George went to dinner at one of the two taverns Jerome boasted, and spent several hours listening to a very local (very bad) jazz band. He chatted with the bartender about the town's history, even asked about the haunted hospital.
"No ghosts," came the reply. "Kind of a surprise now that I think about it."
George decided the hotel clerk was teasing, trying to spook him with a favorite tall tale.
Long after midnight he returned to his room. Tried to forestall his coming hangover by pounding tap water (horrible tasting, with a sharp mineral bite) and watching a video about Jerome's history.
He fell asleep with the show running, and his dreams were restless, full of half-formed thoughts and arguments with people he didn't know. He got up early, pulled on his boxer shorts and went outside, determined to watch the sun ascend over the valley floor.
By 6 A.M. George was bathed in yellow light, his bare chest glistening, turning pink. He was getting baked, and despite a headache and a chalky taste in his mouth, felt great.
Birdsong and a breeze lulled him into a light doze. Slowly, his head drooped, his fingers relaxed. The cheap china mug slipped from his hand and split in two when it hit the cement landing, sending a thin stream of liquid onto the balcony. It spread into a five-fingered fan, drying quickly.
George partially awoke when he heard someone enter his room. No, he thought sleepily, that couldn't be right. He was alone this morning, no wanton woman sprawled across his sheets. Housekeeping, then. Come to clean up. And with that reassuring thought, he drifted into deeper sleep.
YOU ARE READING
Haunting the Jerome Hotel
ParanormalA haunted hotel in a ghost town, what could be more...cliché? How about a hotel that doesn't have a ghost, but wants to score one? After all, ghosts put hotels ON THE MAP, especially when this hotel was once a hospital for miners. And we all know...
