One day, Elizaveta had to stay at a rather depressed-looking motel. She was at Germany for a business trip, but she forgot to set up a hotel reservation for herself. So, she had to make do with this roadside dump.
The man at the front desk, when he had given her her room keys, had warned Elizaveta not to look through the keyhole in Room 13. '13? People are so supersitious it's annoying.' Elizaveta had thought. She frowned disapprovingly at the man's strange warning, but obeyed anyways.
For the first night, anyway.
On the second night, curiosity posessed her to walk up to Room 13 to see what the man at the front desk was so upset about. She leaned on the door and peered through the large keyhole. All she could see was red. 'Did someone stuff red cloth in the keyhole? So what?.'
Elizaveta went up to the staff member. "I looked through the keyhole in Room 13, but all I saw was redness."
The man turned pale. "Ma'am, a man with red eyes died in that room. They say anyone who looks at the man's eyes is dead by the next night."
The brown-haired girl rolled her eyes in exasperation. How stupid! These people just LOVED to scare themselves silly with ghost stories, but she was a smart woman. She wasn't buying it, and the next night left the motel to find a place that didn't try to scare their customers.
She drove around the city, looking for another motel. Suddenly, she felt something sharp and jagged pierce her chest. Gasping in shock and pain, she looked down to see blood spilling out of a wound made by an unknown weapon. As she took her hands off the wheel to try to stop her bleeding, her car swerved into ditch, flipping over. She winced as she heard bones break. Shards of glass from the window scraped every inch of skin on her face and arms, and she was pinned to the seat helplessly. As she bled to death, she could see a young man through the shattered windshield, his mouth curled up in a smile and his crimson red eyes narrowed playfully.