things about the place that are creepy list. What kind of hotel smelled like blood?
The concrete yellow building was even more spectacular on the inside. I took the time to look at all of the details of the lobby, the pink walls, dark wood accents and the vintage switchboard, as Ryan checked us into the room he’d reserved before we pulled out of Oak Creek Canyon an hour ago. This was going to be a brand new experience for me. Hotels weren’t somewhere I was used to being. In fact, this was the first time I was going to have the privilege of being a guest in one. So to say that I was more uneasy about that than the phantoms was an understatement. The amused look on Ryan’s face as he walked back to me told me that I wasn’t hiding my apprehensive fascination well at all.
“So, Ms. Patrick,” he started, threading his fingers with mine and leading me toward the most incredible elevator I’d ever seen. I’d read that it was one of the only remaining original user operated elevators in the United States. It looked narrow and a little bit eerie. I wondered if it might be possible to step into it and come out on the set of a black and white movie where we’d be surrounded by people in zoot suits and flapper dresses. The whole 1920’s restoration thing started to mess with my head, because I knew we were in a former mining town and in a converted hospital. No mobsters, no speakeasy, no flappers, just former patients and supposedly murdered handy men. Looking up at Ryan, the expectation on his face as he eyed at me told me that he’d been speaking the entire time we were waiting for the elevator to arrive. I hadn’t heard a single word he’d said, because when I disappeared into my head, I was surprisingly efficient at blocking everything else out. I’d had years of practice, after all.
“What?” I asked, giving my head a shake to clear my thoughts. “Sorry, the elevator distracted me.”
“It’s pretty crazy, isn’t it?” he chuckled as the doors slid open and an older couple walked out, holding the doors for us.
“Yeah,” I smiled, nodding a quick thanks to the couple as they continued on their way. “I guess this kind of elevator is what I imagine older buildings in Paris or some other exotic place would have, you know? Books set in Europe always talk about these old, slow elevators in historic buildings,” I blushed at my words and the way they revealed the fact that I wasn’t well travelled.
“I can see that,” he agreed, leaning against the back wall as the elevator crawled toward the third floor. “I haven’t made my way out of the US yet, so I guess it’s something we should put on a destination wish list for other trips we could make,” he winked at me like he was planning to take several of these vacations with me in the future. Or he was just being polite in the wake of my stupid observation.
An odd feeling passed over me as the door opened again, and I found myself hesitating to leave the perceived safety elevator. For some reason, the air felt heavier here, even though that feeling was completely ridiculous. Tugging me out the door, I followed behind Ryan, our hands still entwined, as he searched for our room number.
The hallway boasted still-life pictures with gilded frames, along with period-style furniture with tufted backs and polished wood trim. The whole place looked like a high end antiques showroom. I didn’t know how much Ryan had spent for the night, but it had to be outside of my price range. Stopping outside of our room, I started to get nervous again, wondering if I was being silly about the goose bumps forming at the thought of sleeping in a haunted hotel. Surely, it was all a big tourist thing, right? And besides, I wasn’t planning on actually sleeping, was I?
Pushing open the door, Ryan and I both stood in the threshold, rooted to the spot as my eyes fell on a single queen sized bed. Queen sized bed, only one of them, fuck. Beyond the bed, I saw the door to what
The concrete yellow building was even more spectacular on the inside. I took the time to look at all of the details of the lobby, the pink walls, dark wood accents and the vintage switchboard, as Ryan checked us into the room he’d reserved before we pulled out of Oak Creek Canyon an hour ago. This was going to be a brand new experience for me. Hotels weren’t somewhere I was used to being. In fact, this was the first time I was going to have the privilege of being a guest in one. So to say that I was more uneasy about that than the phantoms was an understatement. The amused look on Ryan’s face as he walked back to me told me that I wasn’t hiding my apprehensive fascination well at all.
“So, Ms. Patrick,” he started, threading his fingers with mine and leading me toward the most incredible elevator I’d ever seen. I’d read that it was one of the only remaining original user operated elevators in the United States. It looked narrow and a little bit eerie. I wondered if it might be possible to step into it and come out on the set of a black and white movie where we’d be surrounded by people in zoot suits and flapper dresses. The whole 1920’s restoration thing started to mess with my head, because I knew we were in a former mining town and in a converted hospital. No mobsters, no speakeasy, no flappers, just former patients and supposedly murdered handy men. Looking up at Ryan, the expectation on his face as he eyed at me told me that he’d been speaking the entire time we were waiting for the elevator to arrive. I hadn’t heard a single word he’d said, because when I disappeared into my head, I was surprisingly efficient at blocking everything else out. I’d had years of practice, after all.
“What?” I asked, giving my head a shake to clear my thoughts. “Sorry, the elevator distracted me.”
“It’s pretty crazy, isn’t it?” he chuckled as the doors slid open and an older couple walked out, holding the doors for us.
“Yeah,” I smiled, nodding a quick thanks to the couple as they continued on their way. “I guess this kind of elevator is what I imagine older buildings in Paris or some other exotic place would have, you know? Books set in Europe always talk about these old, slow elevators in historic buildings,” I blushed at my words and the way they revealed the fact that I wasn’t well travelled.
“I can see that,” he agreed, leaning against the back wall as the elevator crawled toward the third floor. “I haven’t made my way out of the US yet, so I guess it’s something we should put on a destination wish list for other trips we could make,” he winked at me like he was planning to take several of these vacations with me in the future. Or he was just being polite in the wake of my stupid observation.
An odd feeling passed over me as the door opened again, and I found myself hesitating to leave the perceived safety elevator. For some reason, the air felt heavier here, even though that feeling was completely ridiculous. Tugging me out the door, I followed behind Ryan, our hands still entwined, as he searched for our room number.
The hallway boasted still-life pictures with gilded frames, along with period-style furniture with tufted backs and polished wood trim. The whole place looked like a high end antiques showroom. I didn’t know how much Ryan had spent for the night, but it had to be outside of my price range. Stopping outside of our room, I started to get nervous again, wondering if I was being silly about the goose bumps forming at the thought of sleeping in a haunted hotel. Surely, it was all a big tourist thing, right? And besides, I wasn’t planning on actually sleeping, was I?
Pushing open the door, Ryan and I both stood in the threshold, rooted to the spot as my eyes fell on a single queen sized bed. Queen sized bed, only one of them, fuck. Beyond the bed, I saw the door to what
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