They said room 321 was haunted and that no one could stay in it for more than 20 minutes. But Vincent did. No one knows how, and no one knows why. But what everyone does know is that everyone else was never to be seen again...

Huddled in the lounge area, the unlucky people awaited their turn, holding their slot numbers in their trembling hands. The dim lights flickered on and off with a creaking noise, ominously interrupting the deadly silence. Only the cold metal slots gave the people slight invigoration; their infinitesimal hope for not being randomly chosen was balanced in a single tarnished slip of iron. 

“Number 25,” metallically stated a loud voice over the radio. Suddenly, two guards, their movements too precise and calculated, went up to a lady and began to forcefully drag her to the door. 

“Please, no! Let me go! Not there! Not there again! Not room 321!” Her muffled cries stopped as soon as the door was slammed shut, and a creepy red clock on top of the door began slowly ticking away a timer for 20 minutes. All the people stared at the clock as if looking at a devil. 

Tick, 

Tock, 

Tick, 

Tock.

10 minutes, 15 minutes, 19 minutes went by. As soon as the last seconds passed, 3... 2... 1... the clock made a creaking noise and then once again stood still in the uneasy silence. 

“It failed. Next number,” a guard uttered almost inhumanly over the speakers. The old, rusty radio crackled a sound...

“Number 321.”