Stay as a welcome guest of The Inn at Cocoa Beach, and if you have the nerve—request room 107. For it is within these walls that many have met a fate few can imagine and even fewer desire.
Maybe you’ll be one of the lucky ones who check in and checkout without experiencing anything beyond a periodic ice-cold breath of air caressing the back of your neck, or a feeling that an ethereal spirit is watching you, or a nagging sensation defined only by your soul—something is not right about the room.
Or maybe you’ll be one of the unlucky few to have all your senses explode as you discover first hand what is not right about room 107. These guests check in but never check out—at least not through the front desk.
Meet Jerry Kelly, the Inn’s desk manager who first discovers a series of clues that encourage him to search deeper into the mystery behind room 107. And then follow Kurt and Sabrina, the hero and heroine from Welcome to the Ahwahnee, as they track a mysterious disappearance in Seattle. The Adler’s search leads them to The Inn at Cocoa Beach where they enlist the aid of Lucius Silva Flavius, a lovable but cantankerous local historian, and Jerry Kelly.
Ride along with these four and other intriguing and mysterious characters as they delve deep into a mystery that appears more impenetrable each time they uncover a new clue.
And finally, live every frightening moment as the four confront a mind-boggling ancient secret.
The woman’s constricted airway absorbed her initial scream. Eyes wide and mouth formed in a perfect oval, she resembled a silent movie damsel in distress.
She convulsed. The act cleared her throat, allowed her second scream to escape. The shrill and piercing sound rode a strong offshore current down an unprotected walkway, through a weatherproof double paned slider and across a breezeway separating the lobby of The Inn at Cocoa Beach from its northern two-story wing.
Diminished after forcing its way through dense plate glass, the woman's cry failed to shatter the concentrated focus of ten individuals gathered in the lobby. Some of the ten sat. Some kneeled. Some stood, short in front, taller to the rear. Mesmerized by the pictures flashing across a console television—an impenetrable halo of silence encircled the ten.
Trained to remain cool when covering a cataclysmic event, an unseen broadcaster attempted to recall his lessons and deliver a steady and calm report. His voice, however, refused to cooperate. It cracked with emotion as live video shots presented each new and gut wrenching scene.
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