Ellsworth and the Haunting of Room 319

The Haunting of Room 319 - Chapter Four

Chapter Four
Ellsworth Rehab Center - 1 a.m.

The rehab center was as quiet as the backroom of a funeral home. Ocassionally, the ice machines rattled and the air conditioners in each room rumbled as they turned on, causing Chelsea to continuously look over her shoulder as if she would come face-to-face with the ghost of Andrew or Thomas Ellsworth. Still shaken by Clarence’s confession, Chelsea returned to work that night, terrified that a sinkhole would swallow up the rehab facility. But that’s impossible. The county would immediately shut the building down if it were unsafe to operate.

By one a.m., Chelsea had completed her first round and checked on her patients. Most were sleeping. Clarence was off tonight, replaced by a sleepy-eyed nurse named Denise who barely looked up from watching TikTok videos on her phone.

After her lunch break, which consisted of a peanut butter and strawberry sandwich and Caesar salad with a vegan dressing, Chelsea sat at the small table in the middle of Hall 300, her laptop humming and beeping as she hit the power button. She wished to speak to Al, but he had to be at work at his veterinarian hospital in Denver at eight a.m. and needed a full night’s rest. Thankfully, he was off for the following two days and planned to search for information about Thomas Ellsworth at the library.

With one last glance around the empty corridor, Chelsea opened her browser and typed:

“Andrew Ellsworth – Ellsworth, Texas – 1910”

She’d already read the newspaper archives, but tonight, she was after something deeper and more personal. Chelsea clicked on a popular genealogy website and created a free trial account, her fingers twitching with curiosity. Thankfully, she didn’t have to look far. The first public family tree she came across had everything she needed.

“Andrew Ellsworth, born in 1868 and presumedly died in 1910,” She read aloud, reaching for her pink Stanley thermos as a sudden heat wave hit the hall.

“His parents are James Ellsworth and Clara Holloway. His siblings are listed as Thomas Ellsworth, born in 1870, and Timothy Ellsworth, also born in 1870.”

Chelsea froze at the surprise. “Twins?” she muttered aloud. Her eyes widened in disbelief. She hadn’t seen anything in the newspapers about Timothy Ellsworth. Intrigued, Chelsea clicked on Timothy’s name in the family tree.

Moved to Little Rock, Arkansas, in 1895. Married Mary Louise Carter. Had three children. Died in 1949.

Chelsea scrolled down. A branch of the family tree had been submitted by a user named BettySueM. A note accompanied her entry:

“Family story passed down: Thomas Ellsworth left Texas after Andrew was declared legally dead. He moved to Denver, Colorado, and was never seen again. I wrote a 17-page family history for the local historical society, which can be found attached to this tree. Feel free to reach out if you’re researching the Ellsworth family. My grandfather is Timothy. My mother is his youngest daughter.”

Chelsea stared at the screen, pulse quickening. Denver, again!

She opened her Gmail and quickly composed a message.

Subject: Ellsworth Family History – CNA Working in Ellsworth, TX

Dear Mrs. Montgomery,

My name is Chelsea Reynolds. I’m a certified nursing assistant working for a rehab facility recently built on land where the original Ellsworth community once stood. While researching the property, I discovered newspaper articles about Andrew and Thomas Ellsworth.

I was especially intrigued by your note about Thomas’s disappearance in Denver, Colorado. I am from Denver, and took a traveling CNA job in Ellsworth, Texas. I will confess, I am a little spooked that Thomas was last seen in the city where I was born and raised.

I’m hoping you might be willing to share more about what you know. I’ve encountered… strange things while working here, things that make me wonder what happened in 1910.

Thank you for your time and your remarkable research.

Sincerely,
Chelsea Reynolds
Ellsworth, TX

Chelsea addressed the letter to the email Betty Sue left and hit send. She sighed and stretched. The hallway remained still and heavy, lit only by the dim glow of overhead fluorescent lights.

Chelsea spent the remainder of the night skimming through the Ellsworth family history that Betty Sue had attached. It was all the same information from the newspaper articles she’d found the previous day. Andrew and Thomas were both declared winners in a cotton harvest contest. The prize was split two ways, and a few days later, Andrew vanished from his home. His brother hadn’t seen him in days. The farm hands went to collect their weekly pay and discovered Andrew’s house empty. The bed was unmade, cobwebs gathering on the unswept floor, and dirty breakfast dishes on the kitchen table. The local sheriff decided it wasn’t a robbery since Andrew’s five hundred dollars from the contest was found in a trunk at the foot of his bed. The house looked as if Andrew finished his breakfast one day, and walked out the front door, never to return. Thankfully, the stove had been turned off.

Thomas filed a missing person’s report. The judge declared that if Andrew hadn’t been found alive in one year, then Thomas would legally be declared the owner of the farm. The farm hands continued to work while collecting their pay from Thomas. After a year, the judge declared Andrew legally dead. Thomas sold his brother’s farm to a man named Sherwood and took the other half of the thousand-dollar prize that had been sitting in the bank. He packed his trunks and set off for Denver, never to be seen again.

At the end of her shift, Chelsea stood to gather her things when she noticed a strange shadow at the far end of Hall 300. Tall. Lean. Wearing a hat, an old-fashioned fedora, low over the face. It moved slowly, deliberately, down the hall like someone who wasn’t in a hurry… or didn’t care if he was seen.

Chelsea’s breath caught in her throat.

“Denise?” she whispered, her voice barely more than a breath.

No answer.

The figure paused at the last room—Room 319—then turned its head toward her. Though she couldn’t make out a face, a bone-deep chill passed through her body. It felt like the wheat fields. Like rot. Like history refusing to stay buried.

She blinked, and the shadow was gone.

Gone like a man who never wanted to be found.

Chelsea backed toward the nurse’s station, her heart pounding as she clutched her belongings to her chest. She told herself it was her imagination. But deep down, she already knew who it was. Thomas Ellsworth had come home to confront Chelsea. He knew she was digging up his past.

___

Dayz to Nites Motel


Later that afternoon, after a fitful six hours of sleep, Chelsea sat cross-legged on the motel bed, her laptop balanced on a pillow in her lap, the old coffee maker in her room rattled and let out bursts of steam. She knew that sleep was impossible right now, and if she called in from work, the agency would terminate her.

The rehab center shift had been uneventful, aside from her heart still racing from the shadow she’d seen earlier that morning. Her dream consisted of her and Al walking through the woods behind the rehab center where Thomas’s shack once stood. An evil presence seemed to follow them as their boots made crunching noises as they walked over the dead leaves.

Chelsea woke up determined to sneak onto the property. According to the land records Al had sent her before heading off to work that morning, the property had only been owned twice since the Ellsworth brothers left. Mr. Sherwood owned the land, but never built on it. Before he died in the 1960s, he left everything to his son, who then sold it to a developer before he died in 2020. If the land hadn’t changed since 1910, then it must still be keeping secrets. Why buy all that property and not build on it? Mr. Sherwood and his son must have had paranormal experiences as well.

Chelsea reached for her first cup of coffee and checked her email. To her delight, Betty Sue had written back.

“Re: Ellsworth Family Inquiry”

Chelsea clicked it open. The sender was Betty Sue Younger Montgomery, just like the genealogy website had said. The subject line was simple: Happy to help, dear.

Dear Chelsea,

What a surprise to hear from someone working on the very land where the Ellsworth Community once stood. I’m both thrilled and a little frightened, if I’m being honest.

Yes, Timothy Ellsworth was my grandfather, and Thomas was his twin brother. I never met either of them, but my mother, Annie Ellsworth Younger, told me many stories.

According to family lore, when news broke that Andrew had gone missing, Timothy left Arkansas and traveled to Colorado to confront Thomas. He was gone for nearly two months. When he returned, he was a different man: quiet, restless, and mean.
He started drinking, a habit he had never had before. He stopped going to church, lost his mercantile, and barely spoke to his family. My mother always said something happened out there, in Colorado, something that broke him.

I’ve attached a photo my mother kept hidden until she passed. She claimed it was taken a few days before Andrew vanished.
Best of luck with your research. Let me know if I can help further.

Warmly,

Betty Sue

Chelsea eagerly scrolled down, but felt her stomach clench as her eyes skimmed over the aging photograph.

“No, it couldn’t be.”

The photo loaded slowly—first sepia tones, then details. Two men stood in front of a whitewashed farmhouse. An aging stone well sat between them. Someone had written the names of the two brothers in ink over the photograph.

Andrew, on the left, wore suspenders and a collared shirt. His expression was tight-lipped, composed, as if trying to tolerate the photographer, or maybe his brother.

And then there was Thomas.

He stood slightly behind the well. Tall. Rigid. Wearing a dark overcoat and a fedora pulled low over his brow.
His eyes, though grainy in the photograph, seemed to burn with something unnatural. His mouth twisted into a cruel half-smile. Not mischievous. Not smug, but pure evil. At the bottom of the email, Betty Sue had written “Photograph taken to celebrate the brother’s win in the cotton contest. After Andrew’s disappearance, the paper decided not to publish it. The photograph was mailed to Timothy Ellsworth to remember his brother.”

Chelsea gasped. The laptop slid from her lap onto the bedspread.

It was him.

The man in the hallway. The shadow outside Room 319. Chelsea had seen Thomas Ellsworth’s ghost. At that moment, she knew Thomas had killed his brother and disposed of the body in the well. The same well that was under room 319. But she just needed proof to confirm her suspicion. Chelsea was never one to believe in the paranormal, but she couldn’t help but think Andrew’s ghost had sent her to Ellsworth, Texas, to solve the murder. There must be a link somewhere in Denver. Hopefully, Al would soon find it.