# Chapter One: The St. James Hotel

Cimarron, once a buzzing mining town, now lay almost forgotten, quietly nursing its gloried past. But the stories of yesteryears still hovered over the town, like an unseen fog, in the form of a few preserved memories and lesser-known tales, crisscrossing between the existing and the era long gone; and the St. James Hotel was one such haunting relic.

This haunted hotel, a refuge to the riddled historic souls, seemingly thrived on its eerie repertoire. The old-age legend was whispered from one generation to another about the infamous saloon that once hummed with the noise of chattering gunslingers—it was a scene right out of a wild west drama. The heart-pounding shootings happened all too often, and the number of death tolls it saw was staggering—rumored to be twenty-six. Now, one could hardly imagine the past uproar in the calm demeanor of the time-stilled saloon.

The deceased were never really ‘gone’ from the hotel, it seemed. Today, the spectral members of yore continued their antics on the premises, acting as the ever-present unseen tenants, replenishing the building with an unending supply of uncanny mischief. They flickered lights, shifted objects, and on bold nights, were even known to meddle with the living. Ghost tales circulated boasted that three souls were particularly restless—a luckless gambler, a zealous cowboy, and a young blossoming life cut short.

# Chapter Two: The Poker Game And Its Aftermath

Among these spiritual troublemakers, the tragic story of the cowboy, Thomas James Wright, stood out. A skilled card player, Thomas once succeeded in clinching the hotel’s deed in a high-stakes poker game—a sequence of fortunate hands that cost him his life. Celebrating his win, he roared in joy, drawing curt jealousy from his less fortunate peers. That night, as he was heading for his room with a victorious skip in his stride, a resentful loser took a final shot at him. Barely managing to crawl towards his room, number 18, Thomas breathed his last within its walls.

Ever since, it was believed that the cowboy’s soul was bound inside that room in the perpetual afterlife. The inexplicable violent activity that reportedly happened within was enough to freeze one’s blood—a manifestation of Thomas’s unresolved fury, perhaps. Endless stories circulated of independent instances where the guests, unaware of the room’s ghastly heritage, had chosen to spend a night and faced the phantom cowboy’s wrath.

Gradually, it got too ugly to ignore as certain guests showed signs of unexplained physical hurt, and some even claimed to have been thrown against the wall by an invisible force. The management finally decided to keep the room forever locked, only letting the brave souls peek through the keyhole, at most.

# Chapter Three: The Gambling Ghost

Hot on the spectral trail of T.J. Wright was the gambler, a legendary figure of another sort. Found brutally murdered, he was rumored to be haunting room 17 of the hotel. His spirit, quite tellingly, was not as animated as the cowboy’s, but pronounced a chilling presence. Guests staying in that room reported distant clinking of coins, the flipping of poker cards, and an eerie feeling of being closely watched.

Those who dared to stay more than a night in the notorious room 17 were treated with additional experiences of spectral proportions—the feeling of an icy touch, a raspy whispering voice that occasionally suggested a bet, an inexplicable chilling draft sweeping across the room. Many guests were frightened into a sleepless stupor, listening to the phantom’s unending poker session, capturing the spirit’s unfinished business from the earthly realm.

# Chapter Four: The Innoscent Farewell

In contrast to the violent personalities cherishing the ill-famed memories of the cowboy and the gambler, the St. James Hotel also housed a more melancholic shade, that of a young, innocent girl. The girl, the travellers often heard her laughing in the hallway, was said to inhabit the lobby and the second-floor hallway.

Her playful energy was said to be experienced mostly by children visiting the hotel, as harmless pranks—teddy bears found in strange places, crayons vanishing and re-appearing unexpectedly. But the adults were not immune either. Several accounts surfaced where guests purportedly saw the apparition of the young girl—her laughter ringing in the empty corridors, her tiny silhouette dancing in the shadows, her path marked by sudden swings of the chandeliers.

The St. James Hotel, with its outlandishly bewitching narratives, resembled less of a hotel and more of a spectral ensemble, a haunted museum where the defendants of the ethereal realm erected their playhouse and performed their antics. It was an unsettling convergence of the past and the present, where the living shared their existence with the ghostly guests. The locked Room 18 added an extra edge to the chilling story, reminding the visitors of the cold, watchful eyes tracking their every move. Living or dead, the patrons of the St. James Hotel were indeed, never alone.