The Graveyard Shift

The spooky experiences of a hotel security guard

It was my first summer at Bretton Woods, and after a long season as a ski patrolman, I was looking forward to my new position as a security guard at the Mount Washington Hotel.

The hotel was built in 1902 by Pennsylvania Railroad magnate Joseph Stickney in the tradition of the grand hotels of that era. Catering to the rich and fashionable, the 235-room hotel was considered quite innovative and modern in its day. Unfortunately, Stickney did not live to see his dream fulfilled; he died in 1903 and his wife inherited the property.

She was remarried to Prince Lucinge of France in 1908, but the princess was soon widowed, as the prince died of wounds early in World. War I. The princess operated the hotel until her death in 1932.

During the summer months, the hotel is usually filled with guests and is the center of activity. As part of my duties, I had to patrol the entire 2600 acres of property, including the hotel. With so many people around, the job was not too difficult, even if I did work the graveyard shift from midnight until 8 a.m.

I must admit, though, to having a very overactive imagination which often caused frazzled nerves as I walked the dark corridors and reacted to things that went bump in the night. I could just imagine Joseph Stickney roaming the corridors of his hotel (although I don't know what he looked like), or the ghost of the princess, but I saw neither.

Most of my experiences were quite explainable. There was the time a steam radiator went off next to me on the fourth floor, which resulted in my challenging the world's high jump record if only someone had been there to witness it. Or the evening a hotel guest, who must have had one terrible breathing problem, sounded just like the soundtrack from the movie, "The Exorcist." There is nothing like slow, raspy breathing emanating from a darkened room during a stormy night to bring chills up and down your spine.

Near the end of the summer, I had heard rumors that Stephen King had not only stayed at the hotel, but had possibly gotten the idea for his book, The Shining, during his visit there. In addition, MGM had offered to film the movie at the hotel, but management turned down the offer due to possible negative publicity.

Somehow, I had put off reading the book or seeing the movie, although I wanted to do both. I decided to wait until the hotel closed for the season in October. We closed on Oct. 13, and I immediately began reading the book. As I read, I was intrigued by the similarities in the book regarding the layout of the hotel. Although reversed in order, the descriptions of our dining room and ballroom were almost exact, and the description of the hotel lobby fit ours to a T.

During the last week of October, just before Halloween, I finished the book and had even viewed the movie on television. As I prepared for the midnight to 8 a.m. shift one evening, I tried to put the book out of my mind and headed for work.

A sudden chill went down my spine as I drove down the deserted hotel drive to the security office. This was the off-season, and a majority of the staff had left for seasonal work or were on vacation.

I met my boss at the office door. He was smiling, which was unusual for him at this time of night. I soon discovered why. "Guess what, Bill?" he said. "The alarm system is not working in the hotel, so you have to patrol the hotel tonight. I want everything checked—every floor, nook and cranny. If you start soon, you should finish the first patrol by 1:30 a.m."

My heart jumped into my throat. "But, but Mark," I said, "I just finished this book, you know, the horror story about this old hotel that possesses this caretaker who attempts to murder his family, and I don't like the dark and my flashlight batteries are almost dead, and you know about my blood pressure...." He laughed sadistically, said "It's your job, kid," and walked out the door.

I heard him drive away into the night. It was now 12:20 a.m. and I knew what I had to do. With a lump in my throat and my heart beating wildly, I drove toward the hotel. I was armed with a Detex clock—a punch clock sort of affair—a set of keys and a flashlight badly in need of batteries. Attached to my side was a radio that transmitted to no one; the caretaker was on vacation. I turned it on anyway. The static on the other end was not comforting.

As I approached the huge sliding door that would allow me access to the hotel's lower corridor, I could see the dim, red fire exit lights that glowed evilly in the dark through the windows. "If only this was summer," I thought. "I would see people, lots of people, and wouldn't be faced with this dark silence."

I unlocked the sliding door, which emitted a screeching sound as it slid across the floor. I slowly peered inside, my heart beating wildly. "Hmm, so far, so good," I said to myself. I found that hearing my own voice seemed to calm me.

Both the freight and passenger elevator doors are located in the lower corridor. As I opened the passenger elevator door, I pictured a scene from the book. I just knew I would see discarded party favors and hear the laughter of guests long departed from this world.

Instead, I found total darkness, and heard only a strange thumping sound, which I soon discovered came from my own chest. I pushed the elevator buttons; they didn't work. No electricity. This meant I had to use the freight elevator.

This elevator was much older, and instead of being suspended on cables, the box was attached to a set of chains and pulleys that rattled and clanked as it made its way to the top. "Great," I thought. "Well, at least they know I'm coming."

In five minutes, I reached the top floor. I tried to whistle a tune but my mouth was too dry. I stepped out to the corridor, took a deep breath and inhaled. I didn't smell any smoke; ran to the end of the hall, punched the clock, and ran like hell back to the elevator.

As I approached the door to one of the deserted towers that originally held guest rooms, my hair stood on end and goosebumps broke out all over my body. I took more deep breaths, opened the door, ran to the top of the tower, and had to use both hands to punch the clock. I half expected to feel a cold, clammy hand touch my shoulder.

I walked around the tower and headed toward the stairs. Suddenly, in full view right in front of me, I was greeted by a grisly sight. There was the figure of a woman with a noose around her neck, with blood dripping off the noose. I screamed and would have run, but I was too frightened to move. I knew I had to look again. I shone my flashlight at this stange apparition. Then, it dawned upon me what I had seen. Some aspiring artist of past summers had snuck in here and painted this figure on the wall, a life-sized painting that gives the impression of a woman hanging in thin air. I cursed him under my breath and ran down the stairs.

Somehow, over the next hour, I managed to patrol the entire building with only one other mishap. As I approached the second floor, my flashlight shone upon a strange figure that looked right at me. He was in his 30s, somewhat balding, had glasses and a mustache, and was holding a flashlight just like mine. Why they put mirrors in the hallway, I will never know.

I finished the patrol at 2 a.m., thankful that I was alive, knowing that I would have to do it again at 5 a.m., when the sun was just starting to rise. As for The Shining, I have not read the book since, nor have I watched the movie. I think I will wait until I retire before I read it again.

Editor's Note: At the time this article was written, Bill Flynn was the marketing/public relations director for the Bretton Woods Ski Area. Although he has been in the marketing department for four years, he has been employed at Bretton Woods for six years, beginning as a ski patrolman in winter and a security guard during the summer months. Bill supposedly never saw any ghosts in the hotel, but he did get spooked from time to time by unexpected mirrors.