Do Not Book Room 519
When Jeremy and his mom checked into the Bellridge Grand Hotel, he didn’t expect much.
It was old, towering, and smelled like lemon polish and forgotten dreams. The kind of place that once hosted presidents… and now hosted conventions for dentists.
They were there for a wedding. One night only. Room 517.
But as the bellhop rolled their suitcase down the creaky hallway, Jeremy noticed something odd.
Room 518.
Room 520.
No Room 519.
He stopped.
“What happened to 519?” he asked.
The bellhop’s smile faded.
“Storage,” he said quickly. “Just... supplies.”
But Jeremy noticed something else.
The wall between 518 and 520 wasn’t quite flat.
It bulged. As if... hiding something behind it.
That night, Jeremy couldn’t sleep.
The walls were too thin. He could hear voices from the other rooms. Footsteps overhead. A faint hum, like static electricity.
At 3:19 a.m., he sat up—heart racing.
Someone was knocking.
Not on their door. Not on 517.
On the wall.
Three knocks.
Soft.
Rhythmic.
Then… a whisper.
“Help… me.”
Jeremy woke his mom. She brushed it off. “Old pipes,” she mumbled.
But Jeremy couldn’t shake the feeling.
The next morning, while his mom was at the rehearsal brunch, Jeremy went exploring.
He stood between 518 and 520. Listened.
Nothing.
Then he noticed a gap in the wallpaper.
Curious, he peeled it back.
Behind it… was a door.
Painted over. Sealed shut.
And above it, faint but visible:
519
He ran to the front desk.
The clerk looked nervous.
“There’s no Room 519,” she said firmly.
“I saw it.”
“No. You didn’t.”
“I heard someone.”
She leaned forward.
“You’re not the first. But you will be the last if you go looking.”
Of course, Jeremy did go looking.
That night, while his mom slept, he returned.
He brought a flashlight. A screwdriver. And a heart full of fear and curiosity.
It took minutes to chip away the paint. To pry open the door.
Inside… was darkness.
Dust. Decay.
And a room frozen in time.
Furniture covered in sheets. Wallpaper yellowed. A rotary phone still off the hook.
And on the bed… a suitcase. Half-open. Clothes from decades ago still inside.
Jeremy turned.
The door slammed shut.
His flashlight flickered.
Then… the whisper again.
“Help me…”
He turned the light toward the bathroom.
A mirror. Cracked.
And in it… a figure.
A girl. No older than him. Eyes wide. Lips sewn shut.
She raised a hand—pointing.
To the wall.
He pulled back a curtain.
Another door.
He opened it… and found a closet.
Inside, a body.
Preserved. Mummified. Mouth sewn closed.
In her hand—a hotel key.
Room 519.
Jeremy screamed.
The girl in the mirror mouthed something over and over:
"Free me."
He reached for the key.
Suddenly—bang!
The body dropped. Its eyes opened.
And the door to Room 519 burst open again—on its own.
Jeremy ran.
Down the hall. Into the elevator. He didn't stop until he reached the lobby.
The clerk was waiting.
“You opened it, didn’t you?” she asked.
He nodded, shaking.
She sighed.
Then handed him a room key.
It read:
519
“It’s yours now,” she whispered. “Until someone else opens the door.”