the door without problems by turning the handle. He pulled the key out of the lock as a green eye lit up in the lock and shyly pushed the door open with his hand. Was it customary for the lights to be on? Why were the lights on? or maybe someone or something was waiting for him. In any case, they were arranged like any typical cruise ship cabin. He proceeded to enter the room cautiously. An apparent normality and tranquility was breathed suspiciously, as if they were the black clouds, prior to a storm. Once inside she closed the door and placed her backpack on the bed. Sensations and nervousness increased as the minutes passed inside room B340. The uncomfortable nervousness at the very thought of something supernatural attacking him at any moment was unbearable. He tried to calm down for a moment before starting to see everything around him carefully. One of the most surreal features was the color of the walls with a tall reddish plinth on a white background that covered the entire surface of the wall. The numerous messages that she had written on each side of the central column that stood right in the center of the room. On one side of it you could read:

"I was doing my rounds of the the ship hen I noticed that a normally secure room was unlocked. I looked inside and saw a little girl standing in the room. She looked at me, stretched her arms out towards me, and then she disappeared from the room. "

Alexandre found it fascinating and took some photos of each side of the column, where he had written a different story, as well as disturbing. «There were hundreds of nuances and creepy stories that those ghostly writings kept, which gave to write a complete saga of horror stories that my dear readers love to read so much," he thought. Well, another time. Something curious that should be noted is the fact that there were not the typical chocolates that you can find on the bed pillows of any hotel, but instead there were on these two ear plugs wrapped in their respective plastic wrappers. The bedroom was bathed in soft, pale light from the lamps on either side of the bed. The decoration made the location look cozy, something very successful despite its simplicity. A small sitting room with a brown sofa and a pair of black armchairs. A couple of lamps on two nightstands to match the ones on the bed. The Paintings were not particularly notable for their art, but were black and white photos, framed with a simple black frame. The photos showed different personalities who at some point or another in history had stayed in that room of the Queen Mary. Alexander found that there was nothing to highlight in the bathroom, except for a small note next to the central mirror, which invited tenants to perform the classic Bloody Mary ritual, in front of the mirror. That place seemed to induce impromptu invocations to experience some terror in the lives of those who found it funny. No one in their right mind would do such a thing, if they did not have some prior knowledge of magic or basic notions of how to perform a controlled invocation by what could come from beyond. The mirror was immaculately neat, the towels neatly folded, clean, neat, and in their proper places, meticulously arranged for use.

Next to the sofa in the living room was a chest on the floor. A small chest, arranged and with the lid open. It was something quite rare to find in a hotel room. Alexandre approached to check what was inside. Indeed it was a chest with certain objects to practice some kind of experimental channeling. At first he did not give it too much importance, believing that it would be a toy trunk but as he observed it more closely he came to the conclusion that he was facing something of interest. He picked up the old chest from the floor and placed it on the stretcher table that he had arranged in front of the brown double-seater sofa, where he sat down to carefully observe these objects. The chest had a black quartz stone, (black kyanite, mineral crystal) is a magical amulet, which is used as a magical element of protection. Also two thick candles, a Ouija board, next to his marker, and an obsidian crystal ball, which he clumsily placed on the board. At that moment Alexandre felt a cold air running down his back, followed by a nauseating smell that filled the room. Several curious magic objects, which he placed on the stretcher table, carefully and in no particular order. That icy blast slightly moved the curtains, which kept two large circular windows arranged to the outside. Alexandre noticed a slight movement in the curtains and thought that it was a gust of wind.

Immediately he got up and went to the windows to check it and with his hand slightly removed the curtains that covered said windows, they were completely closed on the inside and there was nothing or no one physical to stimulate that movement in the curtain. There is only the possibility that it was due to an unknown entity that could have moved it. Alexandre, he suspected, despite being a good connoisseur of these paranormal and spiritualistic events, since his literary work was especially composed of these themes. Works as remarkable as "The Book of the Spirits" or "Between Heaven and Hell" gave a good account of his work, but despite this he was very impressed by the phenomenon. "You can experience these paranormal energies as often as you like, and you will always be one step closer to conventional disbelief or feeling a dark chill rush down your spine." The fact was that that event encouraged him to unzip his travel bag and take out all the electrical instruments necessary to start capturing any paranormal phenomenon that arose.

Alexandre was very interested in the objects in that chest and he again examined the chest meticulously and in doing so found some strange papers under the Ouija board. They were a series of manuscripts that seemed very old, that when unrolled a lot of cryptic symbols and unknown ideograms were distinguished. There was no way to find out what those strange symbologies meant. They were undoubtedly authentic and seemed certainly not to have been written in a near time, given the antiquity that these objects represented. It could only be invocation tools, passages and engravings that offered highly relevant data from the past. Alexandre began to carefully study the old papyri one by one and began to identify some passages and symbols familiar to him, leaving no room for doubt that they were arcane symbolism, from times after man. Something strange happened while he was doing it, black silhouettes invaded his mind deeper than the abyss. My friend Frank Arnold would love to see these documents, he thought. Those fragments were written in an archaic language of forgotten languages. He did not dare to pronounce what was written there for fear of unleashing some uncontrollable force. I wish I had the knowledge of his invaluable friend Frank Arnold to translate those fragments at that time. He did not dare to even think to delve into certain unpronounceable names so as not to unleash the forces that could remain dormant within those texts. The most sensible thing to do would have been to put it in the chest and forget all that, but something inside him was prompting him to continue investigating at the risk of putting his own life at risk. In the last pages he found something that immediately caught his attention, it was a kind of invocation, but unconventional, some kind of formula, a small list of things to do and say sounded like something evil and forbidden, but I kept reading and discovered certain paragraphs in which fascination and abominable repulsion were mixed, hidden in those yellowed pages, old and strange.

He quickly realized that they were the deeds and signatures of real, dark and very ancient beings. Those pages were possessors of secrets that the world should never know. They were guides, guides to open certain doors and entrances that sorcerers of yesteryear had dreamed of and mused when only a man was young and that led to places beyond the five known dimensions. Feeling that something was changing, she prepared to collect everything and put it back in the chest. Why were they there and in this particular room? It wasn't long before he realized that he was not alone. Some phenomena began to appear around him, such as drastic temperature changes, the lights began to flicker and at times, mocking laughter was even heard. Whatever he was in that place, he had woken up and was really upset. Alexandre asked that identity to manifest itself. -Who you are? He asked nervously, as he held his camera. No one answered the question, and nothing was manifested in any way.

Alexandre, began to record with his video camera any sample or signal that could manifest itself. This was followed by a very strange event, the faucet in the bathroom opened unexpectedly. Alexandre went quickly to the bathroom and tried to turn off the faucet, but in doing so he badly burned his hand with the hot steam coming out of the faucet. The steam from the hot water, in turn, a macabre silhouette was drawn in the mirror, the menacing silhouette had impossible and little understandable forms, with a certain disturbing nature for the rational understanding of any person. However, he tried to remain calm at all times, without losing his temper. It was very important to maintain serenity in the face of these signs of activity from those unknown presences. Those beings were strongly tied to that place and would not allow anyone to alter their domains, to call them in some way. "Those were the kinds of things that the dozens of people who took their own lives earlier in this same room experienced?" or "Were they murdered by some kind of entity with similar characteristics?" He never stopped recording everything that was happening with his camera, while time was moving further and further away from reality. Alexander decided to leave the room because he felt that his life was in danger. And indeed it was, but the door handle was somehow jammed and he refused to turn. He was trapped in room B340, that was something that not even in his worst nightmares would have believed would happen. A disturbing silence could be felt, which was not as apparent as it seemed, but began to manifest itself in mystical murmurs drowned out in tense, agitated conversation with shrieks so high-pitched they pierced the ears. The noise was so loud that it seemed like someone was turning up the volume on any radio frequency. Alexandre began to scream desperately, causing the objects to move from their place abruptly until by a wild impulse he caught the crystal ball and threw it against the mirror of the living room, which was on the sofa. The blow received in one corner of the mirror frame caused it to only break one corner of the mirror, leaving the other half of the glass intact. He totally desperate he tried again to open the entrance door, but it remained locked. «I leaned my back against the door and completely dejected with terror I let myself slide until I ended up sitting on the floor, I closed my eyes for a few seconds and took a few deep breaths until I understood that they would not let me out of there. I convinced myself that I would have to spend the night in there and that I would not have to suggest myself with the stories that I had read and that were somehow invading my subconscious ... it had to dominate me, dominate my nerves, dominate my thoughts, it should not succumb, or give up, I could not allow this to beat me ... so focus on your breathing, breathe and breathe in ... calm. Where is my camera? ... here, here ... very well, not this ... » he continued to calm his nerves for a few minutes. He opened his eyes every so often to check that everything was in order, calm and in place, nothing could be heard, even the frightening curtains of the windows were still. It even seems that the drawing on the mirror had blurred. As he rose and stood, she heard a knock again, then silence followed by vague sounds and some slightly appreciated growl. Surprisingly, the phone rang as if lightning had struck the ground. He quickly replied fearfully:

‒Who you are? He said, scared. ‒Am I the least you want to know that I am? –Said that dark voice letting out a mocking laugh from the receiver. ‒What are you doing here? He asked. ‒With you, you brought me here, I'm not from here. I'm hungry… ‒the voice continued.

He immediately hung up the phone. And she turned her gaze to one of the windows. His main idea was to escape from there, but when he opened one of the windows in the room, he was amazed to see how a dense fog had surrounded the ship. Still he looked for some way to escape. The window was spacious enough for his rather slender body to pass through without a problem, but he changed his mind upon hearing some strange sounds produced by the fog. Distant grunts, and some mysterious little flapping noises could be heard by the window, but the fog was too dense and visibility was poor, you could barely see a meter beyond. When something surprisingly hit the window frightening him. Alexandre retreated into the room and checked with a slap on the curtain next to the window if there was anything there, but he couldn't see anything on the glass. He remained motionless for several seconds and attentive to any noise or movement that might occur, but nothing could be heard. The mist crept through the window into the room, while he just stared out at the thick fog before a loud blow drew his attention behind him, terrifying him. He immediately turned and looked at the crystal ball lying on the floor, next to the stretcher table in the living room. He cautiously approached her, leaving the window open.

-What the hell…? –He pointed out amazed. I observe in detail the crystal ball that was on the floor a few inches from the stretcher table, where it was previously placed. Alexandre glimpsed around him anything that might be suspected of being the object of producing some kind of unexpected phenomenon. The fog continued to creep slowly through the window, while he continued to watch closely for any movement. He walked around the room, muttering in a barely intelligible voice. Those strange noises in the windows continued but he wasn't entirely sure whether to approach… to tell the truth in his state he wasn't sure of anything really. But he had the impression that he was not alone and that the ball had not rushed without any stimulus that had moved it, causing it to fall to the ground. He kept hearing that disturbing flutter, while he kept approaching the window, with some caution.What the hell…? –He pointed out amazed. I observe in detail the crystal ball that was on the floor a few inches from the stretcher table, where it was previously placed. Alexandre glimpsed around him anything that might be suspected of being the object of producing some kind of unexpected phenomenon. The fog continued to creep slowly through the window, while he continued to watch closely for any movement. He walked around the room, muttering in a barely intelligible voice. Those strange noises in the windows continued but he wasn't entirely sure whether to approach… to tell the truth in his state he wasn't sure of anything really. But he had the impression that he was not alone and that the ball had not rushed without any stimulus that had moved it, causing it to fall to the ground. He kept hearing that disturbing flutter, while he kept approaching the window, with some caution. When he looked out of it for the second time, armed only with his camera. The flapping stopped just at that moment. He watched silently for any sound that occurred again. He expected to hear the sound of that flapping again. He honed his five senses to try to figure out what else was going to manifest whatever was producing those sounds. Whose song was piercing to the depths of his soul. Until one of those winged beings came through the window, physically showing himself. Alexandre stepped aside and could see that winged beast in all its splendor. Yes, those were the right words to describe that monstrosity that had just appeared before his eyes. It took his brain several seconds to assimilate that they were projecting his eyes. That being with certain deformities in his armor, caused him fright as well as nausea, by the fetid smell of him. Panic at first did not help him to discern what species such a winged being would belong to, which instantly caused him unspeakable terror, being petrified by fear. That species of insectivore from some unknown dimension rose to perch on the ceiling, over and over again. He walked with some ease despite his small and hairy arthropod legs which helped him to comfortably grip all kinds of structures with his nails. They had a small stinger in their long tail with which they used as defense. Its membranous wings had strange unfamiliar characteristics, and its blackish fur gave it a terrifying appearance. It was something like a common dragonfly mixed with a hammerhead fruit bat, that was the simplest description to define that beast. He had no choice but to leave the camera, momentarily on the bed, which at that moment was hanging around his neck, but not before documenting the phenomenon he was experiencing. After crossing the living room he went into the dressing room and broke one of the rods, which were used to hang the garments on the hangers, those that you put in your suitcases and leave forgotten when you leave the hotel. He thought that this would serve to defend himself from a possible attack by that unknown creature. Another of those critters, with the same characteristics, flew in through the window, which by the way was still open. His objective at that moment was to close the damn window so that no other being or something worse could slip through it. Nervously and glued to the wall taking small steps he finally managed to reach the window and somehow be able to close it, without losing sight of the bugs, which were flitting at will on the walls and ceiling of the room. Alexandre was bleeding from a small cut on his right hand and it seemed that the smell emanating from his wound somehow excited those beings. They began to approach him, at first timidly flying around him. Alexandre, realizing that the wound on his hand was bleeding, tried to cover it against his chest, but the only thing he managed to do was stain his shirt and further upset the creatures that did not hesitate to attack him violently and simultaneously when they saw his white shirt stained with blood.

Completely cornered, Mr. Morenz chose to defend himself with the thin metal bar, trying to clumsily hit the creatures. After several agonizing minutes fighting against those infamous beasts managing to hit one of them with certainty and just when he was convalescing on the ground he took the opportunity to pierce him with the same metal bar. But there was still one left, who did not stop trying to feed on the blood that he continued to drain from the wound. Several minutes later when she did not achieve her goal of killing that being or at least dissuading her from her effort to feed on his blood, she chose to lock herself in the bathroom and take the opportunity to disinfect his wound and plug it properly to cut bleeding. He managed to properly wash the wound and made it stop bleeding, despite not being a great nurse, he managed to cut a piece of cloth from the sleeve of his shirt to plug his wound. Once he finished his task as a nurse, he looked for something to end that abominable being. He thought that the towel rail would be very useful to use as a defense weapon, so finally kicking it with his foot he managed to rip it off the wall. As he made it to the painting that was hanging on the wall just outside the door, it began to move. It was a photograph of Queen Mary herself, which began to sink from the attack of a monstrous sea beast with long tentacles that surrounded the ship and ruthlessly pushed it to the bottom. He finally got hold of some scissors that he found in one of the little cabinets under the sink. After gathering the necessary courage to go back out to face that creature again, he prepared to leave the bathroom armed with the scissors. When the creature left, it was gone. There was a ferocious laugh, as Alexandre advanced cautiously across the room. It seemed that there was no trace of that winged beast. But indeed the people seen in the pictures had changed positions, in which they were previously. Now its manifestations were depicted sinister, even sadistic. Something was altering reality. There had been other significant changes in the respective paintings in the rest of the room, revealing human morbidity in all of them. In one of the pictures, a woman in an elegant white dress was sitting, revealing one of her breasts, which she held with her hand causing a few drops of blood to drain on a dead pigeon in her lap, next to it there was a smiling man, tall and bald, well dressed in black and holding a crying baby with both hands. In another of the paintings we can see a scene where a lady performs fellatio on a man disguised as a Grizzly bear and the latter with sharp teeth. Other people who appeared in the paintings appeared blurred, hanged in disparate ways, dead in their rooms, with the same empty and petrified expression or in some cases with empty eye sockets. That expression gave them a similar look, as if they all belonged to an inbred stock. The door of the dressing room was slammed shut, while Alexandre, absorbed, looked at the pictures, when in the same fright he put his hand to his chest as if by doing so he wanted to calm his racing heart. He turned off the lights, leaving the room dark. He terrified he went to the living room, where the dressing room was located, where the door had been closed. As if deciphering a hidden message, the active entities in the room wanted to guide him somewhere. That was the conclusion he drew as he groped his way, guided by the little light coming through the windows. He managed to grab the video camera from him and put it around his neck. When he reached the dressing room, he opened the door and a bright blinding light led him into the corridors of the hotel. Alexandre when he accommodated his eyes as if in an illusion he entered the hall. He walked into the lobby of the hotel entrance, succumbed by the chimera through labyrinthine illuminated corridors, suspicious of what was happening, but sure of his senses that all they wanted is to get out of there. With agitated breathing, ragged on several occasions, he continued running through the corridors, recording with his camera every moment without losing detail, but something looked different and when he became aware of it he stopped panting like a horse at the end of a long race, right where the corridors intersected. One of the hallway lamps flickered at the poisoned figures on the walls, like the one he watches in the shadows. Mr. Morenz came to the lobby where there was no one, Mr. Lambert was not at the reception and it seemed an abandoned place but in perfect condition despite the decay of his presence. Alexander walked aimlessly knocking on the doors of the other cabins, but he got no response. He was afraid of being alone in that seemingly abandoned place, he was afraid of not being able to get out of there alive, he was afraid of not seeing his wife again or saying goodbye to her if something happened to him, but despite not understanding exactly what was happening, he clearly had consciousness that it was a mistake to continue reading those ancient papyri that he found in the old chest. Without a doubt that was the cause that unleashed the thousand follies that were stalking him that night. But in spite of everything, the Queen Mary seemed to him a fabulous place that fit surprisingly with what he described in his novels and painted in his paintings. This feeling persisted long after he started that excursion that took him to know several places that were not unusually presented in the catalog of guided routes offered by the ship to preserve the safety of those curious visitors eager for strong emotions and too daring. The place was covered by the thick mist that had invaded his room earlier, but this time nothing could be heard through it. "The boiler room," known as Door 13. A breath of death seemed to invade space, he took three timid steps before realizing that he was indeed in the room where on July 10, 1966, a firefighter named John Peddar, barely eighteen years old, was participating in an exercise in which the Watertight doors were sealed on the ship. Unfortunately, he was unable to get out the door in time and was crushed by the massive force of the door, dying on the spot. Some time later, the testimonies of crew members and travelers piled up, claiming to have seen a young man with a beard, dressed in blue, walking down the hall of the engine room and disappearing at door 13.

–Is there someone here? I need help. Can someone help me? "I ask, even knowing the risk I would take if any of those beasts heard her call for help and thought about how her next meal would be." But no one answered, nor made an appearance. The idea that he was alone did not please her in the least; He kept moving through the darkness and that's when he realized that it was not a good idea to stay long in that place. Guided by his nose, she decided it was time to get out of there. At that moment he walked through the watertight door and up the stairs, almost immediately he had the sensation of noticing something wet on his face, with his hand he touched his cheek and then he realized that he had fat on his face in the place where he felt something had touched him before. Grease was abundant in the rear of the engine room when the ship was operating, but today it is highly unlikely that a tourist would come into contact with the grease. What's more, Alexandre had no fat on his hands or anywhere else on his body. He finally got out and closed the watertight door. He didn't know he was waiting in the mist, given the experience he had previously had with those critters in his cabin. When he left the engine room he had the feeling that he had not been there before and that this was not the same place, but the fact was that he was in another part of the same ship, where he had already passed before. This place was not the corridor where he had crossed when leaving his room. When he entered through door thirteen he must have entered a parallel dimension that had transferred him to another part of the ship, without him realizing it. In that corridor in which he again entered, all the doors had the same number B340, he definitely had the hostile feeling that those beings that inhabited the hotel were playing with him. He advanced several meters, crossing the corridor, checking each door and on all of them there was the same gold plaque with the number B340. He realized that something was wrong with his video camera, until he suddenly turned off. «No, no no!… Don't fail me now, damn it!» I exclaimed desperately. That unfortunate fact was a great inconvenience for him because in the night vision of the camera the silhouette of those monstrous entities could be seen almost perfectly, even when they were hidden through the walls. He looked both ways down the hall and made up his mind to go into one of the rooms. He was downright exhausted, clearly the hotel was sucking the energy out of him. It was then that he stopped in front of one of the doors, took his electronic key out of his pocket, brought it close to the doorknob and it opened by itself, without needing to insert the key. Alexander pushed her shyly hoping for something unexpected to happen, but nothing happened, so he started to enter the room. He listened to the shower water running and the window curtains flapped indolently, while a chill ran down his spine when he saw a shadow inside the bathroom. The silhouette of a woman could be seen through the slot in the ajar door. She was about a beautiful naked woman taking a warm bath. He pushed open the door and peeked shyly through the slot. She saw him and invited him, giving him a this with her finger to enter. Alexandre entered the bathroom very slowly, she gave him a sweet smile as she did so. Alexandre accepted the invitation and went to the bathroom without getting too close to the bathtub, greatly distrusting that woman, who he did not know, but there was something tricky about her. She delicately and sensually rose from said tub, the water sliding lightly down her skin, like a cascading torrent of water. Her statuesque body was a cult of the forbidden that she found difficult to control.

"I could see that she had a characteristic mole on her abdomen like my wife but it wasn't her," he thought as he continued to gaze at the young woman's beautiful body. She was strange and enigmatic at the same time, her deep gaze enveloping him in uncontrollable hypnosis. At the same time as the throbbing sequence of sensations of pleasure that she made him feel inside him. She moistened the ground with the soles of her feet as she moved toward her mesmerized senses, seducing him with every step she took. She moved closer to touch her face with her hands and give him a wet kiss on her lips. Alexander, having her in her arms and touching her rough skin, verified when he saw in her mirror the true appearance of that woman. Where he realized that she was a stinking and warty old woman. Alexander immediately, disenchanted with her spell, turned away from her while the old woman decomposed as she advanced slowly towards him, in a blackish pool of boiling and putrid liquid that slowly slid towards him. Which was decomposing while agonizing and piercing screams were heard, as when the wind blows through a hole in the throat of a dead deer. Alexander ran out of the bathroom and slamming the door yelled "ENOUGH." He ordered himself to either make a pact with his senses, but he could no longer continue to live that madness. His heart was pounding in her chest at a dizzying rate, audible throughout the room. If her pulse kept racing, his heart would either end up through his rib cage or he would end up ripping it off himself with his bare hands. The video camera had been rendered useless by contact with the monstrous old woman, the lens just damaged by the boiling liquid that caused it to melt, which was still hot. Despite this, he decided to keep it so he could try to recover the recorded document from her. She was for many years his faithful companion on so many "field expeditions" that all the visual work he had done since he began research on the Queen Mary had disappeared. But he still had his notebooks in case something failed him, as was the case. He had never had experiences of phenomenology so marked and forceful as the ones he was living in that room. Something unusual and difficult to narrate.

«It was clear that they would never let me out of here, what I did not understand was that they want from me.»

2:56 a.m. After calming down she began to write down all the paranormal experiences that she was experiencing in a journal that she carried with her, without forgetting any details. The events that took place in that room were out of all rational logic that a human being could conceive in his reasoning. Suddenly when he raised his gaze deep in his reflections and contemplated the Ouija board, an idea crossed his mind , which motivated him enough to stop writing. She was risky but she had to find out what was happening and she checked how many entities had stalked her life. It was not the first time that he used the board in a casual and experimental way, since he was not an expert, but he thought about performing an experimental summon to connect with these entities. As he debated how to perform the ritual, he kept thinking about whether he would ever see his wife again. There was then a cry clearly different from the screams he had heard earlier. He picked up the board and the obsidian crystal ball, which he would act as an intercom to answer questions from Alexandre, who initiated the session. In an unconventional way to the traditional way of starting a conversation with these entities, he began by asking the first questions:

-Still here? She asked. -How many are you? –She replied. The ball was placed on the Ouija board, as would be done with a conventional pointer. With this, a dimensional portal would open, instantly to establish communication with the entities that were in the room. Alexandre also lit a couple of candles with the lighter and placed one on each side of the board, which had the same eccentric design as he had designed it. He received no reply and the ball had not altered its black color, perhaps he would need more time to be successful in contact, by asking again "Who are you?" the ball changed its color, acquiring a more transparent hue. His face was clearly reflected in the ball, which that image began to articulate words by itself, acquiring its own character, while the shadows returned to their original state inside the ball. Somewhat confused and scared Alexandre contemplated his same image reflected in the crystal ball, starting a conversation, totally rational, despite how irrational that situation seemed and completely concentrated he listened to all the meaningless words that began to pronounce the same reflection that he projected Alexandre in the crystal ball. You want to play with me?

–He said his own reflection of him in the crystal ball. –What do you want us to play? Alexander replied, completely taken aback.

̶You will have to get the riddle right, –he said. –What is it about? –She replied. A gruff voice began to speak without further ado, uttering disjointed and incoherent words with no apparent meaning. –I present the four! The four! I present the one! The one! I present the fourteenth! The fourteenth! Stay away! We are going to kill her! I present the one! Yes the one!

Alexandre listened with growing fear and anguish, not because of the words that the voice spoke, but because of its raspy and hollow tone. He was not an electronic voice, but neither was he human. The voice emanated an unequaled hatred, echoing from the damp walls, ceiling and floor, the voice of the presence was nothing like any creepy event or paranormal phenomenon he had ever experienced or read about in the life of he. The dread grew like a shadow inside a cave, lit by a fire. I'm waiting for her, she hasn't arrived yet, but she's coming. I'm hungry for her sweet flesh and her blood he could be heard then, echoing off the walls, while the specter that occupied the crystal ball laughed. –Who is coming? He asked screaming. Alexandre couldn't help but think of his wife while he finished asking the question. He rose from the brown sofa in a dramatic leap, throwing his hands to his head. His wild eyes seemed to be looking nowhere as he searched his mind for some way to avoid misfortune. The paintings seemed to come alive for an instant, staging macabre and disturbing acts that could only occur in the wildest, darkest nightmares filled with dreamlike images. The squares began to curl like the windshields of an old car. A man is hanged from an old tree, while he is eaten by lions, in another painting a woman was shown, with a bloody naked bust holding a dead white dove in her arms. She started running down the hallways as large mouths emerged from the floor with sharp fangs that devoured her feet. Alexandre closed his eyes so as not to contemplate so much horror, and the dreadful murmurs did not cease to be heard along with endless moans and sobs repeating the thousand agonies that they had lived in the past. The reddish skies sang songs of tortuous death and the bloody bodies, which marched with perverse evil drowned in putrid misery, waiting for their rays of light. The voice now turned into torture returned to pronounce the words, which he never wanted to hear again and continued saying:

–I present the four! The four! I present the one! The one! Don't listen to the mermaids, they will confuse you! I present the fourteenth! The fourteenth! We will kill her, while we laugh! You can never leave the room, even if you can leave the room! I present the one! Yes the one! Dad help me! A cry of a girl could be seen among the voices of the beast. Alexandre recognized the voice of his daughter.

–DANA! Shouted Alexandre desperate. The room began to crumble downward as the walls began to melt like hot butter, widening at the center to transform into dimensional holes to accommodate demonic outlined beings with twisted shapes. Incarnated demons with long tentacles that defied madness. Those tentacles twitched as if they had intelligence of their own and an evil vileness. The fierce outline that was created around the thorny colossus shook with monstrous and deformed dances, whose voices sang disturbing songs that froze with their breath even the depths of the pure souls.

Trying to get out of the lines of the structure of the right angles, but not to form curved figures, but strange red arches that hurt the eyes. Alexander lit his lighter and threw it towards the walls that were impregnated with a flammable liquid, secreted by those beasts. The fire caught almost immediately, reaching Alexandre's dirty clothes. Before the fire rose to his eye level and blurred the room more and more. After hearing the characteristic whispering hiss, he clearly perceived the penetrating smell of sulfur that pierced his brain like blackish clouds of odorous salts, until he saw the collective and tortuous flame feeding on his flesh and everything tangible. Like a man who wakes up in a nightmare and realizes that the nightmare envelops him in his cloak. He had the peace he craved and the liberation of a man with a clear mind, for the sulfur and the orange heat that gave off the paintings, where the burned walls engulfed them in a livid trance. Even so the room retained its insane stately appearance. «Stately» was not the right word to define everything that had happened there… it was still happening. The dressing room became a gloomy cave, half melted and abominably decomposed of misshapen curves with suggestive slants. The entrance to the bedroom had been turned into a burial chamber, flaming tongues of fire. The column had been bare and blackish, without his writings, now slipped with torment, whose screams could be heard in the abysmal hollow. Where before the sinister paintings rested, the wall bulged towards him, bursting in long cracks that looked like hungry mouths, with long yellowish tongues, revealing his anger and giving way to a world from which something was approaching. Alexandre could hear his liquid breath, bitter, consumed in the lament of him increasingly weakened. The raging fire burned all thoughts of suffering in him. Heat rose from the abysmal hollow, from which horrible wailing issued, along with fiery flames from the walls, from which could come the buzzing of enraged insects. Organized like a cathedral of oblivion, everything was consumed in the growing fire.

III

«We were together» a famous song by Ritchie Valens began to play through the hotel's speakers, wrapping the placid night in a beautiful melody.

5:46 a.m. Time seemed stopped. When Alexandre woke up, totally soaked by some leaks that began to fall from a huge damp patch that was created on the ceiling, just above where Alexandre rested.

The clock handles on the bedside table rumbled as they ticked each second, as if the great blacksmith's hammer struck the forged blazing steel. Being analog, it was not affected by the dark energies that these beings emanated. He had the feeling that time had stopped for some reason, seeming to be living a lucid dream. Something spherical made to roll on the ground, drawing his attention. It was the obsidian crystal ball, which remained perfectly rounded and sinister black. As he contemplated that ball approaching the edge of the bed, Alexandre jumped out of it, looking in amazement at the ball shining from the reflection of the light from the lamps.

Her heart beat again so hard it felt in her neck and wrists as well as in her chest. His eyes throbbed in their sockets as he saw the crystal ball move toward the bed. When he stood in front of the bed, a kind of gray smoke began to fill inside him, the same shade as the mist, which was still visible from the window. A foul smell filled the entire room, as if something had rotted. After the fog inside the ball dissipated, a bright light emerged from the ball illuminating everything. The shadows moved, forming sinuous, twisted figures. In those moments the lights of the circular LED ceiling lamps began to flicker melting seconds later, accentuating, even more if possible, the fear that Alexandre already felt, leaving the room in total darkness, with only the bright light emanating from the crystal ball. «Was it all a dream or did the nightmare begin?» -thought-.

The room was lit only by the light emitted by the crystal ball. Alexander, absorbed by what was happening, did not stop recording with his camera not a single detail of the phenomena that were happening there, in front of his eyes. Without moving a muscle he watched the illuminated ball, without thinking about anything other than, not going crazy. The light of the ball at one point dissipated along with the mist inside him as he began to see beautiful memories of his past life with his daughter. Unforgettable scenes with his precious little daughter who died of cancer four years ago.

Something in his past that he had not been able to overcome and that is currently difficult for him to talk about. Those images caused an enormous emptiness in his soul, and served to open the open wound. He immediately eliminated the idea of ​​stopping recording with his video camera as he saw his daughter alive again. Shyly her video camera slid through her trembling hands and tears drowned her gaze. A last flash of light discouraged the possibility of continuing to see her daughter when the ball light suddenly went out.

‒Dana ‒ Exhaling a sigh pronouncing her daughter's name.

He stared into the camera's red eye for a moment, which seemed to be looking at him with an accusing expression.

‒My daughter? Why my daughter? She yelled, wiping away the tears that covered her cheeks.

Dana was only nine years old when she lost her life, after many months of suffering. She was another fallen warrior in the war on cancer.

Trying to recover from his emotions, he turned off his camera and placed it on the bed, crossed the room to the bathroom, where he wiped his face with cool water. He spent several seconds thinking about what had happened, leaning with both hands on the edge of the sink. He remembered his wife's words, and perhaps he was right. Maybe it hadn't been a good idea to spend the night here. He was definitely not prepared for those facing those memories that still haunt him. Inevitably looking into the bathtub, he remembered the image of that woman in his dream.

He fumbled for the light switch, barely looking to turn it off, and for an instant he realized it was dry, flaky skin. Strange in the wallpaper against the palm of her hand before her fingers grazed the switch. He was not thinking of another possibility. Those beings had been here for a long time, perhaps too long, locked up and with the daring of fear I let out a disturbing thought from their mind and they came out like insects, like when you lift a stone. He didn't want to think again of that disgusting, vivid image of winged, blind critters oozing from the tender pale wallpaper and hitherto covered like living pus. He returned to the brown sofa where his suitcase rested and from it he took out an old diary that he always carried with him in all his investigations, where he noted all his delusions and somehow unloaded his mind for an instant.

DIARY OF ALEXANDRE

5:58 a.m. It is very close to dawn, but I suppose this will not end when the sun begins to stretch its first bright rays in the sky. I know it won't be that simple, but I don't know how to go through with this. I try to sanely analyze everything that has happened to me, which makes me shudder just thinking about it. It was really not such a good idea to read the papyri and those pages of the book, as I originally believed. Something strange prompted me to recite all the passages, to pronounce each name written there. Everything is still on the table, as I left it, it is impossible that it was a dream ... it is impossible. When did they steal my conscience? Should I keep finding answers in the sheets I found? But it was so real. All the smells, the perfume of that woman, the touch of her ... her lips ... all those disturbing sounds. But there's no way I ever dreamed it all… I can still smell my burned skin. What is happening in this place? The truth is that I have more questions than answers but I need to understand... or shouldn't I look for the logical answers to what was happening to me? Because there simply aren't any or maybe I'm still in a dream. Oh god, I think I'm going crazy. At times when starting this project I underestimated this place, clearly underestimated the fear that it would cause me. I was wrong according to this place, now I realize. Knowing now the risk that I take being here, I would never have started this adventure, but I am already here and I don't know what will happen. I came to believe that it would just be like other places that I had previously been and would spend the night peacefully with nothing happening at all. I was spending the night at the Colonial Inn of Concordia, in room 24, where Dr. James Minot carried out his operations during the war of the revolution. Spend a night at The Red Lion Inn (1773) Stockbridge, Massachusetts, where the highest activity is assumed based on guest reports on the fourth floor. Cleaning staff and guests alike have claimed to have seen a "ghost girl carrying flowers" and "a man in a top hat." I myself had the sensation that someone was standing, watching me, at the foot of the bed. Questroom 301 is also known to be an enchanted hot spot. I also stayed at the Monteleone Hotel, New Orleans, Louisiana, where a "cleaning lady" appears and assures that she continues to work there to ensure a high level, even if I do not get to see her, to attest to it. But my mind can't be fooling me this time because I keep seeing that strange fog through the window, but there is no trace of those bugs and no one who kills right here. I still notice the air loaded, heavy, and very rarefied. I don't remember when I fell asleep or when I lost consciousness, but now when I remember it I feel that I have already lived it.

The dream I had, it was so real, the fire burned my skin and I felt it detach itself from me to pieces, but am I still alive? or is it just an illusion? Note that someone was stalking me I cannot explain it, because it is not something that a person can rationally explain. I felt it. I cannot explain when I fell asleep and the sensations I had in the boiler room. The familiar smell of that woman, the attack of the giant bugs discovered in the fog ... Without a doubt there are no places with more mysteries than those that are full of stories or those places where many people are concentrated, such as in buildings, hospitals, factories or museums. The Queen Mary was not an exception since in that place they had housed thousands of people in the past with thousands of experiences and tragedies in their wake, before me. Thousands of memories, sensations, fears, which this place feeds on all this. I was forced to dig deeper and chant some terrible secret invocations with the Ouija board to establish a certain link with those entities that were clearly trying to contact me. But he didn't know it would trigger a parallel world, to call it that. Now I know I shouldn't have. I don't know if this will help me, but I think I have to get rid of all the items I found in the chest. I firmly believe that they are the cause of all the chaos that I have lived ... that I live tonight, even if it was not real, although I have my doubts about it. I do not know if with this I will release the force that refuses me to leave this place or perhaps it is a product of my imagination and if there is a possibility, if it had all been a dream and none of this was happening? Perhaps I had suffered some type of neuronal alteration or Abiosis, which designates a state of apparent death. It does not matter I must get rid of those leaves and burn it all. As the night wore on the growing interest in the lines and shadows revealed after so long oblivion. They revealed the connection of these beings with their problem of dissociative amnesia. Not even twenty seconds passed since he had the desire to burn the pages of that cursed book that he found in the chest. When the door to the entrance of the room was opened slowly, and someone was heard shouting loudly. Alexandre stopped writing in his diary, got up and walked to the entrance to see what was happening. When he went out into the corridor he could see a person with his head down and his shirt lifted with his hand, he had an open wound on his abdomen, as if someone had nailed his nails. «He told Me to light the fireplace immediately» being Mephisto, «said the man.» He told me about the old chest. It must have been destroyed, and so I did.

The same chest started Dissociative Identity Disorder, affecting Alexandre. This mental anomaly causes two or more different personalities to coexist in the same individual. In general, those who suffer from this type of disorder have gone through some type of trauma in the past that leads them to unconsciously form a parallel identity. This led to neuronal splitting (this triggered his dissociative amnesia box)

IV

The love song that was playing at that moment would keep a happy couple together forever, in all probability, it is chance that this time, as many other times, acts to change things. Rufus Holmes was the one where he stayed that night in B338, near the room least requested by visitors, he was a commercial for food products from the Faravelli company, who had traveled from New York, Manhattan to negotiate an upgrade to a executive position. So it was, that some seventy years after the RMS Queen Mary sailed for the first time on May 27, 1936, as a luxury ocean liner and the largest ship of her time; a marvel of naval engineering that not only made multiple voyages across the Atlantic, but was even used as a transport ship during WWII, another food commercial save the life of the man who wanted to write about the most haunted room the world or maybe it is a somewhat exaggerated statement, or maybe Alexandre Johann Morenz would have been saved even if no one, especially a guy encouraged by the screams in the next room and approached room B340, seeing the smoke coming out of the room. the door plinth. Because surely Morenz could have had much more serious burns if Mr. Holmes had not intervened in the rescue by knocking the door down without thinking twice, without a doubt his efficient and quick intervention saved Mr. Morenz from dying in the flames. Mr. Holmes recalled in great detail what happened that night when he was interviewed for the radio and television media. He wove quite a coherent account for the press and newspapers (the idea of ​​becoming a hero was very tempting for his career aspirations) but he always confessed that he did it as a good Christian would. When the firefighters extinguished the fire, they gave his wife everything that could be useful and would not have been burned in the fire. The diary was one of the few belongings that could be saved, but it was in poor condition and some pages were missing, but the rest was still usable. Some people found Mr. Holmes's story quite fanciful or even out of context, but what he saw when he entered that room was etched on his retina forever. Thinking about this was like trying to reconstruct the events that occurred from what was already confusing for him. He even he could hear the wailing emitted by those deformed beings, logic was meaningless when hearing the desperate cries of the burning man, which seemed to increase in intensity. Mr. Holmes dodged the tongues of fire that seized the disconsolate screams that Mr. Morenz produced as the flames burned his skin. The burning man («tongues of fire enveloped his body, he was enveloped in a bright light of fire») as he confessed to journalists.

He collided with the spine, bounced, staggered in pain, and fell to his knees. It was then that Mr. Holmes took the sheet from the bed, which had not yet been invaded by the fire, and covered Morenz's body, shouldering it to throw it on the carpet in the hallway. He turned her around to smother the remaining flames that continued to lick her back and part of his shirt, fused to his skin. The smell of burning flesh, the black silhouettes that pounced on him, those details still linger clearly in his memory. The blinding light he cast illuminated the room, as if it had been daylight even though the sun had not yet risen. Then he verified that his skin had acquired a reddish, bubbly and cracked tone, and that the cheekbone on the right side of his face had melted in part in part it was still difficult for him to talk about it. Mr. Holmes remembering what happened, he had the impression that all that had been a nightmare from which he had not yet awakened, nor did he want to remember. But he had the impression that the door to the room, from which he had just emerged with the man on his shoulders, was bathed in the fiery light of a famous California sunset, the kind you can find on postcards. Where the burning light of a desert beach where things could dwell that no human being could ever believe. That eerie light attracted him like a haunted spell, as did the sinister murmur of low flapping, like the clash of a pair of sharp sickles trying to speak at all costs. Feeling drawn towards her, eager to find out more about what he was hiding.

Perhaps fate wanted both of them to save each other.

–It's okay? Quiet now, I'll get help, ‒Holmes said, screaming desperately down the hall and activating the fire alarm. Alexandre could only dimly observe that man screaming, and that he had just saved his life. Until the severe burns caused him to close his eyes, so as not to feel so much pain. His face was bathed in the throbbing glow of the light cast by the B340. Lying on the floor, his face was reddened and streaked with small blisters, which oozed on the carpet in the hallway. Alexandre spent several days in intensive care, in a clinical hospital in California, until his heart failed with the agony of his injuries and he died days later from respiratory failure. On the other hand, the disturbing thoughts haunted and finally drove Holmes mad causing him to be admitted months later to a psychiatric hospital in Los Angeles for schizophrenia. He could never escape whatever he had seen in that room.

Finally Mrs. Morenz managed to finish writing the book with the few annotations that could be recovered from the fire. She was able to edit it under the pseudonym Anisha Morenz. This is how the last tragedy starring room b340 of the Queen Mary would be recorded in some way. The most enchanted place in the world.