The Wagon Wheel Motel Never Rents Room 9. Every Morning The Bed Is Slept In Anyway.
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Dolores Quint took the night desk at the Wagon Wheel Motor Court in 1995, and the orientation took five minutes: towels in the cage, smack the coffee urn, and Room 9 never rents. Not full-at-midnight never. Never. The key stays on the hook, and every morning housekeeping remakes a bed that was slept in — one side only, covers folded back neat, the water glass drunk dry. The old register under the desk goes back to 1907, and one name repeats through it in the same unaging copperplate for a hundred and twenty years, until the final entry: E. Sessions, Rm 9, permanent. Then came the blizzard of 2009, a stranded mother, a too-quiet baby, and the one night Dolores broke the rule out of kindness — and learned what the gentleman in Room 9 had actually been doing there all along, and what the ground under the motel does when the watchman is thrown out with the furniture.
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