This weekend I attended the first meeting of the year of the Ozark Writers League in Branson, Missouri. Snow and ice holding me prisoner in my own house for days on end, being behind at work, and a $200.00 electric bill had turned me into a depressed, grumpy ol’ bear. I needed this get-out-of-Dodge weekend in the worst way. Hanging out with creative, like-minded folks always recharges my battery, plus as an added bonus, I rode to the meeting with one of my best pals, Gyspy Jan. Gyspy Jan moved to Big D a few months ago leaving a huge hole in my heart, so spending time with her made my dull high-pro glow bright and shiny once more.
We stayed the night in Hollister at the Ye Olde English Inn. The Inn drips charm, The first time I stayed at the Inn a perfect stranger grabbed my hand at the door and said, “this place is haunted, you know.” I’m into the paranormal, even wrote a book dictated to me from the ghost of a Confederate soldier, so this neither suprised nor upset me. Alas, however, nothing “spooky happened . . . that time. This time? The spirits were alive and kicking.
The Inn uses actual keys for their rooms instead of those fancy key cards. I unlocked my door and went into the room. Hmm . . . two T shirts were folded and laying on the desk. My first thought was that these shirts were sold in The Inn’s gift shoppe and were put in the room to intice the guest to purchase them. A quick inspection threw that theory out the window. One was a Hollister Tiger T shirt, the kind any high school student would wear. The second was a deep brown, blinged out shirt with a cowgirl hat, boots, and horses that said, “Branson Rodeo Queen.”
A pair of slippers were by the side of the bed. Three toothbrushes and toothpaste along with a coffee cup were in the bathroom. It occured to me that I have been given someone else’s room. Oh, yes. Something else. A bag of toatsted almonds and raisin mix was on the night stand as well. Now, anyother person in the world would’ve called down to the front desk and inquired if this room was their correct room and/or reported that housekeeping had missed a few things. But. Not me. Why? Hell if I know.
A few hours later, Jan and I decided to go walkabout. We both locked our doors at the same time. We started down the hall, then turned back. Bigger than Dallas, there was a “do not distrub” hanger on my door knob. What???? I walked back. “I didn’t put this here,” I told Jan. “Was this here before and I just missed it?” Jan assured me that I had not lost my mind. That door hanger was not there before. I did not put it there. It materizled in less than two seconds. “This is so strange,” I told Jan. She agreed. “So strange.” I removed the hanger and pushed it under the door.
I later discovered that the Ghost Buster crew was at the Inn and that other guests had experinced things that “go bump in the night.” When I reported my little visit to management I was told that the items were the manager’s who had been staying in that room. Really? Nope. Not buying it. I spent the night with a ghost. A cowgirl ghost who went to Hollister High School and who loves horses and bling.
I loved it!
When I returned home, I had a message on my machine from The Inn saying they had my forgotten items, two T shirts, slippers, toothbrushes, and toothpaste at their front desk.
Manager’s items my hind foot!
Visit the Ye Olde English Inn in Hollister, Missouri and let me know what you think. Maybe, just maybe, you too will be visisted by the Ghost of the Branson Rodeo Bling Queen.