A Ghostly Encounter-Part Two

“Please pull your chairs forward into the upright position. Make sure that your trays are firmly secured to the chair in front of you. We are preparing for landing.” The pleasantly fake voice of a flight attendant rang over the speakers. Her voice really wasn’t pleasant, it was rather annoying actually. Perhaps I only believed that it was pleasant because I associated her voice with ACTUAL LAND, not the ground on the discolored floor of the airplane.

I could feel the steady decline of the aircraft throughout my whole body. My heart racing out of sheer excitement, my ears aching from all of the mounting pressure, and my stomach — doing the best that it could to keep down the disgusting meal that I had just scarfed down; there had been no other food available throughout the long flight. The plane continued to decline until I was all but thrown out of my seat by the earthquake that the pilot called a landing.

After I had recovered from the sudden jolt, the plane began to taxi into Gate 41 of the San Francisco International Airport. I could not wait to be on the ground again, every second felt like an hour. Sitting impatiently, I silently picked at the loose thread that was hanging from my oversized UCSC sweatshirt, stared out of the dingy oblong window, and waited for the “fasten your seatbelt” sign to be switched off. Finally, the plane stopped. We were released - I felt like a slave that had just been freed by Abraham Lincoln. Overcome by the sense of delight that my love of land always brought me, I could not help but jump out of my seat when the flight attendant declared that all passengers could take of their seatbelts. I did not care that I was located all the way at the back of the plane, and that it would be at least 20 minutes until it was my turn to escape from this torture chamber that the Federal-American-Transportation-Regulators called a “sophisticated mode of transportation.” Ignoring the awkward glances that elderly women dressed in orthopedic shoes and cardigans that smelled strongly of mothballs gave me, I impatiently counted the minutes that would lead me to freedom. At last, most of the passengers had vacated the airplane, and my family and I were free to go. We quickly squeezed ourselves through the ridiculously narrow isles, and headed towards Baggage Claim. Unfortunately, our suitcases looked exactly like the suitcases of every body else in the world that just happened to decide to fly into San Francisco at 9:30 in the evening. My father stood in frustration, scouring the carousel for three black, standard-sized, Samsonite suitcases.

At the same time, my mother had gone to customer reports. She returned to us with the knowledge that our bags had been lost, and that they would be sent to our hotel by morning. Slightly depressed, my family and I began to walk the two-block hike up to our hotel, The Beresford Arms.

After minutes of climbing up San Francisco’s mountainous terrain, The Beresford Arms finally came into view. It had a rustic sign, one that looked like it had been hanging on the ledge of the edifice for ages. Aside from the antiquated appearance of the hotel, the building looked relatively normal. High wooden arches, and handcrafted windows complimented the Beresford’s classic Victorian structure. When my family and I were done admiring the brilliant architecture, we proceeded to the entrance.

I reached out my hand to push open the enormous front door. However, I was quickly stopped because the sticker that was plastered above the handle said “PULL” in massive black letters. After smoothly disguising my brief moment of idiocracy, I managed to successfully open the bulky glass door. My mother immediately strolled up to the front desk. The rest of us sat down in the undersized, uncomfortable bench that was nearest to the elevator. While waiting for my mother to check-in to our room, I observed the timeworn lobby.

The Beresford Arms had an eerie presence. Something was irregular about the hotel, I could feel it in my bones. A chill went up my spine as I realized that I had to spend tree nights in the ancient Beresford. I couldn’t help but wonder if I would survive the night in such a ghoulish place. Still waiting for my mother to check-in, I nervously picked at my fingernails.

My mother finally returned to us with keys to our room in her hand. The man behind the front desk had taken a ridiculously long time to simply hand over a set of keys. He really wasn’t given a difficult task, I don’t know why he had to drag on the process. I was already terrified of the hotel, the last thing I needed was to sit and wait just a little longer so that I could evaluate how creepy the building really was.

“Alright, we are in room 412. Let’s go everybody, get into the elevator.” My mother pressed the button on the wall that was labeled “up.” As the elevator slowly declined to the floor level, my father, my brother, and I made our way to the elevator’s door. The elevator opened, and we all stepped inside. I lightly tapped on the button that said “4,” afraid that I would break the frail elevator. We were all slightly unnerved by the creaking, and shaking that was occurring as we traveled upward. All of us afraid that the elevator would suddenly break and that we would fall to our deaths, or be stuck inside of the miniscule traveling box forever. “DING, DING, DING,” the tottering elevator approached floor four.

The elevator door opened to reveal a dank, and dimly lit hallway. We followed the hallway all the way to its end, at room 412. My mother fumbled inside of her pockets, searching for the room key. When suddenly, the door creaked open.

“Oh Lord.” My brother let out a frightened murmur.

“Relax, everything is fine. The wind opened the door, that’s all.” My mother tried to comfort us.

“Yeah, everything is fine.” My father repeated, attempting to calm my brother and I. I was less than consoled. How could a LOCKED door just mysteriously open? Even a hurricane couldn’t manage to force open a locked door. Someone, or something had to be on the other side. My brother, on the other hand, seemed to have bought into my parent’s half-hearted “everything is fine” speech. The door opened even further, and we all cautiously stepped inside.

The room was a quaint junior suite, equipped with two adjacent bedrooms, one bathroom, and a kitchenette. After saying goodnight, my brother followed my parents into the room with two beds. I was left behind, all alone, to sleep in the next room. The time was now half past eleven. Tossing and turning, I found it impossible to sleep. Comfort was so far away from where I lay. I stayed wide-awake for hours, until I began to feel the slightest bit of drowsiness.

Just as I was falling asleep, a commotion arose. The noise sounded as though children were playing. Soft giggles, heavy breathing, and the clanking of toys erupted from the bathroom (which was only three yards away from where I lay). The children continued to play, until one of their toys rolled loose. A small bouncy-ball leapt up onto the foot of my bed, I was petrified. Frozen, I stayed inside of my bed, hoping that the children wouldn’t notice me. Light footsteps encircled my bed; the children were searching for the lost ball. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the children. One child was a girl, and the other was a boy. Both of the children were around the age of six. I couldn’t believe what was happening, I was staring directly at ghost-children.

The footsteps continued to surround me, as I silently wished that everything were all a dream. I pinched my self once, to see if I really was experiencing the terror. Unfortunately, I felt every pore in my skin tighten as my fingers grasped the extra flesh located on my forearm. The search for the ball had not yet ended. My bed still remained unexamined.

I felt a slight tug on my sheets—the children had started to search my bed. At this point, I was more terrified than I had ever been in my whole life. A hand brushed up against my shin. I could feel a shiver take over my entire body. The tiny hand continued to brush up against me, until it had finally located the ball. Once the children had uncovered their missing toy, they returned once more to their playground inside of the bathroom.

Trying my best to ignore the children’s constant clamor, I seemed to have faded into sleep. I do not know when the fatigue finally set in, or how I had even managed to disregard the immense fear that I had felt. Nevertheless, I had fallen into a deep sleep. No other disturbances woke me that night. Dawn was soon to come.

The next morning, I awoke to the doorbell ringing. Our luggage had finally arrived from the airport. My mother and father quickly gave the bellboy a tip, and placed our suitcases onto the floor. I made my way into the next room, so that I could retrieve my belongings.

When I entered the room that my brother and parents shared, I was handed my bag. Still clouded by sleep, I dragged the suitcase into my room and placed it on my bed. Noticing that my breath had obtained a particularly unpleasant odor, I rummaged through my luggage in search of a toothbrush and toothpaste. As soon as I found my Sonicare electronic toothbrush and Colgate Extreme Whitening toothpaste, I stumbled into the bathroom.

I had completely forgotten about the events that had taken place the night before. In fact, I was beginning to believe that the whole night was all just a dream. Placing my toiletries carefully onto the counter, I turned on the sink faucet. I splashed my face once with water, and then turned around to find a towel. My peripheral vision caught a glance of something unusual inside of the sink. Out of curiosity, I quickly whipped my head around so that I could get a better view. There it was—a red and blue bouncy-ball, right inside of the sink bowl. The night really hadn’t been a dream; I had seen REAL ghost-children with my own two eyes.