One year while in college, my best friend and I decided to take a “girl trip” full of shopping and pampering. On Mom’s recommendation, we went to Eureka Springs, Arkansas, and stayed at the Crescent Hotel. Of course, I knew about the hotel’s hauntings, but my friend wasn’t a believer, so I decided to just not put much emphasis on it. There was plenty for us to do without going ghost hunting.
On our first night at the hotel, it stormed. If you’ve never been on top of a mountain (inside, of course) during a lightning storm, you don’t know what you’re missing. It was incredible. But eventually we got tired of taking pictures of the storm and went to bed.
I was in that state between asleep and awake when I felt someone jump into bed with me after an especially loud clap of thunder. It wasn’t until after I’d rolled over to make more room that my brain kicked in and I realized that something wasn’t right about that. My best friend, the only other person in the room, was softly snoring in her bed, across the room. I slowly reached out toward the depressed area of my bed and felt a distinct cold spot. Whatever was in my bed only took up a small area of space, and I didn’t feel threatened, so I rolled over to go back to sleep.
A few moments later, another bolt of thunder sounded, and my friend quit snoring. I’d almost drifted off when she hissed, “Keshia, there’s someone in my bed.” She sounded, well, panicked. But the little form snuggled next to me was still there. I have enough of my mother in me to know it was time to do a little ghost hunting. I rolled out of bed, flipped on the light, and grabbed my camera.
My friend was sitting up, staring at an empty spot on her bed. “It’s right there.” She pointed, and when I ran my hand through the area, sure enough, there was a cold spot. I quickly turned and snapped one picture of my bed before my camera batteries died. But not to worry, I had extras. Rechargables, that I’d plugged in before we went to sleep. Or did I?”
I ran over to where I’d left them, only to find the batteries scattered on the floor, and the charger, neatly folded up, sitting several feet from the outlet. Apparently, whatever was with us didn’t want their picture taken. As you can imagine, I had a lot of explaining to do.
My friend and I sat up for hours, talking about ghosts, what it was like to live with them, and what I thought they were. I even talked to our bed-sharing ghosts, but they weren’t willing to move at all. I finally convinced my friend to close her eyes and try to get an impression from the ghost lying at her feet. She told me the first thing that came to her mind was a small child, afraid of the storm. When I told her that was very similar to what I felt, a mixture of being calmed and exhausted let her fall asleep.
When we woke the next morning, the storm had passed, and the cold spots were gone. But neither one of us could get the incident off our minds. Finally, the evening rolled around, and the hotel was putting on a ghost tour. We got there early to talk to the tour guide, wanting to see if anyone else had reported what we had experienced. I told him everything, leaving out only that my friend and I had both thought of scared children. The owner of the ghost tour listened to our tale without comment. After we finished, he said he hadn’t heard anything of that nature before, but it didn’t surprise him. At one point the hotel had been a hospital, and our rooms were part of the children’s wing.