My Body in Room Number 905

### My Body in Room Number 905: A Murder Mystery

The rain drummed against the windows of the old hotel, its persistent patter almost drowning out the whispers of the guests in the dimly lit lobby. The Grand Harrow Hotel, once a glamorous retreat for the wealthy, had seen better days. Its ornate chandeliers hung dusty from the ceiling, and the plush carpets were threadbare in places. Yet, despite its decline, it still held an air of mystery—perfect for a weekend getaway, or, as fate would have it, a murder.

I had arrived late that evening, eager for a reprieve from the chaos of city life. Little did I know that the very room I had booked, Room 905, would become the epicenter of a crime that would unravel the threads of a carefully constructed life.

As I entered the room, a wave of nostalgia washed over me. It had been years since I’d visited the Grand Harrow, a place where my family spent countless summers. The faded wallpaper and creaking floorboards whispered secrets of the past, and I felt an odd connection to the ghosts that might still linger. I dropped my bag on the bed and sighed, ready to sink into the tranquility of solitude.

But tranquility was short-lived.

Just as I settled in with a book, a loud bang echoed through the hall, followed by frantic voices. I stepped out into the corridor, curiosity piqued. The fluorescent lights flickered above as I wandered towards the source of the commotion. A small crowd had gathered outside Room 905—my room.

“What’s happening?” I asked a nearby guest, a woman in her sixties with a penchant for floral prints.

“They found a body!” she whispered, eyes wide with shock.

The words hit me like a cold slap. I turned my gaze toward the door, which was now flanked by uniformed police officers. The excitement that had sparked in my chest transformed into a chilling dread.

As the crowd buzzed with speculation, a detective emerged from the room. He was a tall man, his face lined with years of solving mysteries, and he had an air of authority that silenced the crowd. “I need everyone to step back. This is a crime scene.”

I felt a strange compulsion to inch closer, my heart racing as the detective surveyed the scene. He turned towards us, his eyes scanning the faces before settling on mine.

“You,” he said, pointing at me. “You’re the occupant of this room?”

“Yes,” I replied, my voice shaky. “I just checked in.”

“Have you been inside?”

“No. I was just—”

“Then you need to stay put. We’ll be questioning everyone shortly.”

The detective’s words hung in the air, and I stepped back, confusion swirling in my mind. I felt an overwhelming sense of guilt, as though the very act of occupying that room had somehow implicated me in this tragedy.

After what felt like hours, the crowd began to disperse, but I remained, unable to tear myself away from the scene. The detective returned, his expression softened slightly.

“I’m Detective Sullivan. I know this is unsettling, but I need you to answer some questions.”

I nodded, my pulse quickening. “What happened?”

He sighed, glancing back at Room 905. “A man was found dead inside. We believe he was murdered. We need to determine if you noticed anything unusual upon your arrival.”

I racked my brain, trying to recall any details. “I… I didn’t see anyone. The hallway was empty.”

“Did you hear anything strange while you were in your room?”

I thought back to the rain, the echoes of laughter from the lobby, and the muffled voices outside my door. “No, nothing. Just the rain.”

“Alright. If you see or remember anything, please let us know.” He handed me a business card, his gaze lingering for a moment. “And stay within the hotel. We might need to ask you more questions.”

As he walked away, I felt a knot tightening in my stomach. The man who had died was a stranger to me, yet somehow, I felt connected to the horror that had unfolded in my room.

Days passed, and the investigation continued. I remained at the hotel, unable to leave. The media swarmed the area, and rumors spread like wildfire. The victim was identified as a businessman named Thomas Gray, known for his shady dealings and a long list of enemies. Each day, I observed the hotel staff and guests, trying to piece together clues. I could feel the eyes of others on me, the whispers followed me down the hallways.

One evening, after another long day of waiting, I decided to explore the hotel. The grand ballroom, once the heart of glamorous events, stood empty, its chandeliers dimmed and dust-covered. I moved through the space, feeling the weight of its history. As I wandered, a glint caught my eye—a small, silver cufflink half-hidden beneath a stack of chairs.

I picked it up, flipping it over to find an engraved “T.G.” I remembered the detective mentioning Thomas Gray’s initials. My heart raced. Was this a clue? I rushed back to my room, my mind racing with possibilities.

That night, I placed a call to Detective Sullivan, my heart pounding as the phone rang. When he answered, I explained what I’d found.

“I need you to come to my room,” I insisted. “I think I have something important.”

Minutes later, a knock on my door sent my heart into overdrive. I opened it to find Detective Sullivan, looking tired but intrigued.

“Show me,” he said, his eyes sharp.

I held out the cufflink, and he examined it closely. “Where did you find this?”

“In the ballroom. It was hidden beneath some chairs.”

He nodded, deep in thought. “This could be significant. We need to trace its ownership.”

As he pocketed the cufflink, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was entangled in something much larger than I’d anticipated. The hotel, once a refuge, had transformed into a web of secrets and deceit.

Days turned into a week, and with each passing hour, my anxiety grew. Detective Sullivan kept me updated, but the more I learned, the more questions arose. It turned out Thomas Gray had connections to some dangerous people—drug dealers, corrupt politicians. The cufflink was traced back to a prominent businessman who had been in conflict with Gray.

“Your connection to this is more than just being in the wrong place at the wrong time,” Sullivan remarked one evening. “People might see you as a target.”

Fear settled over me like a heavy cloak. I had simply sought a quiet retreat; now, I was embroiled in a murder investigation.

That night, as I lay in bed, the shadows seemed to close in around me. My thoughts drifted to the other guests, the staff—all potential suspects. And then, there was a knock on my door.

I froze, every instinct screaming at me to stay silent. But the knocking persisted, becoming more urgent. Summoning courage, I creaked the door open, revealing Detective Sullivan.

“Get your things. We need to move,” he whispered urgently.

“What? Why?” Panic surged within me.

“There’s been a breach in security. We believe someone might be coming for you.”

As I hurriedly packed, dread washed over me. I had become a pawn in someone else's game, my life hanging by a thread.

In the chaos, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror. A stranger stared back, a woman trapped in a nightmare.

Just as we were about to escape, a loud crash echoed from the corridor. Sullivan drew his gun, motioning for me to stay low. The tension was palpable as we listened for footsteps, the distant sound of shouting.

“Stay close,” he ordered.

With every step we took down the hall, the weight of uncertainty loomed over us. Would we make it out unscathed?

The truth about Room 905 was far from over. And as we slipped into the night, I couldn’t help but wonder: how had a simple weekend getaway turned into a fight for my life? The answer lay hidden in the shadows of the Grand Harrow Hotel, a place that would forever remain etched in my memory.

### Conclusion

The mystery of Room 905 had not only exposed a murder but also revealed the fragility of life and trust. In the end, it was a journey of survival, where the body that had once occupied the room was not just a victim but a catalyst for the chaos that ensued. As I left the hotel behind, I understood that some mysteries are meant to remain unsolved, while others demand to be faced head-on. The echoes of the past would always linger, but I was ready to step into a new dawn, free from the shadows that had haunted me in Room 905.