The rain lashed against the windows and pounded on the roof. With the other guests out for the evening and the staff downstairs cleaning up from dinner; we were alone in the Coolidge Suite on the top floor corner. After a sumptuous meal with dessert and a glass of B&B by the fire; I was out like a light as soon as my head hit the pillow. The last thing I remember was Sissy still talking on the phone.
Over breakfast the next morning, she sipped her orange juice and casually asked if I had heard all the tromping during the night. I shook my head with a shrug. Tromping? There were only 4 people in the whole inn and the other guests were an elderly couple on the lower level and he was frail and walked with a cane.
The story unfolded as we waited on breakfast. After she got off the phone, she lay wakeful in the darkness; listening to the rain on the roof and the creaking of an old building settling in for the night. Over the sound of the storm, she heard someone tromp heavily up the stairs directly outside our room; then run up and down the long central hall to tromp back down the stairs. Up and down and back and forth. Through the noise, she could just catch a murmured conversation between several people. Loud enough to hear, but muffled enough to not be able to distinguish what was being said. This went on for 10 minutes.
It could not possibly be the frail couple downstairs. It was perplexing. Thinking perhaps other guests had arrived late, she turned over, pulled the blankets over her shoulder and went to sleep.
When the innkeeper brought our pancakes, I asked him if the inn were haunted. Built in 1840, I assumed it must be. He gently laid our plates in front of us and nodded. “Why,” he said, “what did you hear? After hearing the story, he then regaled us with stories of the ongoing spectral party in the bar, the wallpaper episode and the yellow room.
It was thrilling.
If you get the chance, stay the night at the Echo Lake Inn. Let me know if anything happens. I hope you don’t sleep through it like I did.