Do you know the Stanley Hotel in Denver Colorado? Of course you do, who doesn't? Have you ever stayed the night in the Stanley Hotel? Maybe you have, maybe you haven't.
I have.
You know those creepy tales they say about it, where if you stay up in the night you can hear the deceased occupants roaming about doing whatever various tasks they were up to? If you don't believe them, you really should. Especially if you plan on staying at the Stanley Hotel.
When I was about nine or ten, my dad decided it would be an adventure to go stay a night there. We have always lived just a few hours away from Denver, so it wasn't to bad of a drive. A night away from home to sounded glorious to three kids who had been cooped up inside all winter.
When we go to the hotel, everyone was grumpy but it nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Would you want to spend a three-four hour drive with three kids all under the age of eleven? I didn't think so. We had gotten on our parents' last nerves and we were all more than happy to get to our room for the night.
There was only two beds though and five of us. Normally you'd think the three kids would bunk together, but my brother kicked in his sleep and I didn't want to be thrown off the bed in the middle of the night. So like the noble big sister I was I volunteered for a spot on the floor. I didn't really mind it though, even if the carpet was a bit hard under the back. It gave me an excuse to not be yelled at with my reading light on. Because as usual, I had brought books with me.
It was a good thing too. Because even as a kid, I'd had trouble sleeping. Naturally, I was up late reading.
We'd been given an old fashioned type of room, but nothing out of the ordinary. It wasn't one of the old old ones, where a grisly death or something happened. It was a stationary one, made specifically for visitors. My parents and siblings were snoring, my mind was racing, and I wanted to sleep, but every time I tried, I just couldn't, so I would end up sitting up and reading.
It was just barely after midnight when I heard the footsteps outside in the hall. Thinking it was other guests or maybe someone who worked there, I ignored it and tried to actually go to sleep. Me being me, I wasn't able to. After a while, the footsteps just stopped, like they'd faded away or gone downstairs. I had almost forgotten about them and was so close to sleep a little while later, when I heard them again. Heavier this time, slower as if something was being dragged behind them. Again, I only thought it to be someone else in the hotel and tried turning over.
The footsteps continued about twice more after that, much closer in time, but the last time is when I really woke up. The footsteps had stopped, just as they'd done the last few times, but laughter had followed it. I'd sat up in my makeshift bed of blankets and stared straight at the door. It was a man's laugh, deep, and hollow. It lasted for a bit before dying down. After that, silence returned. No more footsteps, no laughter.
When I asked my dad about it in the morning, he asked the receptionist downstairs who else had been on the floor in the middle of the night. She said there'd been no one else assigned on that floor besides us and no one worked in the middle of the night.
I'm still freaked out about it and watching The Shining has never been the same. But I'm still tempted to go back, see if my childhood frights were just that: childhood frights.
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