🪙 The Gold Coin Chronicles: “The Hotel That Wouldn’t Stay Fixed”

-


The Hotel That Wouldn’t Stay Fixed (1980s Halloween Ghost Story) – In this haunted installment of The Gold Coin Chronicles, a man buys an abandoned hotel hoping to restore its glory… but some places choose their own endings—and their own restorers.

---

🕯️ The Nightly Storyteller’s Introduction

You ever walk past a place that feels… chosen?

Not cursed. Not haunted. Just waiting.  
Waiting for someone foolish enough to try and fix what history broke.

Every Halloween, someone finds a gold coin in their change.  
Always on a Friday. Always warm to the touch.  
And always followed by a renovation project that ends in silence.

This year’s coin found Mark Danner.  
And it led him to the Redwood Arms.

---

🪙 The Coin’s Curse

They say the coin was minted in 1912—the same year the Redwood Arms opened its doors.  
It was meant to commemorate the town’s prosperity.  
But the first man who held it died in the hotel’s inaugural fire.

Since then, the coin has resurfaced every October.  
Always on a Friday.  
Always in the hands of someone who wants to rebuild.

Some say the coin chooses its bearer.  
Some say it feeds on ambition.  
But no one who’s touched it has ever finished their work.

---

🪙 The Hotel That Wouldn’t Stay Fixed

Mark Danner was a carpenter with a dream.  
He’d restored old homes, built furniture, even taught shop class.  
But when he saw the Redwood Arms listed for auction, something stirred in him—like déjà vu wrapped in sawdust.

That morning, he stopped at a diner.  
When the waitress handed him his change, there it was: a gold coin, warm as breath.  
He blinked. “Is this yours?”  
She shrugged. “Comes and goes.”

He pocketed it.  
That afternoon, he won the bid.

---

The Redwood Arms loomed like a mausoleum—three stories of faded brick and ivy veins.  
Inside, the air was thick with mildew and memory.  
Wallpaper curled like old skin. Chandeliers hung like frozen screams.

Mark set down his toolbox. “A new start,” he whispered.

He worked late into the evening—opening windows, sketching plans, knocking down warped panels.  
But when he returned to the hallway, his tools were gone.  
In their place: a perfect circle of dust, with the gold coin at its center.

He didn’t remember placing it there.

---

The next day, he painted the lobby wall—a warm beige, clean and hopeful.  
He stepped back, proud.

Then the floor groaned.  
He turned. The wall now dripped red—smears like blood, thick and deliberate.  
His roller lay cracked on the floor.

He didn’t finish that wall.

---

That night, he stayed in the manager’s office.  
Sleeping bag. Flashlight. Thermos of coffee.  
Outside, rain tapped like fingernails.

At 2:13 a.m., he woke to footsteps.  
Slow. Uneven.

He opened the door. “Hello?”

No answer. Just the scent of smoke.  
Then a whisper, close and low:

“Why fix what’s meant to stay broken…”

He slammed the door.  
The coin vibrated in his pocket.

---

The next day, he went to the library.  
Microfilm. Dust. Headlines.

- Fire in 1912.  
- Poisoning in 1943.  
- Missing child in 1967.  
- Renovation attempts in 1975, 1979, 1983—all abandoned.  
- Each tied to a gold coin.  
- Each found on a Friday before Halloween.

He stared at his reflection in the microfilm glass.  
The coin pulsed beside him.

---

Mark returned one last time.  
The lobby wall looked pristine.  
His tools were arranged in a perfect circle around the coin.

He whispered, “You can have it.”  
The chandelier swayed.  
The doors slammed shut.  
The lights went out.

When they flickered back on, the coin was gone.  
And so was Mark.

The Redwood Arms never reopened.

---

🕯️ The Nightly Storyteller’s Closing Words

Some buildings don’t want to be reborn.  
They want to be remembered.  
And the coin makes sure of that.

So if you find a gold coin in your change this Friday…  
Don’t renovate.  
Don’t restore.  
Don’t dream.

Just leave it buried.  
And walk away.

---

Stick around. Subscribe. Share.  
X (Twitter): @NightlyStoryTel

Instagram: @NightlyStoryteller

Bluesky: nightlystoryteller.bsky.

Email. thenightlystorytellerblog@gmail.com

And if you dare… drop a comment with your favorite haunted place, cursed object, or Halloween memory.  
The Gold Coin Chronicles are just beginning—and this Friday, the coin chooses again.

thenightlystoryteller.blogspot.com


Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

🕯️ The Gold Coin Chronicles Presents: “The Draw”

-
Image
🎙️ Intro — The Whisper Between Worlds > The rain has a voice, you know. Not the soft lullaby poets talk about, but something older… lonelier. It speaks in patterns — the rhythm of regret against a windowpane, the sigh of wind slipping through an open crack. When I was younger, I used to listen to it. But that was before I learned that some knocks shouldn’t be answered. And yet, we always do. We open the door — hoping for closure, or forgiveness, or maybe just a sign that we’re not alone. Tonight’s story begins with a knock like that… and a coin that should’ve stayed in the rain. --- 🌧️ Scene One: “The Draw” Cary, Illinois. A neighborhood where every house looks like it’s waiting for something — blinds half-closed, porch lights flickering like they’re afraid of the dark. Inside one of those houses, three friends gathered as rain lashed the windows. The air smelled like damp carpet, burnt popcorn, and stale beer. Somewhere, a fridge hummed with a tired rattle. The heater...
Read more

🕰️ Five Minute Fright: “The Watcher’s Gift”

-
Image
🎩 The Nightly Storyteller > “Time is the cruelest of currencies. We spend it without thought, we beg for more, and we always lose it in the end. But every so often… time gives something back. A second chance. A warning. Or, in this case—one final act of gratitude.” --- The rain had finally stopped by the time Evan left the funeral. He stood at the edge of the cemetery, hands in his coat pockets, watching as the groundskeeper lowered the last bouquet onto the fresh soil. His elderly neighbor, Mr. Harker, had lived alone for years—quiet, kind, and always ready with a story about “the good old days.” When the two became neighbors, Evan often helped with groceries, yard work, and fixing things around the house. Harker didn’t have much, but he always said, “You’ve given me the one thing no one else has, son—your time.” Two days later, a small box arrived in the mail. The return label: H. Harker. Inside, wrapped in soft cloth, was an old pocket watch—its gold casing aged, the...
Read more

🕯️ The Nightly Storyteller Presents: “The Price of Luck”(A Tale from The Gold Coin Chronicles)

-
Image
🎙️ Intro — The Weight of a Debt “Fortune’s currency is paid in shadow,” they whisper. Elias didn’t know he’d signed. The fine print is written in whispers only the debtor hears—an invisible ledger of repayment inked in the parts of ourselves we forget we gave up. The Collector came anyway. 🌙 The Coin and the Cold Elm and Willow, late afternoon. The air clung to skin like damp silk, heavy with the scent of wet asphalt and fresh-cut grass. Elias sat on the curb, elbows on his knees, watching cars drift by in lazy procession. The sun was setting, casting long shadows that stretched like skeletal fingers. Not waiting. Just existing. That’s when she walked by. A woman in a long gray coat, despite the sweltering heat, her steps quiet, deliberate. She didn’t look at him, but the air shifted when she passed—colder, carrying the faint scent of lavender and rain before it had fallen. Something slipped from her hand as she went. A coin. It landed in the gutter wi...
Read more