I Knew Salem Might Be Spooky… But This Was Ridiculous

 

It seemed like the perfect place for Mom and me to spend two nights in historic Salem, Massachusetts—a large yellow colonial house built in 1834, graceful and majestic. We had booked into the town’s inn, but there was an overflow, so we ended up staying in one of their annexes, this yellow house a few blocks away. At first all seemed fine, until the next morning we noticed something strange.

We were the only ones in the place.

And I mean…the only ones. There were no other guests, housekeeping staff, or even a front desk. We had been given keys to the heavy wooden front door to let ourselves in and out.

Even stranger, Mom’s room was on the first floor while mine was on the third. After lugging my suitcase upstairs and finding the room frigid cold (I adjusted the creaky thermostat and it finally warmed up), I decided to make the best of it. Although not fancy, it had enough modern amenities to make it habitable.

Mom and I had a nice dinner that first night and the next day, explored Salem. We loved the stately old buildings, uneven brick sidewalks, and fun boutiques. We toured the “House of the Seven Gables” (made famous by Nathaniel Hawthorne’s novel in 1851), went to several museums, one on the infamous 1692 witch trials, and took a trolley ride.

But by the second afternoon, the silence of our lodgings, with not one hint of other humans, started getting to us.

“This is strange,” said mom as we found ourselves alone, once again, in the entry hall. I couldn’t disagree. It didn’t help that our day had been filled with tales of hauntings, trials, and witch executions.

Still, I was proud of myself. I had pushed away those thoughts while in my lonely third floor room, kept on cable news, and not let my overwrought imagination go crazy.

Until…

That second night I fell asleep around 10:30 p.m. At one point I dreamt my husband Randy had climbed into bed with me. Nice, I thought, glad for his company.

The problem came when I found a woman standing at the end of the bed. She wore a long black dress and had shoulder-length dark hair. She was young and thin. She didn’t say anything. In this dream, I was so petrified, I couldn’t speak. I kept trying to tell Randy, but my words came out strained and garbled. I kept poking him, but he wouldn’t wake. Meanwhile, the woman stood there, watching. I was frozen with fear.

Then I awoke.

Dim early morning sunlight filtered through a crack in the curtains. The clock read 5:00 a.m. I lay there, my heart racing. Slowly, I crept to the window, pulling the curtains open, half-expecting the touch of a spectral hand on my shoulder. The light was weak, but better than nothing.

I hurried back to bed and pulled the covers up to my nose. Keeping my eyes on that window, I tried thinking of dumb things, anything but that dream. Should I eat more yogurt for breakfast? Did I pay the garbage bill this month? Is this a good time to plant roses near the garage? Gradually the room filled with light and I felt less afraid.

The plan that morning was to meet Mom downstairs. We’d walk to breakfast nearby, come back, pack, and leave. Only I found myself packing all my stuff then. I wanted to meet her downstairs, put my suitcase in the car, and go to breakfast.

I didn’t want to come back to this room.

As I loaded my luggage in the trunk, I told Mom about the dream. She agreed it was creepy. We had our breakfast down the street. And then she reminded me I still had to return my heavy, brass room keys, which looked like they came with the original house. I was supposed to leave them on the bureau. Oh God.

Once again, I climbed those three silent flights. I creaked open the door just wide enough to fling the keys on a nearby bureau and shut it.

I hurried downstairs.

“Let’s go,” I said. My mom didn’t need any persuading. We left Salem in pouring rain, which somehow seemed fitting.

Back home, I read how several of Salem’s old inns are said to be haunted. I also learned that servants were usually lodged on the top floors. Had I somehow disturbed the ghostly slumber of some long-ago domestic?

Or had this all been in my overfed imagination?

I’ll never know.

Someday, believe it or not, I’ll return to this city. I loved Salem’s beauty, seafaring history, museums, and shops. But all that witchy stuff?

Call me crazy, but I’m staying at the Marriott.

 

 

Have you had a spooky encounter? All comments are welcome. If you like, please share.

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