Mr.Ellsworth and the Haunting of Room319

The Haunting of Room 319 - Chapter One

Ellsworth, Texas
September 2024

Chelsea left her room at the Dayz to Nites Motel, opened her car door, and placed her laptop bag, lunch bag, and purse on the front passenger seat. She shut the door, walked around, opened the driver’s side, and climbed into her SUV. The dashboard clock read 9:45 p.m. She didn’t need GPS— the rehab center was only three blocks away, standing oddly alone in the middle of a wheat field.

A few minutes later, she could still see the top of the Dayz to Nites Motel sign peeking across the highway as she pulled into the rehab center’s parking lot and cut the engine. The clock blinked 9:47 before fading out. Maybe if she switched to the morning shift, she’d walk to work. But not now. Who builds a rehab facility in the middle of a scary, dying cornfield?

Across the lot, a construction sign stood partially swallowed by wheat stalks. Someone had drawn a crude cartoon cow over the architect’s phone number in black marker. Below it were the words: “Buzz off! We miss cows and wheat fields!”

Chelsea reached into the pocket of her scrubs, pulled out her smartphone, flipped it open, and snapped a photo. She quickly uploaded it to social media with the caption:

“Welcome to Ellsworth, TX! Population: 2,000 annoyed residents!”

Her friends, family, and boyfriend, Al, back in Denver, would find it hilarious.

Normally, Chelsea wouldn’t accept CNA agency work. But when a job posting offered $3,500 for just two weeks, plus motel expenses paid, she jumped at the chance. After confirming the job was real, she filed for a three-week leave of absence from her hospital position in downtown Denver, packed her bags, confirmed her prepaid stay at the motel, and transferred her license to Texas. She kissed her boyfriend goodbye, loaded the SUV, and hit the road.

As she exited Denver, she passed the Old Settlers’ Cemetery. A rusty iron fence circled four acres that held the remains of Denver’s past outlaws and paupers. At the highest point stood a tall granite marker, glowing faintly in the morning sun.

“Not haunted,” Chelsea muttered aloud as a crow swooped down and perched on the monument.

She arrived at the motel the next day at exactly 1:00 p.m., groggy from having spent the night sleeping in her car at a grocery store parking lot. Ready for a real bed, she accepted a key fob from the stoned teenage clerk and trudged up three flights of stairs—of course, the elevator was broken.

Her room was technically a suite, complete with a jacuzzi tub she wouldn’t dream of touching. The living room window faced the highway. Chelsea laughed when she spotted the rehab center directly across the road, standing awkwardly in the wheat field. She changed into her nightclothes, texted Al to say she’d arrived safely, set her alarm for 8:30 p.m., and collapsed into the king-size bed.

—

Later that night, Chelsea was buzzed in through the employee entrance and found her nurse. He was middle-aged, balding, and looked stressed.

“Thank goodness you made it,” he said, handing her a sheet with patient names.

“You’re on the 10 p.m. to 6:30 a.m. shift for the next two weeks. Tuesdays are off to rest. Your agency will pay you every morning, about an hour after you clock out. By the end, you’ll have your full $3,500.”

“I see,” Chelsea said, a smile spreading across her face as she took the list. The money would fund a long-dreamed-of ski trip with Al. They’d always wanted to stay at a luxury resort—now they finally could.

“Come with me,” the nurse said, standing with a squeaky groan from his chair. “I’m Clarence, by the way.” He held out his hand and Chelsea shook it.

“Like the angel from It’s a Wonderful Life?” she asked.

“You know,” Clarence said as they walked toward Hall 300, “I’ve never seen that movie.”

“Oh,” Chelsea replied, surprised. She and Al loved old movies, geocaching, true crime, and long walks through Denver’s haunted cemeteries. They always wanted to explore Old Settler’s, but it was padlocked with a No Trespassing sign. Clarence, on the other hand, looked like he was more into football and beer. Probably became a nurse for the steady paycheck. She decided not to mention her and Al’s unusual hobbies.

“Hall 300 has twenty rooms, but only 301 through 308 are occupied,” Clarence explained. “They all need help getting to the bathroom. Most are recovering from hip surgeries. They should be discharged by the end of the month.”

Chelsea nodded and set her bags on a small table halfway down the hall. Clarence pointed to the far end.

“These rooms are empty. None of the patients can walk on their own, so you don’t need to worry about anyone wandering off down there.”

Chelsea nodded again. She was used to residents with dementia who wandered constantly.

“Check on them every two hours. None are incontinent, but ADLN wants us to double-check,” Clarence added.

“Of course,” Chelsea replied.

A sudden crack of thunder rattled the windows. Clarence checked his watch. “Storm’s rolling in. Should last from 10:15 to 6.”

“Naturally,” Chelsea muttered as Clarence returned to the nurse’s station. She imagined being curled up in bed with Al at his rented house in Englewood, sipping coffee and watching true crime documentaries. His little black kitten curled at their feet.

She pulled out a chair and was about to start on her monthly CNA training when the sharp beep of a call light rang out. Chelsea glanced down the hall—rooms 301 to 308 were dark.

Turning around, she jumped. The call light for room 319 had lit up.

“I thought that room was empty,” she said aloud.

She walked over. The door was closed. Chelsea knocked.

“Hello? Anyone there?”

Silence.

She gripped the doorknob and turned. The door creaked open. The room was hot and dark. She flipped the switch. A warm yellow light flickered on, illuminating a clean but empty space. The call light cord lay neatly on the bed. Chelsea stepped in, frowning. As she reached for the light to shut it off, another flash of lightning lit up the room.

“Of course,” she said. “Storm’s probably messing with the wiring.”

She turned off the button and headed toward the window. The blinds were open, revealing a black, wind-blown field beyond. For a moment, she had the strange sensation of being watched.

She stepped across the ugly tile floor and paused. It felt uneven, as if the ground were sinking beneath her. Was the foundation settling? The building wasn’t even a year old.

She reached for the cord to close the blinds, then froze.

Two glowing yellow eyes stared back at her from the other side of the window.

Chelsea’s body went cold. A scream caught in her throat. The room swayed.

Then she laughed.

A crow was perched on the windowsill, peeking in.

“No, you can’t come in,” she said aloud. “Birds are built for bad weather.”

She closed the blinds with a flick and turned to leave. She made a point to walk past the bed again—yes, the floor was definitely uneven. At the door, she flipped off the light.

Even with the blinds closed, a shiver ran down her spine.

Wait. Do crows have yellow eyes?