The Last Message from Room 47

It was nearly midnight when my phone rang — a private number.

I stared at the screen. I never answer unknown calls. But something in my gut told me to pick up.

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There was no one on the other end — just a static hum… and then a voicemail notification appeared.

I opened it.

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> “Ella... don’t come looking for me. I’m in Room 47. They... they never left.”

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The voice stopped me cold.

It was my brother, Liam.

He disappeared five years ago.

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And the strangest part?

The voicemail was recorded just an hour ago.

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I spent years accepting that he was gone. Missing persons reports. Endless police searches. A dead end.

We had last seen him outside St. Virgil’s Hospital, a mental health facility closed down in 1993.

But we never found the hospital again. Not on Google Maps. Not even in town records.

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Everyone told me I imagined it.

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Now, with this message, I was staring at the impossible.

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I dug up his old journals. On the last page, a hand-drawn map.

It led through the woods.

To a clearing.

To nothing... or what used to be a hospital.

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But that night, under a full moon, I saw it — the building was back.

It was real.

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I pushed open the rusted door.

Dust. Darkness. Whispers.

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Room 47.

It was at the end of a long hallway with peeling white walls and a flickering bulb above the door.

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I stepped in.

And there he was.

Liam.

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He hadn’t aged a day.

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> “Ella,” he said, his eyes wide.

“You shouldn't have come. They’ll never let you leave now.”

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Before I could speak, the door slammed shut behind me.

Lights went out.

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I turned my phone flashlight on.

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The room was empty.

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Liam was gone.

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All that remained was a voice whispering from every corner:

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> “Another one… for Room 47.”

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🌟 The End

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The Last Message from Room 47

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