Birthday Ghost Hunting
Leading up to my birthday Veronica had become more and more insistent that I should do something memorable on the weekend after; a concept that seems odd to me as the main thing that I would like to do with my free time is to stay home and play video games away from the general populace. About a week before the big day I finally, almost without thinking, blurted out that I wanted to stay in a hotel so haunted that we would be forced to leave in the middle of the night—half thinking that making the request would having her back down from the entire concept. Oddly this seems to just have invigorated her to find just the right place. Because I married an insane person.
Because I possess the powers of wisdom rarely seen by others around me, and have one of the most understanding spouses ever, there is a small chance that I decided to drink a gaggle of beers the night before we headed out on this enterprise—and I may have been a little worse for the wear. Needless to say Veronica made the generous and well natured suggestion that she drive. Something that I gladly accepted, and something that she took to mean that we would be taking the back way and stopping at every tourist grade shop along the way.
The first stop, oddly, on the adventure, was at possibly the cheesiest native American themed roadside attractive that has ever existed on the planet. If I was being generous, I would guess that the last time that the ascetics were given a once over were in the late 60s, and the last coat of paint was given a handful of years later. Not the items on display though. And I can safely say that because I saw that they were selling a biography of Jimmy Carter—seeing our President Peanut places these goods firmly into the early 80s.
Having Veronica behind the wheel meant that every chance was also taken to stop and claim every mountain as her personal property. I don’t know if this practice would hold up in court, but it seems to hold up in most arguments that main counter is “nuh uh.” That said being said, they seem like the favorite place to put a hotel/restaurant—which is odd because by the very nature of the setting there is limited parking, difficult areas to turn around, and copious amounts of blind spots. But I guess whatever pays the bills.
Days before leaving for our spooky adventure my loving wife had tried to silently drop a surprise on me about the weekend we were going—it was going to be gay pride weekend. This not only meant that we were going to an ocean town during peak tourist season, but we were also going during a festival, which meant that every available space was going to be rented out and people were going to be coming in from out of town just for the day – which for me was fine because I just wanted to sit in the hotel room and see if something tried to steal my keys (something the ghost is rumored to do), but I knew that Veronica would want to go out and get Thai food or something.
So of course, upon arriving in town we were instantly thrust into the middle of what the town would normally consider to be rush hour—or what my home town would consider to be the end of the world caused by traffic. Granted, I had always been told that Salem was a small town; Salem is not a small quaint ocean side town—Salem is a several hundred-year-old city larger than most in northern New York.
Neatly, the center faire for the entire thing was being held in the park directly next to the hotel that we had booked for the night –complete with live music and all kinds of food trucks.
Considering that we had arrived during the worst part of the heat of the day, and it was seemingly approaching spontaneous human combustion degrees outside, Veronica and I decided to hide in our room for an hour before taking the in the grand adventure that was the food truck/live music/gay pride even happening across the street. This, and I cannot stress this enough, is my favorite part of the entire weekend—we waited one hour until we went. It was not 4 PM before we left the hotel, as we checked in slightly after 2:30. When we first saw the faire it insanely packed, tons of tents for various venders, food stalls, and activities (?) all over. When we there less than an hour later there was none of that. Only two tents remained, one looked like they were possibly the only log cabin republicans ever trying to stage an anti-trump event, the other was a sad guy selling hacky sacks. Clearly, the ghost had already been here.
Sure, Veronica and I had fun and magical times walking around the town and looking at the super cheesy, very non-historically accurate witch things that were all over the place—downtown (it oddly clears up once you get a couple of block out, like a bad case of tourists). But the wife and I were there for one thing, the ghost experience – which was doubly hammered home when we checked in and the front desk receptionist looked at us, directly stated that he knew why we were there because of the room we requested, then silently said “we aren’t allowed to talk about that,” but then nodded as if to say, yeah, you have fun with that.
The first thing that we did during our “investigation” was set up the EMF detector that I had purchased for my loving bride for Christmas. This is traditionally used to tell if your house is properly insolated electricity, but has found new popularity as it supposedly can tell if a “spirit” is in the area. I know for a fact that it works at detecting electricity because I will randomly turn it on and find the circuits in the TV while Veronica is watching it—mainly because this seems to annoy her to great extent, but also because this is the only time that it ever has gone off in our house while turned on. Oddly that was not the case at the hotel room.
About 15 minutes after turning the device on in the room we suddenly got a random beep on it. Once again, the most surprising part of this is that we constantly play around with this at our house and it never makes a peep unless forced to do so. This time it decided to throw out random chirps throughout the night.
Veronica’s reaction to this was to start making notes about it and getting excited. My reaction was to instantly try and start debunking it as something else. I couldn’t make it go off by getting a text message or email, no was it going off when Veronica got one. It didn’t seem tied to anything in the room, like the A/C going off (because it didn’t really ever stop going full blast as it was always 1000000000000000 degrees). Basically it ended up that I couldn’t explain it, so I ended up dealing with it by saying we should order pizza and offering some to the ghost, to attempt to be friends. It seemed like the logical, and delicious, thing to do.
Beyond the EMF there was nothing else solid that either of could point to during the night. We both thought that we saw something out of the corner of our eyes, but that could literally have been anything, including being creeped out by being in a “haunted room” with lights being turned off. Even though be both commented on how comfortable the bed and pillows where throughout the day and while awake we both slept terribly while there, but once again, that could have just been nerves.
So while I wish I had something to point to and laugh and say it was clear proof, we have an EMF meter oddly going off and some odd feelings. But I had a great time and I think I managed to creep Veronica out just a little bit.