I gave him a look, but I admit, I laughed nervously. It helped a little. For a few seconds, it became just an odd object again instead of something unknown and possibly alive.
But the feeling didn’t fully leave.
We decided to inspect the rest of the room. That’s when things got worse—not dramatically, but subtly. The kind of “worse” you only notice once your attention has been sharpened by fear.
There were tiny similar marks in other corners. Smaller ones. Almost like early versions of the same structure. Some were barely visible unless you were looking for them.
That’s when I said it out loud: “We should call reception.”
My husband hesitated. “It might be nothing.”
But even he didn’t sound convinced anymore.
Before calling, we stood there again, just watching it. I don’t know why. Maybe because part of us wanted it to stay still, to remain explainable. Unknown things feel heavier when you acknowledge them.
Finally, I called the front desk.
A cheerful voice answered. I explained the situation carefully, trying not to sound dramatic. I described the object on the wall, its shape, its texture, the fact that it seemed attached rather than accidental.
There was a pause on the other end.
Then: “Oh… yes. We understand.”
