Influencer's Hull Discovery

Alright, here we go with this ridiculous premise. So, there I was, expecting to be sunbathing in Jamaica, but instead, I found myself shivering in the bloody cold streets of Kingston upon Hull, UK. I mean, how the fuck does someone mix up these two places? But here I am, a so-called 'travel influencer', not wanting to admit that I've royally screwed up.

I stepped out of the airport, dragging my luggage, filled with bikinis and summer dresses, totally inappropriate for this dreary English weather. My first thought was, "What the hell do I do now?" Then it hit me - just roll with it. Make it look intentional. So, I hailed a cab, asking the driver to take me to the city center. I'm sure my face was a picture of confusion and frustration, but I tried to mask it with fake enthusiasm.

As we drove, I saw the Humber Bridge looming in the distance. It's a bloody impressive sight, but it's no Caribbean beach. I decided to check into a hotel near the marina, thinking it might at least have a view of the water. The driver dropped me off at a quaint, yet somewhat eerie-looking place called the 'Kingston Theatre Hotel' right in the heart of the city. The hotel had a gothic, almost haunted appearance, which would normally be off-putting, but I figured it might make for some interesting content.

After checking in, I ventured out to explore. The streets of Hull were a bizarre mix of old and new, historic buildings next to modern shopping centers. I walked down Whitefriargate, feeling completely out of place in my tropical attire, drawing odd looks from passersby.

As I wandered, I stumbled upon the old Ye Olde White Harte pub. It looked like it was straight out of a horror movie, with its ancient, creaking sign and dimly lit windows. I thought, "Fuck it, why not?" and pushed the door open. The warm, musty air hit me, along with the sound of hushed conversations. The patrons turned to stare at the overdressed, out-of-place woman who just walked in.

I ordered a pint, determined to make the best of this mess. As I sipped my drink, I overheard locals talking about a hidden room in the pub where, apparently, important decisions about the English Civil War were made. Intrigued and sensing an opportunity to salvage this disaster with some unique content, I asked the bartender about it.

He looked at me, a hint of a smile on his weathered face, and said, "Ah, the Plotting Parlour. Would you like to see it?" His tone was eerie, almost like he was hiding a secret. I nodded eagerly, my influencer instincts kicking in despite the weirdness of the situation.

He led me through a narrow hallway, the walls lined with old paintings, their eyes seeming to follow me. He stopped in front of a nondescript wall, pressed a hidden latch, and a section of the wall swung open, revealing a small, dimly lit room with a heavy oak table and ancient chairs.

The room felt like it was frozen in time, a sense of history and mystery hanging in the air. I couldn't believe my luck - this was exactly the kind of hidden gem that my followers would love. I took out my phone, ready to capture this unexpected find.

But just as I was about to start filming, a chilling draft swept through the room, and the door slammed shut behind me...

Trapped in this godforsaken, hidden room, my heart pounded like a drum in my chest. "This is just fucking great," I muttered under my breath. I tried the door, but it wouldn't budge. Typical. Here I was, trying to make lemonade out of the lemons life had thrown at me, and now I'm stuck in a centuries-old plotting parlour in Hull.

I turned on the flash on my phone to get a better look at the room. The walls were lined with old, faded maps and portraits of stern-looking men who seemed to be judging me. There was an air of intrigue in the room, almost as if the ghosts of the past were lingering, watching.

I decided to start recording a video, narrating my bizarre predicament. "Hey, guys, so I'm currently locked in a hidden room in an ancient pub in Hull. Yep, you heard that right. Not exactly the tropical adventure I had planned." I tried to inject some humor into the situation, but my voice wavered slightly, betraying a hint of fear.

Just then, I heard a faint scratching sound coming from one of the walls. My first thought was, "Oh fuck, please don't let it be rats." I cautiously approached the source of the sound, my phone's light leading the way. As I got closer, the scratching grew louder, more frantic. It was coming from behind one of the portraits.

I reached out, half-expecting a skeleton hand to grab me, and moved the portrait aside. Behind it was a small, ancient-looking door. "What the hell?" I whispered to myself. Curiosity overcame my fear, and I pushed the door open.

It revealed a narrow, spiraling staircase leading downwards. The air was musty, filled with the scent of damp and decay. Every instinct screamed at me to stay put, but the influencer in me saw this as an opportunity for some epic content. "Here goes nothing," I said to the camera, and began descending the stairs.

The staircase seemed to go on forever, winding down into the depths of the building. I finally reached the bottom and found myself in a long, narrow tunnel. The walls were lined with old lanterns, casting eerie shadows. The tunnel was silent, except for the distant sound of dripping water.

As I walked, I could feel the weight of the building above me, the sense of history pressing down. The tunnel finally opened up into a large, cavernous room. In the center stood a stone altar, covered in strange symbols and dried... was that blood?

Before I could process this horrifying sight, I heard a sound behind me. I spun around, my heart racing. Standing there was a figure, cloaked in shadows, watching me silently.

"Who the fuck are you?" I demanded, my voice echoing in the cavernous room. The figure stepped forward, emerging from the shadows, and my heart nearly stopped. It was an old man, dressed in a long, tattered coat, his face wrinkled like a well-worn map. He had a strange glint in his eyes, a mix of madness and wisdom. "I'm the caretaker," he croaked, his voice echoing eerily in the cavern.

I was torn between relief and a new wave of fear. "Caretaker? What the fuck is this place?" I asked, trying to maintain a brave front.

He chuckled, a sound that sent shivers down my spine. "This, my dear, is a part of Hull's hidden history, a place of ancient rituals and forgotten secrets." He gestured towards the altar. "They used to believe this place had power, that the rituals performed here could change destinies."

I glanced nervously at my phone, still recording. "And what about now? What happens here now?"

He shrugged, a cryptic smile playing on his lips. "Now? It's mostly forgotten. A relic of the past. But some say the old magic still lingers."

I didn't know whether to laugh or run. This was insane, like something out of a horror movie. But my influencer instincts saw the goldmine of content I had stumbled upon. "Can I... Can I film this? My followers won't believe it."

The caretaker nodded. "Film what you like, but be careful. Some things don't like to be disturbed."

With that ominous warning, he turned and began to walk away. "Wait!" I called after him. "How do I get out of here?"

"Follow the tunnel," he called back without turning. "It'll lead you back to the world above."

I looked around the eerie room one last time and hurried back into the tunnel. The caretaker's words echoed in my head, adding a sense of urgency to my steps. I followed the tunnel, which indeed led me to a small, hidden door that opened up into an alleyway behind the pub.

Stepping out into the cool night air of Hull, I felt like I had just emerged from another world. I looked back at the door, half-expecting it to disappear, but it remained, a silent witness to the city's hidden secrets.

I headed back to my hotel, my mind racing with what I had just experienced. This trip, despite its fucked-up beginning, had turned into something incredible. I couldn't wait to share it with my followers. The video would be sensational – a mix of horror, comedy, intrigue, and wonder, all rolled into one.

But as I walked, I couldn't shake the feeling that something had followed me out of that tunnel, a whisper of the ancient magic that still lingered in the shadows of Kingston upon Hull.

Back in my hotel room, I tossed and turned, unable to sleep. Every creak and groan of the old building sounded like footsteps, every shadow a lurking figure. My mind replayed the night's events over and over. The old caretaker's words haunted me: "Some things don't like to be disturbed."

I got up and started reviewing the footage I had taken. It was all there: the hidden room in the pub, the creepy caretaker, the ancient altar. It was gold – pure fucking gold for my channel. But as I watched, I noticed something odd in the background of one of the shots in the tunnel. There was a shadow, or maybe a figure, that I hadn't seen when I was filming.

I leaned in closer, trying to make sense of it. Was it just a trick of the light? Or had something been there with me in the tunnel? A chill ran down my spine. I decided to edit that part out. Better not to freak out my followers too much.

I finally managed to fall asleep just as the first light of dawn was creeping through the curtains. I dreamt of dark tunnels, hidden rooms, and ancient rituals. The city of Hull had revealed its bizarre and mysterious side to me, and it was both terrifying and exhilarating.

When I woke up, I had a ton of notifications on my phone. My initial post about being in the wrong Kingston had blown up. People were loving the mix-up and were eager to see what Hull had to offer.

I spent the next day exploring more of the city, visiting places like the eerie Hull Old Town and the striking Hull Minster. I even took a walk around the Museum Quarter, trying to learn more about the city's history, half hoping to uncover more hidden secrets like the ones from last night.

As the day turned into evening, I found myself drawn back to the Ye Olde White Harte pub. I wanted to see if the caretaker was there, to ask him more questions about the tunnel and the altar.

The pub was busy, filled with the sound of laughter and clinking glasses. I scanned the crowd, but there was no sign of the caretaker. I approached the bartender, the same one from last night.

"Hey, I'm looking for the caretaker from last night. Is he around?" I asked.

The bartender looked at me, puzzled. "Caretaker? We don't have a caretaker here. This pub's been run by my family for generations."

I stared at him, my heart sinking. "But the old man last night, who showed me the Plotting Parlour and the tunnel..."

The bartender shook his head. "No idea what you're talking about, love. Are you sure you're not just spinning a yarn for your followers?"

I backed away, my mind racing. Had it all been a dream? A hallucination? But I had the footage; it was all real.

As I walked back to my hotel, I couldn't shake the feeling that I had stumbled upon something truly strange in Hull. Something ancient and mysterious, hidden just beneath the surface of this seemingly ordinary city.

I decided to leave the mystery of the tunnel and the caretaker in my video, unedited. Let my followers make of it what they will. As for me, I knew I had experienced something extraordinary, something that I would never forget.

Kingston upon Hull, with all its quirks and hidden depths, had left an indelible mark on me. My trip might have started as a colossal fuck-up, but it had turned into an adventure filled with horror, comedy, intrigue, and wonder. And that's exactly what I told my followers in my final post from Hull, before setting off to my next destination, hopefully the right one this time.