English Ghosts

The next week we worked a flight from New York to England. Most of the time we flew into Gatwick, but this time we were scheduled to land at Heathrow, unloading tourists for the Wimbledon Tennis finals. All London hotels were booked. Consequently, we took traditional taxis, black boxes with vertical grills, to Surrey, about an hour away.

Our airline booked us at the Selsdon Park Hotel in Sanderstead, a huge Victorian manor house that had been converted to a four-star resort. We drove up a long driveway and parked before an ivy-covered brick mansion with multi-paned windows outlined in white. The hotel was situated on two hundred acres. We were going to hike, walk through elaborate gardens, and play croquet.

Once we checked in, I noticed an elderly lady wearing black clothes and a veil. She had entered the reception area after the other crew members had gone to their rooms. The thin dowager held two tiny dogs on leashes and let them lift their legs on an antique table in the lobby. Pale liquid dripped down the spindles and onto the oriental carpet.

When the woman left, I asked, “Who was that? Why didn’t you ask her to control her dogs?”

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Selsdon Park Hotel, Surrey, England.

“We don’t ask her to do anything,” the clerk answered. “She lives in the hotel and her family has financial interests here.”

“So that’s why there are so many fancy cars in the parking lot,” I said.

There were at least three Rolls Royce limousines parked at the far side of the front entrance. I shook my head in disgust and walked to my room.

The crew had been assigned to an older section of the hotel. My room was on the ground floor with French doors opening to a garden setting. The small room connected to Susanne’s room via the bathroom. We had goose down comforters, and when we went to sleep at night, hot water bottles were placed in our beds.

During the day, Susanne, Judy, and I walked the grounds and challenged a few guests to a game of croquet: flight attendants versus tourists. We put up a rousing battle but the tourists won, and they invited us for tea that afternoon.

At night all five flight attendants gathered in a small alcove to tell stories. We sat on a sofa under a niche of the rising staircase and shared a bottle of wine. Our section of the large manor house had been built in the 1500s. In the darkness we sipped red wine, watched a lantern glow on the coffee table, and told ghost stories.

Two staff members joined our conversation. They informed us that the hotel was indeed haunted. The drafty hallways created scary noises, and they told tales of unusual encounters.

“We often hear strange sounds. And I saw a shadowy figure moving along a supposedly vacant hallway just last week.”

They filled our minds with spooks, and we huddled closer in the dark alcove. A pale, orange light filtered through the nook and the smell of lantern oil coated the air. The employees continued with their ghost stories.

After a few drinks we blew out the lamp and separated. Judy, Susanne, and I walked down a gloomy corridor to our rooms, whispering about the employees’ comments.

That night Susanne and I called to each other through the connecting bathroom, making sure we were each secure in our bedrooms. Judy, located further down the hall, did not have a roommate.

She locked the hall door after entering her room, but forgot to check the French doors that opened to the garden. During the night she heard them creak open. She sat straight up in bed and screamed.

“Who’s there?” she yelled.

The flight engineer’s room was next door to Judy’s suite and he banged on her door.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“I am now. But I was scared to death. I forgot to lock the French doors, and one blew open.”

They both went back to their own rooms, but Judy couldn’t sleep. She kept seeing moon shadows from the trees bouncing across her walls. Shivering in bed, Judy slept for only a couple of hours. She vowed to never again listen to ghost stories while staying in a haunted hotel.

Дата добавления: 2015-08-27