"You OK?", I ask my husband as he sort of shakes my shoulder while talking a bit in his sleep, something I have hardly ever heard him do in the thirty years we have been married.
Groggily he says, "Just making sure you're here."
What? Of course I am here I begin to wonder rubbing the sleep from my eyes.
"Thought I saw your hand closing the door from the out side... or something," He continues not making much sense to me.
"Well," I announce, "I slept great!" I am relishing the whole 'not having to get up for work but for fun' thing!
"I did not," he reports, "sleep at all."
Apparently during our overnight in Room # 2 of the River view Hotel in St Marys Georgia someone was making a racket in the hallway calling out for a beer. Being my husband is a fan of beer he was thinking, in his sleep or dream or some state of consciousness, 'I've got one here in the cooler, you can have, just be quiet because we're trying to sleep!'
At first we wondered if perhaps it was one of the three midget mania wrestlers (yes that's what I said) or their regular sized manager who had checked in late the night before, might have been returning after a show at the local Colosseum. They had invited us to go, it sounded interesting, but we had a ferry to catch after all.
My rather rattled husband, not easily rattled usually, goes on to tell me of his sleepless night full of frightening dreams. Dreams of someone in the room or at least pulling shut the door. He says the dream was vivid and he was sure he saw a hand reaching around from the outside, but the door is still bolted from the inside.
Another dream that unsettled him included a coffin, an image that would rattle anyone.
Well, the dream stories have been discussed, we have a ferry to catch, so it's up and about. I must go to the car for my bathing suit so I grab the only key to door while hubby sneaks in the bathroom to brush his teeth.
"Be right back, baby," I call out and head down the dark wood corridor, down the stately stairway, give the lobby cat a gentle good morning stroke, notice a complementary breakfast awaits of juices and muffins, then out to the street. I retrieve my needed items and head back in. At the door of room # 2 I try to fit the key in the lock to no avail.
Inspecting the key I realize it is bent, what? How did that happen, we got into the room last night, I didn't drop the keys or jam them in the car door...what's going on?
I knock to demand entry and my husband is a little grumpy for having to come to the door.
"I thought you took the key," he demands.
"I did," I respond holding it up, "But its bent."
This bending of metal makes no sense to us but we have a boat to catch, so down to breakfast with our bent key we go hoping the clerk can remedy our 'locked out of the room' situation.
We push the lobby cat off of one tables and settle into cream cheese bagels and a banana, reviewing our needed items and itinerary. The clerk comes in from the bar area carrying towels and asks about our night.
"Well," I tell her half jokingly thinking of the bad dream report and holding up the bent key, "Is that room haunted or something?"
The desk clerk, who also the innkeeper and owner, Gaila Brandon, gets a look on her face that I did not expect. Instead of laughing at my silly reference to ghosts, she becomes rather serious and says, "Well, maybe."
We exchange stories, ours of the unsettling dreams and hers of a gentlemen, a local, who fell into hard times as a result of heart problems.
"He was a regular," Gaila went on to say, "He spent many a night drinking in our little saloon. It was Christmas, not the day of but sometime in December and I drove past his little broken down house and noticed the big front window was busted out and I thought how cold he must be in there with no utilities. I had a clue about that after he began coming in every morning and sharing the free breakfast with me and spending a long time in the lobby's men's room. I began to realize he was in there washing up that's how I knew his utilities were cut off. He was a great guy, educated, loved to talk about politics, he just got so sick and seemed to have no family to help out so we just let him kinda hang out here. Anyway..." the innkeeper went on saying, "I decided it was Christmas after all and we had open rooms so I asked him to stay with us for the holidays, I gave him room # 2. He seemed happy to be in out of the cold and we would talk during the day, then he would walk the riverfront, returning to enjoy dinner and a cocktail in the evenings, then off to his cozy room for the night. When we didn't see him for a day or two everyone got worried, the maid, bless her heart, didn't get an answer after knocking on his door. She used her pass key and found him dead on the floor of the bathroom."
Apparently the fellow drew a bath and collapsed in the doorway, seemingly trying to get back to the bed.
"Another couple." the innkeeper goes on to tell us, "Stayed there not long ago and lost their key inside the room and it was never found and she got a message from her husbands phone, sent after they went to sleep. She thought that sure she heard a voice saying 'help me'. So maybe that room is haunted after all."
I check my husband's phone as I was curious about a pop up message alert of a 'missed call'. sure enough, I find he has missed a call from me at 10:50 the night before, long after we were asleep. I know we were asleep as I texted our daughter 'good-nite' at 10:30 and was asleep when my head hit the pillow, no question about that after a six hour car ride, a great dinner, and a few sips of wine. The message only reveals the hum of the air conditioner, a muffled sneeze, then silence.
Well then, we tell her, how about instead of another key, you just give us another room.
