Episodes
This podcast is brought to you by Jellypod, Inc.
© 2025 All rights reserved.
This podcast is brought to you by Jellypod, Inc.
© 2025 All rights reserved.
Whispers from the FogA businessman checks into a hotel, but when he returns from dinner, his roomâand all trace of him ever staying thereâhas disappeared.
Whispers from the FogA businessman checks into a hotel, but when he returns from dinner, his roomâand all trace of him ever staying thereâhas disappeared.
Chapter 1
Alistair Graves
Imagine this: You've just checked into a hotel for the evening. Your legs ache for rest, your mind already arranging tomorrow's tasks. You set down your bags, run your fingers across the rough texture of the bedspread, the cool brass of the sink tap. Everything is as it should beâordinary, predictable.
Alistair Graves
You step out, perhaps for dinner, perhaps to breathe in the night air. But when you return, something is wrong. Your room is gone. Not locked, not reassignedâgone. The front desk has no record of your stay. The hotel staff doesnât recognize you. And where your door once stood, there is only a blank wall. What happens when reality itself forgets you?
Alistair Graves
Tonight, we step into a story of such placesâplaces that defy logic, that slip through the cracks of certainty, that refuse to be remembered. And perhaps worse⊠places that remember us all too well.
Chapter 2
Alistair Graves
The year was 1971. London pulsed with its usual rhythmâcabs rattling over wet pavement, the murmur of distant conversations spilling from cafes, the hum of city life moving ever forward.
Alistair Graves
A businessman, unremarkable in most respects, arrived at a modest but well-kept hotel. His life was a series of meetings, train rides, brief stays in places that blurred together. He did not expect this night to be any different.
Alistair Graves
The receptionist handed him a metal keyâRoom 307. He nodded, took the worn brass in his hand, and ascended the stairs.
Alistair Graves
Inside, the room was unremarkable, yet there was something about itâan odd stillness, a sense that it had been left untouched for longer than it should have.
Alistair Graves
He unpacked, calling home as he did each night. The voice on the other end was muffled, distantâa bad connection, nothing more.
Alistair Graves
A flicker from the bedside lamp caught his eye. A single flash, then steady glow.
Alistair Graves
The mirror on the far wall tilted slightly, though he hadnât touched it.
Alistair Graves
From the bathroom, the sink let out a long, slow gurgleâa noise that, if one were to listen closely, might have sounded like⊠a whisper.
Alistair Graves
But such things were small. Forgettable.
Alistair Graves
Hunger stirred, drowning out curiosity. He checked his watch, adjusted his tie, and stepped out for dinner, leaving the quiet, waiting room behind.
Chapter 3
Alistair Graves
The pub was lively, familiarâa stark contrast to the stillness of his room. He drank a few pints, exchanged stories with the bartender, let the warmth of conversation settle his thoughts.
Alistair Graves
When he returned to the hotel, nothing seemed amiss. Up the stairs, down the hallwayâpast Room 301, Room 303âŠ
Alistair Graves
And stopped.
Alistair Graves
There was no Room 307.The numbers jumped from 306 to 308. His doorâhis roomâwas gone.
Alistair Graves
He stared, his mind scrambling for logic. Had he miscounted the floors? Had he been drunker than he thought?
Alistair Graves
He retraced his stepsâdown the stairs, back up. But the layout remained unchanged. Room 307 did not exist.
Alistair Graves
A cold ripple passed through his chest as he made his way to the front desk."I think thereâs been a mistake," he said, keeping his voice steady. "I checked into Room 307 earlier. Itâs gone."
Alistair Graves
The manager barely glanced up. "Sir, we donât have a Room 307."
Alistair Graves
The words settled like dust.
Alistair Graves
"No, you checked me in yourself. My bags, my coatâtheyâre all still there."
Alistair Graves
The manager sighed, flipping through his records. He paused, looking back up. "I donât have you in the system."
Alistair Graves
And just like that, reality shifted.
Alistair Graves
His name, his room, his very presence in the buildingâit was as if none of it had ever been.
Chapter 4
Alistair Graves
The morning light did little to clear the nightâs confusion.
Alistair Graves
He returned to the hotel, expectingâhopingâfor a different answer. But the day manager was not the same man from the night before.
Alistair Graves
"Room 307?" he asked, his voice tight.
Alistair Graves
The new clerk frowned. "Sir, this hotel has never had a Room 307."
Alistair Graves
The businessman felt the walls closing in, the air thinning. How could this be?
Alistair Graves
He rushed to the pub from the night before.
Alistair Graves
But the bartenderâthe one who had served him, spoken with him, laughed with himâwasnât there.
Alistair Graves
A different man stood behind the bar, a stranger who barely looked up from pouring drinks."
Alistair Graves
No, Iâve been here all week. Didnât pull pints for any of your sort last night.
Alistair Graves
"He turned to a patron at the back, an older man who averted his gaze, shifting uneasily."Youâve got it wrong, lad. Let it be."
Alistair Graves
Everywhere he turned, proof unraveled. It was as if reality itself had rewritten the night, erased him from its pages.
Chapter 5
Alistair Graves
Years later, an archivist overheard the businessman telling his story. Her curiosity led her to speak.
Alistair Graves
"That stretch of the hotel⊠Itâs curious, isnât it? You might find⊠significance in the stories buried there.
Alistair Graves
"Her fingers tightened around a leather-bound ledger."
Alistair Graves
In 1948, there was a murder on that floor. A young woman. The details⊠were carefully swept away.
Alistair Graves
"There were no records. No photographs. Just rumors.
Alistair Graves
Had the hotel itself buried its own history? Had Room 307⊠collapsed inward under the weight of what it remembered?
Chapter 6
Alistair Graves
Places remember, donât they? Even when weâd rather they forget. A room, a house, a streetâthey absorb what happens within them.
Alistair Graves
And sometimes, they whisper their secrets back.
Alistair Graves
Perhaps Room 307 was never haunted. Perhaps it was simply⊠gone. Pulled away from time, from memory, from existence itself.
Alistair Graves
Or maybe, just maybe, some places are meant to be forgotten.
Alistair Graves
Before I go, let me leave you with something to think about.
Alistair Graves
Imagine, if you will, a man who dreams of a strangerâs murder. A vivid, undeniable vision.
Alistair Graves
Then, days later, he sees that stranger⊠alive.
Alistair Graves
Is it a warning? A mistake? Or something far, far worse?But that, my dear listener⊠that is a story for another night.Until the fog lifts again, stay curious, stay cautious⊠and, perhaps, leave the light on.
About the podcast
In a forgotten English village, paranormal researcher Alistair Graves shares chilling tales of the unexplained from his haunted studioâwhere strange whispers and unseen presences lurk. Each episode delivers eerie folklore, real encounters, and unsettling confessions, with his cat Professor Snuffles as his only companion. But be warned: the stories may listen back.