Haunted Hotel

I spent Tuesday night in the haunted hotel in the northwest corner of the state. It opened in 1886 and was famous for catering to the carriage trade. In the 30's a charlatans "doctor" from Iowa operated it as a hospital whose specialty was curing cancer. He paid a $4,000 fine and spent some time in the federal penitentiary in Leavenworth.

It's a great stone and wood Victorian structure on the top of the north end of a narrow ridge. Great views of the surrounding ridges and valleys. Massive front lobby full of woodwork and antiques with rich carpeting and subtle lighting throughout. It has an elevator that seems a little out of place, but considering the 21st century "carriage trade" and their loathing of physical exercise it's only natural. Framed prints on the walls evoke Antigone and The Dreamers, perfect for the Victorian aura. My room had a sitting room connected to a space just barely big enough for the king sized bed and an adjoining bathroom. Back in the day, it was probably two separate rooms. The windows faced east toward a giant statue of Christ on the next ridge and the sunrise I hoped would materialize the next day, weather permitting. Lots of old furniture maybe even antique. Considering the place was built almost 120 years ago I was impressed. I'm sure lots of work and quite a few dollars have gone into making the place habitable.

Needles to say, there are numerous stories of ghosts haunting the place. I checked in with full hopes of experiencing the best the old place and its denizens could offer. I have to admit I was a little giddy with expectations. What could be more physically exciting than an encounter with an apparition? Maybe, with a little luck, some Jacob Marleyesque chain rattling at midnight.

The most famous ghostie from the place is said to appear as a nurse pushing a medicine cart along the hallways. Something that might sound like a room service cart with the accompanying clinking of dishes and glasses. Oh to hope.

A friend told me to burn a votive candle with a white ribbon wrapped around it. She said I should put some sage I'd either grown or picked myself in the flame. This would cleanse the room and drive off the spirits. Alas, I'd left my candle, ribbon, and sage at home; the spirits would not be driven away. Good.

Being 120 years old, I expected some noise. The wind blew and rattled the door to the balcony, the door to the room, and the piece of galvanized sheet metal behind the decorative fireplace grate. The people in the room above me paced and paced and paced. It sounded like the short-handed staff of a roadside diner trying to serve a packed house of hungry truck drivers. I really didn't want to use my earplugs because I didn't want to miss any spectral noises. Between the wind and the pacing, no telling what I missed.

I watched the end of the MU-OSU basketball game while reading a Kellerman murder mystery before dozing off. I muted the TV periodically to listen. Only pacing and wind.

I woke Wednesday morning to see the pink and orange sunrise off to the east. Christ was still there, arms outstretched like a football referee signaling unsportsmanlike conduct. Was I unsportsmanlike for believing enough is the spirits to hope to see one or were the spirits themselves unsportsmanlike for not appearing. I'll return to the hotel (without the candle, ribbon, and sage) but I'll ask for a room facing west.