The scent of salt is thick in the air when I stand before the fourth door. The sounds of waves beating against rocks is all I hear as I stick the key into the lock. The letters ‘XL’ glow like fireflies on a dark night against the oak of the door. Room 40.

I gently push the door open, and the cool breeze is like finding shade after spending hours labouring in the sun. I make my way through, and the room is a beach; sand prickles my feet as I walk towards the ocean. People lie sunbathing, a plethora of coloured towels and beach umbrellas around them. The warmth of the sand is comforting, warm to the touch, but not enough to burn.

“Good afternoon, ma’am,” a man greets, yet I cannot place his thick accent, his eyes as blue as the water I walk towards.

“Good afternoon,” I respond. “Where are we?” I ask, a bit curtly.

“Zakynthos,” his thick accent pronounces. The man smiles as he walks away, every muscle taut beneath his skin.

Greece. I am on a beach in Greece. What is this place? echoes in my head again and again. Where am I?

I journey closer to the water. I can almost taste the salt, feel its course texture on my skin. The sound of the ebbing waves draws me closer still.

“Melissa! Melissa…” my name echoes in the wind.

I turn briskly to find no one, but the door still open behind me. I want to go further, but this place seems vacant now, nothing and no one here.

“Melissa!! Come back to me,” the voice echoes again, almost seared in panic.

The sun beats down, yet the cold suffuses me. I want to stay here, enjoy the heat, and the beauty of the beach, but when my name is called again, I see the door closing.

Without meaning to, I sprint towards it, fearful that it may close, and this will be where I will spend my time. I close the door behind me. The cold seems to have found its way into the hallway as well. The kind of cold that freezes one’s breath.

Tell us: Would you have wanted to stay in a room like that? Why or why not?