Room 419 had been abandoned long enough to forget its own name. It was a place where time stopped, where air thickened, and where the walls seemed to pulse with the weight of things long past. The hospital kept the room closed off, its presence ignored - forgotten, even. But every now and then, someone would walk by, catch a glimpse of the door and feel the cold crawl down their spine.
Brian, a new night guard, hadn't heard the stories. He didn't know about the whispers that filtered through the halls like smoke, about the shadows that grew too long at the edges of the room. All he knew was that he was there to do a job.
He stepped into the corridor, his flashlight cutting a thin path through the darkness. The door to room 419 loomed ahead, rusted hinges groaning as he pushed it open. The air was heavy, stale and thick with something he couldn't name. It made the back of his throat tighten.
Inside, the bed sat still, untouched. The sheets hung in unnatural folds, as if someone had been there, had moved but was no longer. The room felt empty, yet full - full of presence, something watching, waiting.
The light above flickered and died.
Brian's breath hitched. He moved quickly to the switch, but before his hand could reach it, a voice filled the room. It wasn't loud - just a whisper, quiet as a breath against his ear. Low and hungry.
"Brian..."
He turned, heart hammering in his chest, but the room was still. The shadows shifted, nothing more, no movement. Nothing.
The air grew colder. He felt it - the brush of something against the back of his neck, a breath that wasn't his own. His mind raced. It was just his nerves, he told himself. Just the dark playing tricks.
But the whispers only grew louder. "Don't stay..."
Brian stepped back, his heart pounding in his chest. His fingers brushed against the wall, and his stomach twisted. The wall felt.... wrong. Soft. Like it was breathing, pulling him in. Something was wrong with this room.
The room wasn't just empty.
He reached down, fingers trembling, and picked up a note scrawled on the floor beside the bed. Written by a hand that was not human. It read, in jagged letters:
They never leave
A cold draft wrapped around him, seeping into his bones. His mind raced. Was someone playing a joke on him? He turned to leave, but the door slammed shut behind him.
Suddenly, the room wasn't just dark. The darkness moved. It crawled, twisted in the corners, taking shapes. Faces - hollow, empty, but watching - appeared in the shadows. Their mouth didn't open, but Brian could feel their silent screams, their hunger. His breath caught in his throat as his eyes darted to every corner of the room, the walls now closing in.
The bed shifted, creaking like a groan of some ancient beast starving for fear. And then - and unmistakable sound- a scraping, like nails against metal. Slowly, painfully, it dragged itself toward him, coming from the direction of the bed.
Then the laughter started. A choking guttural sound like a demon tearing itself apart. The door was slammed shut behind him. Locked. Lights died. Darkness pressed in like drowning. The walls pulsed, alive with hunger.
From the blackness, hands burst-skin peeling, fingers clawing like they were dragging souls down. Brian screamed, no sound came. His body froze. Eyes - hundreds, thousands of them opened in the shadows. They wanted him.
He tried to run but the floor was gone beneath his feet. He fell. Into darkness. Into silence. Into them.
And the last thing he felt -before the cold swallowed him whole- was a thousand empty eyes staring from inside his skull.
Room 419 never lets go.
And it's still hungry.
Because when the night guard came by the next morning, the door was ajar. But the bed was empty. No Brian. No sign he'd ever been there. Nothing. Except the faintest whisper, drifting through the hallway, barely audible: "who's next?"
Image was generated using META AI
