Left Luggage

Terminal Bunks Hostel had a sign above the luggage room that read, "Storage closes at 10 p.m." Felix read it at 10:02 and felt the sting of a twelve-euro late fee. He had spent the day counting coins to afford churros, and the fee felt like an insult. Rosa told him to come back in the morning. Felix nodded and smiled and decided he wouldn't.

Leo knew about the service door. He bragged about it at the bar as if it were an escape route in a spy movie. Amelia warned Felix that storage rooms were no joke. She referenced a story from Prague about a guy who swallowed a key to avoid a fee and didn't survive. Felix laughed and said, "I won't swallow anything. I'll just get my bag."

At 1 a.m., he slipped into the hallway and found the service door cracked open. He slid inside and found rows of suitcases stacked like coffins. The room smelled of dust and detergent. He located his bag quickly, its red strap sticking out from under a pile. He tugged it free. The door clicked behind him.

He turned the handle. It didn't move. He tried again, harder, and felt the metal strain. The door was heavy, the kind meant to lock from the outside. Felix banged on it and called for help. The hostel was quiet. The bar had closed. The hallway was empty.

The air was warm at first, stale and still. He sat on his bag and tried to calm down. He told himself the night manager would do a check. He told himself the smoke alarm would notice. He told himself he would be the one who made it to breakfast with a story. He checked his phone. No service. The storage room was a concrete box with a metal door and no window.

Time slowed in the dark. The air grew thicker. He could feel his breathing get heavier, as if the room were pulling it back in. He stood and pounded again, then sat and waited. He remembered @HostelReaper's comment on a post about luggage fees: "Storage isn't for breathing." He had laughed when he saw it. Now it felt like a warning carved into the wall.

By 4 a.m., he was sweating, his heart racing. He pressed his face to the crack under the door and inhaled. It was not enough. He thought of calling out, but his voice was small in the dark. He pulled his hoodie over his head and waited.

The clock on his phone flickered between times, the battery draining as the air thinned.

At 7 a.m., Rosa opened the door and found him slumped against his bag. His hand was pressed to the metal, leaving a faint print. She called the police, then sat on the floor and cried. The hostel posted a new sign in three languages: "Do not enter after hours." In the reviews, someone wrote, "I left my bag and got it back. Felix left everything." @HostelReaper responded, "Storage isn't for breathing."