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- Herausgeber: Twist & Tether Press
- Sprache: Englisch
At Briar Hollow Hotel, Room 9 has been sealed for decades—untouched, unspoken of, and curiously absent from every cleaning rotation. But Mira, a quiet maid with faint memories she can’t quite place, finds herself drawn to it. Every time she walks past, the door seems to breathe. Every night, her dreams grow more vivid—visions of a man gasping in the dark, of spirals etched into wood, of her own reflection no longer obeying her movements.
When a guest reports hearing footsteps and muffled breathing from the supposedly empty floor above, Mira is sent to investigate. What she finds isn’t a haunting—it's a riddle of time, identity, and a room that seems to remember her.
As her connection to Room 9 deepens, Mira uncovers fragments of a past life that don't align with the one she lives now. The walls whisper, the mirrors ripple, and the line between her memories and someone else's begins to blur.
What happened in Room 9 all those years ago?
And more importantly—what followed her out?
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025
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Miles Everett Blake
Copyright © 2025 by Miles Everett Blake
All rights reserved. This book, including all individual stories and original content, is protected under international copyright law. No part of this publication may be copied, reproduced, distributed, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission from the author, except for brief excerpts used in reviews or academic commentary, which must be properly credited.
Fiction Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.
Cover Image Notice:
The cover artwork for this book was created using licensed generative AI tools under commercial-use terms. It is an original, symbolic composition created specifically for this title. Any characters depicted are fictional and do not represent real individuals.
AI Tools Acknowledgement:
The cover image and/or illustrations were created using generative AI technology under appropriate commercial-use licensing. All visual elements are original compositions intended solely for this publication.
Thank you for reading this special collection. I hope you enjoy every story inside.
Table of Contents
No One Lives in Room 9
Description
Chapter 1: Dust Behind the Door
Chapter 2: Stains That Won’t Lift
Chapter 3: Guest Log, 1976
Chapter 4: Noises from the Sealed Room
Chapter 5: The Mirror That Cracks Back
Chapter 6: Breathing from the Other Side
Chapter 7: Memory Knows Before We Do
Epilogue: A Room Without Time
No One Lives in Room 9
Description
At Briar Hollow Hotel, Room 9 has been sealed for decades—untouched, unspoken of, and curiously absent from every cleaning rotation. But Mira, a quiet maid with faint memories she can’t quite place, finds herself drawn to it. Every time she walks past, the door seems to breathe. Every night, her dreams grow more vivid—visions of a man gasping in the dark, of spirals etched into wood, of her own reflection no longer obeying her movements.
When a guest reports hearing footsteps and muffled breathing from the supposedly empty floor above, Mira is sent to investigate. What she finds isn’t a haunting—it's a riddle of time, identity, and a room that seems to remember her.
As her connection to Room 9 deepens, Mira uncovers fragments of a past life that don't align with the one she lives now. The walls whisper, the mirrors ripple, and the line between her memories and someone else's begins to blur.
What happened in Room 9 all those years ago?
And more importantly—what followed her out?
Chapter 1: Dust Behind the Door
Mira
The lobby clock ticked louder than usual, or maybe it only felt that way. Mira stood beside the reception desk, adjusting the creases on her uniform sleeve while the manager scolded a trainee for folding towels the wrong way. A radio crackled behind the desk, playing a soft jazz instrumental that didn’t quite reach the corners of the old hotel.
She’d been working at Briar Hollow for four years. In that time, the building had shifted around her in the way old things do—quietly sagging into themselves. Dust settled in places no one could reach, pipes clanked in protest when no one was looking, and somewhere on the third floor, the wallpaper peeled like it was trying to breathe.
She picked up her cleaning cart, the wheel wobbling like always, and pushed it toward the elevator. Her name tag jangled against her chest. Mira. Just that. No last name. Most of the guests never bothered to ask for more.
As the elevator doors creaked open, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirrored panel. Not full-on, just the edge of her jaw, a curl of hair tucked behind her ear. It was enough to remind her that she hadn’t slept well. Again.
She pressed the button for the third floor.
The elevator moved with the slow determination of something ancient trying not to fall apart. Mira let her fingers trail across the cleaning supplies lined up in neat rows on the cart. Disinfectant, fresh linens, the small box of sample soaps she hated handing out.
The doors parted with a sigh.
The third floor was empty, always quiet in a way the others weren’t. She moved past Room 6, 7, 8—then paused.
Room 9.
The number was faded on the brass plate. A single dead moth lay curled on the carpet just outside the door. She always swept it away, and every few days it reappeared.
No one had stayed there for decades. That’s what they all said. And yet...
Mira reached out and placed her palm against the wood. Cold. The kind of cold that didn’t match the hallway’s dusty warmth. She drew her hand back quickly and looked around.
No one.
She knocked lightly on Room 14 before entering. An older couple had checked out that morning, and the room still held the smell of lavender perfume and cheap aftershave.
As she moved through her routine—stripping the bed, emptying the bin—her mind drifted back to Room 9.
The door had been closed the day she arrived, and it had stayed that way. But she remembered how the others talked about it, especially Mrs. Vella, the woman who trained her.
“You hear the breathing at night, it means he’s dreaming again,” Mrs. Vella had whispered over a coffee-stained mug one winter morning. “Best not to wake a man when he’s dreamin’. Especially if he’s already dead.”
Mira had laughed then. But it hadn’t felt funny.
She pulled the sheets tight across the mattress, smoothing the edges with mechanical care.
What would a sealed room dream about?
The manager found her in the supply room just after lunch.
“You’re not to clean near Room 9 today,” he said without looking at her. He adjusted the clipboard he carried, flipping pages too quickly to be reading them.
“I wasn’t going to,” she replied.
He nodded, then paused.
“There’s no need to linger there either.”
“I wasn’t.”
He stared at her a moment too long, then turned and left.
Mira stood still, holding a fresh bar of soap in her palm like it might speak.
That night, the dream came as if it had been waiting for her.
It started with silence.
Then—the creak of floorboards, soft and tired. Breathing. Not hers.
She stood in a room she didn’t recognize. No windows. The walls too close. She touched one—moisture clung to her fingertips. There was something on the bed. A figure, half-covered. She couldn’t see his face.
Then he turned. Slowly.
Eyes open. Mouth slack. He gasped, a long, hollow inhale. His skin was pale, almost blue. But he didn’t look at her.
He looked through her.
Then he whispered something—low, guttural.
“Let me out.”
Mira woke with a start, the sheets twisted around her legs. Sweat clung to the back of her neck. She sat up and reached for the bottle of water on her nightstand. Her hands shook.
There was no reason to feel like this.
But she remembered the way he had breathed.
Not like someone afraid.
Like someone remembering how.
She stood, walked barefoot to the window, and pushed aside the curtain. The hotel across the courtyard looked like a reflection of her own. Same yellowed lights. Same crooked tiles.
She looked up at the third floor.
One window was dark.
Room 9.
It wasn’t supposed to have electricity.
But she was sure—just for a second—it blinked.
A flicker.
A breath.
The next morning, she moved slower. Everything felt out of step.
She passed coworkers in the hall who gave her nods, half-smiles, greetings that didn’t quite touch her. The mop bucket splashed when she rolled it, louder than it should have.
Room 9 loomed as she neared.
She didn’t look at it. Didn’t need to.
But she paused at Room 10. Rested her palm on the cart. Took a breath.
And heard—very faintly—someone exhale.
From the other side of the wall.
At lunch, she sat outside by the back door. The concrete was cracked beneath her feet. She lit a cigarette she hadn’t planned to smoke.
Julius, the night porter, came out with a sandwich and a can of soda. He nodded toward her.
“You look like hell.”
“Didn’t sleep.”
“Room 9 again?”
She didn’t answer.
He took a long bite of his sandwich, chewed slowly.
“Eliott Grae,” he said at last.
“What?”
“The man who disappeared. That was his name.”
Mira turned toward him.
“I thought no one remembered.”
Julius shrugged. “Some of us do.”
She waited.
“Room was locked from the inside,” he added. “No sign of a body. Just his suitcase and a cold cup of tea. Like he stepped out for a moment and... forgot how to come back.”
“Why wasn’t it reopened?”
Julius’s eyes narrowed.
“Because when you open a door like that, it opens something else too.”
