Trust me, it would’ve been scarier if you were there. December 20, 2006

Initially, we were psyched. Since the Boy has Platinum Super Duper Awesomeness status because of how frequently he travels, we were given a hotel room that could’ve comfortably fit fifteen people, 4 horses and an SUV.

At first I pranced around the room all “we are ROCKstars!,” basking in the glow of two full bathrooms, a king sized bed, two separate living room areas, a free gift basket and a delicious view of Boston.

I turned to the Boy to say something again along the lines of us being rockstars but he had a weird look on his face.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing. I just…I don’t know. It’s big. So big that it’s creepy.”

“Stick with me, kid. I’ll protect you.”

We decided to waste no time getting into that king sized bed. As the Boy was brushing his teeth in one of the bathrooms, I stripped down to my underpants in the bedroom. All of a sudden, the lamp on the desk began to flicker. There’s no other way to describe it except for that it felt intentional. Less like an electrical malfunction, more like a taunt. I peeked over at the plug, hoping that it would be halfway hanging out of the socket and then I could chide myself for being paranoid and also stupid, but it was fully plugged in.

I decided to resist my urge to scream, chalk it up to some sort of dysfunctional light bulb and go to the bathroom to brush my teeth.

It was in the bathroom that I heard some sort of crying. Like a whimpering dog, except not (I know, I know my descriptions are so spot on). It sent chills up my spine to the point that I, me, Queen of Peeing All the Time, resisted the urge and decided that I would not be using the bathroom for the rest of the evening, even if it resulted in a bladder explosion, so help me God.

The Boy came into the bedroom with his nose scrunched.

“I know,” I said.

“It’s just…weird.”

“I know.”

“Let’s go to bed.”

A few moments later, just as I was beginning to talk about how retarded we were being and for the love of all things holy we are adults and this is ridiculous and let’s just go to sleep, the toilet in the Haunted Bathroom flushed. All by itself. Not just running water but a full, press the handle and watch the water go down flush. I know that that is probably easily explainable because you know hotels and their crazy plumbing! But still. I screamed.

We couldn’t even have sex. We started, then stopped.

“It just feels like someone else is in here. I just…can’t,” I admitted.

The Boy agreed.

Now would be a good time to remind you that in our relationship, I have handily earned the title of Insane One. The Boy, on the other hand, is the Practical, Reasonable One. So for him to agree with one of my bouts of probable insanity, well, then maybe it wasn’t just all in my head. I am a pro at creeping myself out and usually he just laughs and kisses my forehead and shakes his head as if to say my crazy and kooky girlfriend, gotta love ‘er. He wasn’t doing that this time; I kind of wished he would.

I slept approximately 2 hours, on and off, that night. I kept getting a prickly feeling at the base of my neck. I refused to open my eyes for fear that I might see some sort of apparition. I clung onto the Boy and buried my face in his chest and actually uttered the phrase “I ain’t afraid of no ghosts.” You know, just in case the bastard that was messing with was listening.