I have never admitted this publicly, but I once had an experience I could not explain. And no, it was not the time a young Oscar-nominated starlit inexplicably said she'd go out with me or when the cop let me go at Tiger Stadium. Instead, it was the night I had a paranormal experience. And in the spirit of the Halloween season, here’s my confession…
It may have started when I was a kid. My dad would often take me to the Detroit-Leland Hotel, where his dad, my granddad, was a majordomo. An administrator of sort, either managerial or engineering. I dunno? Anyway, sitting at the corners of Cass and Bagley avenues, this monolithic block had “800 rooms – 800 baths”. It was the late-night hangout of Detroit's notorious Purple Gang. Local mafia racketeers. They told me the hotel was haunted. Rumors of suicides or the murdered (it was 20-stories high) roaming, err, haunting the hotel. FYI: The Leland was one of the first places police searched for the missing Jimmy Hoffa. Seems they had an industrial-strength garbage incinerator!?
Now I’m sure it was hair-raising and goosebump-generating for me then. And that’s probably why I was told: to create wonder and awe. Just like those early games of peek-a-boo with mom. But frankly, I dismissed all thoughts of the paranormal, along with any superstitions, knock on wood, long ago. So, at a young age, I abandoned fictions like the tooth fairy, Santa, and invisible friends in the clouds above. But, as a curious skeptic, bordering on jaded cynic to some, I am not so easily bamboozled. So, nice try, granddad!
The fact is, 46% of us believe in “ghosts or that spirits of dead people can come back in certain places and situations.” Comparatively, 43% of Americans believe demons exist. Twenty-nine percent claim to have been touched by someone who died, and 18% claim they’ve seen or been near a ghost. Hmm…
Now I have always shunned horror movies, but I have survived Disneyland's Haunted Mansion and occasionally the celebration of Mexican Día de los Muertos (Day of the Dead). I have yet to be chased down by a headless ghost. And one of my noteworthy life accomplishments is that I have escaped the clutches of the “Hotel California”…the place you can check out any time you like, but you can never leave…
I am meandering now, and that’s the fun of a seasonal feature story, so bear with me.
Traveling as I do; I have slept in a thousand hotel rooms worldwide. I even did the math: 40 years times 25 hotels a year = 1,000. Of course, I'm guessing that's conservative, as I seem to remember more. But then again, booze and broads have that effect on you, I'm told.
And while I’ve never stayed at the Bates Motel, a few of those thousand hotels have been, what is best described by their PR people, as haunted. Spooky myths and legends abound: the La Fonda in Santa Fe, New Mexico, New York’s Chelsea Hotel, Banff Springs Hotel in Canada, and Singapore’s Raintree Hotel—a former Japanese prison. By the way, each is also said to have “old-world charm,” code for old, and nothing works anymore.
It’s all hogwash, of course. Surly slick PR campaigns trying to give run-of-mill hotels a lucrative haunted reputation. Create an aura of mystery. The pitch usually goes like this: One of 13 Haunted Hotels Around the World You Can Stay At—If You Dare. Wink, wink. And in between facials and dips in the pool, supplementary packages, for only the bravest of souls, typically include evening ghost hunts, special paranormal seminars, and exclusive access to the haunted spaces of the property. Of course, they don’t want to scare anyone away, so inevitably, they’re inhabited only by friendly ghosts like Casper. Thrill-seeking guests sometimes receive certificates that prove they made it through the night alive. I call those certificates the hotel bill.
Usually, these places have been the site of mysterious and untimely deaths. Where tragedy and heinous crimes of passion have occurred. Apparently, a lot of weird shit happens in hotels.
Spooky science aside, there are usually simple explanations for most mysteries, like Pete Davidson's dating patterns and general accounting practices. So, to help answer these haunting questions, I assembled a crack team of highly scientific paranormal investigators (me) to rebut and debunk these macabre claims and strange occurrences. So aside from explanations like them being just revenue-generating pranks and practical jokes, here's what I think: flickering lights (electrical short?), faucets that turn on and off (bad water pressure?), things go bump in the night (weather-induced expanding and contracting of structures?), footsteps in the night (someone going to take a pee?), phones ringing in the middle of the night (wrong numbers?), cigar smoke smell (lingering odor or someone's actually smoking?), inexplicable sounds coming from unoccupied rooms (hotel staff having affairs?), disappearing items (blame it on ghosts, but stop thief!?), odd smells (bad plumbing?), unexpected doorknobs wiggling (oops, wrong room?), feeling slight chills (it's a drafty old place?), disembodied voices (really?), something tugged on the bed sheets (Just me, sorry honey!). Occam's Razor.
Okay, back to why you came: my supernatural experience. Now, I have visited all manner of dark tourism sites around the world: cemeteries, morgues, crematoriums, psychiatric wings, torture chambers, concentration camps, brothels, and spooky abandoned buildings. And while I have never experienced floating orbs—like my buddy Danny Brannigan did in Delhi—or Bermuda Triangle-like energy vortexes. Nor have I ever caught a glimpse of lingering spirits (aka ghosts) wandering the grounds in fashionably attired Victorian garb (aka a Lady in Red), I have seen some spectacular snow ghosts! I like snow ghosts. And maybe experienced a few occurrences of déjà vu. Probably because I had been there before?
So, what I will now vaguely recount is my sole experience with the paranormal. Although my wife once told me she was a witch…and on the rare occasion, she proves it. Just kidding, honey.
It was the 10th of April 1994. And after a long weekend of Tahoe skiing, my buddy Claude Wyle and I drove back into The City exhausted. The City, for the uninitiated, is San Francisco. I had an event the following evening at a swanky French bistro, Fleur De Lys, off Union Square. One of my client’s favorite eateries. And so I stayed close by at 562 Sutter Street, the Orchard Hotel. Claude and I enjoyed a steak dinner, maybe an adult beverage, or two, and then he dropped me at the Orchard. It was maybe nine PM.
The Orchard Hotel was built in 1907, first as an apartment building and converted in the late ‘20s to a hotel. The night manager assigned me room 402. Exhausted, I showered and went to bed. Then, at some point, the unexplainable transpired.
The malicious presence of an unregistered guest had entered my room. And there are three things I can still viscerally recall that occurred: Firstly, I was suddenly awakened. And remember turning towards the window where some city light was streaming in through unclosed curtains and simultaneously experiencing a desperate feeling of being pinned down, paralyzed almost. My shoulders felt pinned, and there was a heaviness on my chest. Like someone was sitting on me. I felt unnervingly claustrophobic. A trans-molecular experience? Then, walking from my right out of the bathroom, I had a face-to-face encounter with a spirit of sort. A faint white male gilding, no, let’s say walking on air, in front of my bed, and crossing the room towards the door on my left. With part of the aberration through the door, the head said, “truth or consequences,” and was gone. Within seconds, a second distinct other voice uttered, “It’s alright!” And the event was over. Freed, I bewilderingly got up and turned on the lights, scratching my ass, wondering, WTF just happened? I slept the remains of the night restlessly with one eye open.
Heading out for a breakfast meeting, I stopped at the front desk. I asked the long-serving day manager if he'd heard of any strange happenings occurring in the hotel. Such as creepy vibes or, dare I say it, ghost sightings. He smiled and laughed, "No, why?" I replied, "Oh, nothing. Just curious," as I walked out the door.
Now research shows that many people enjoy recreational fear, being scared. Fifty percent say they felt better after seeing a scary movie or visiting a haunted mansion. They get a rush and experience elevated moods—maybe because they’re still alive?!
Me? Well, I did not get a post-haunt high…I just felt utterly confused. I felt gaslit. I was embarrassed to tell anyone my story. Thought people might laugh or question my emotional state. Years went by before I eventually did.
So Dear Readers, was my experience: A) beyond the scope of normal scientific understanding; B) an exhaustion-fueled dream or hallucination; or C) the fictitious meanderings of a bored writer at Halloween?
Boo!
Thanks for the privilege of your time, it is the most precious thing we have, and I appreciate it. Be well.
William D. Chalmers © 2022 GreatEscape Adventures, Inc. All Rights Reserved.