Room 213

Pedro arrived in Edinburgh late on Friday night. He was tired, and he was happy when the receptionist gave him the key to room 213. "Enjoy your stay," she said. Pedro smiled. He didn't know what was waiting for him upstairs.

First, the shower. Pedro turned on the hot water and waited. And waited. The water was cold. Ice cold. Then he tried to close the window, but it didn't close, and the wind from the sea came into the room. Finally, at two in the morning, the TV turned itself on. Loud.

Pedro didn't sleep well. In the morning, he went down to reception. He was annoyed, but he remembered something important: in Britain, people complain politely. He took a deep breath.

"Good morning. I'm sorry to bother you, but I'm afraid there are a few problems with my room," he said. "The shower is cold, the window doesn't close, and the TV turned itself on in the night. Could you possibly send someone to have a look?"

The receptionist was a tall man called Mr. Fraser. He looked shocked. "Oh dear, I'm terribly sorry, sir. That's not acceptable at all." He typed something on the computer. "Would you mind changing rooms? We have one free room on the top floor."

Pedro didn't mind. The new room was number 601: the best room in the hotel. It had a huge bed, a big bath, a balcony and a view of the castle. The shower was hot, the window closed perfectly and the TV only turned on when Pedro wanted it.

That evening Pedro sat on the balcony with a cup of tea. He thought about room 213. Was it haunted? Maybe. But he wasn't going to complain about that.