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Salka

Pretty scary stuff

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My Mom and I are staying alone in a hotel tonight. It's closed for January and, since my Mom is the manager there, she gets to babysit the ghosts.

Not joking. This place is supposedly haunted. It's a big old mansion that was turned into a hotel a couple of years ago, and one of the big selling points of the rooms is that they're haunted. A great selling point, until customers come screaming down the stairs, refusing to go back to their room until the ghostly man with the knife stops stabbing the shadow on the bed.

I'm here right now. I'm typing this on a hotel computer. It's really hard for me to touchtype like I ordinarily do, because there's no little bump on the F and J keys like I'm used to. Anyway, I'm not superstitious, right? But this place DOES give me the creeps. Apparently, the owners of this mansion, back in the late 1800's, had a child and she was disabled -not mentally, but physically- so they locked her in the attic for her entire life, and that's why I'm listening to chains rattling in the attic right now, as I type this. She rattles those chains out of anger, and possibly hunger. You'd think somebody would have either a) let her out of the attic or B) taken away her chains by now. Only then she'd probably just bang the floor with her feet or something, I don't know.

Anyway, that's not the only scary thing about this place. I am sitting in the lobby right now, opposite massive, heavy, resident evil-style double main doors that creak forebodingly when you open them. Only I can't open them, because my mother has the key. It's called the Lobby Key. She left it in the Ballroom, which is locked at the front, so I have to go down to the unlit kitchen, up the back corridors and a flight of dark, unlit stairs. With a torch that has a faltering beam. I'm not making this stuff up. And then when I get into the Ballroom, I can use the keys to unlock the door from the inside, which should bring me back out onto the main corridor.

Here's the worst part; down the hallway, past the portrait of the previous owner of the mansion (his eyes FOLLOW YOU DOWN THE HALLWAY), there is a board room, The Bolton Suite. On the mantle piece, just under the SHOTGUN (which, supposedly, is only a display piece...) there is a gem. I'm not lying. The gem belongs to one of the grandfather clocks in the Mansion, or possibly the clock above the mantle piece in the lobby, nobody is sure. They kept meaning to find out, but then the place closed up for January, so it's just there... dormant... waiting to be fitted into the right place and open up some secret passage or something. Probably.

In the lobby... I wish I had a camera to take a picture of this guy, but... there is a painting of a man, I think he had something to do with the previous owner. His eyes constantly watch you. No matter where in the Lobby you sit, he's watching, silently, with this kind of a smirk on his face. But sometimes, if you stand in the corner, it looks like a frown.

And there are noises. Besides the rattling chains in the attic, there are other noises. The wind howling down the chimney sounds like ghosts, for instance. And this place has big massive windows and heavy double doors, massive heavy velvet curtains and thick carpets... perfect for a Resident Evil setting. Oh, except the back stairs and 'secret' staff corridors... they're all mouldy and crumbly-looking, with bloodstains from where the chefs have probably emptied buckets of blood or something, I don't know. I hope it was the chefs, anyway. Some of them look like drag marks.

Speaking of blood, the 'ice cream refridgerator' is filled with dead bodies. Well, sort of. Lots of meat, and legs. Many legs. And some of the bags have split open, causing cold, watery blood to spill across the fridge. The bag above the ice cream buckets split too, and now the vanilla ice cream is covered in blood.

Across the room from me right now, there is a vase. I really want to put it in my pocket, and perhaps use it with the broken fountain in the back garden. Or maybe I should check out that spooky, empty swimming pool.

Hmm. Hmmmmm. HMMMMMMMMMM.

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Apparently, the owners of this mansion, back in the late 1800's, had a child and she was disabled -not mentally, but physically- so they locked her in the attic for her entire life, and that's why I'm listening to chains rattling in the attic right now, as I type this. She rattles those chains out of anger, and possibly hunger. You'd think somebody would have either a) let her out of the attic or B) taken away her chains by now. Only then she'd probably just bang the floor with her feet or something, I don't know.
At this point I started laughing so, so hard...

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Having a shotgun on public display in a sinister, allegedly haunted hotel is just asking for trouble.

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That's amazing! I expect your next post to go something like this:

All work and no play makes Rusalka a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rusalka a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rusalka a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rusalka a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rusalka a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rusalka a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rusalka a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rusalka a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rusalka a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rusalka a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rusalka a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rusalka a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rusalka a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rusalka a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rusalka a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rusalka a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rusalka a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rusalka a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rusalka a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rusalka a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rusalka a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rusalka a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rusalka a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rusalka a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rusalka a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rusalka a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rusalka a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rusalka a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rusalka a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rusalka a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rusalka a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rusalka a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rusalka a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rusalka a dull girl. All work and no play makes Rusalka a dull girl.

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Get this: the swimming pool room is locked, and the key is missing from the bunch of keys I found in the ballroom. I put the gem back in the clock above the mantle piece but nothing happens; I suspect I have to find a lever of some description, or perhaps there's another piece missing. Anyway, the key to the swimming pool might possibly be in the Managers Office at the other end of the building, but the corridor doors are locked. The only way I can get to the other end of the building is by walking through the garden outside, on an unlit gravel pathway, to access the other side by the back door which, incidentally, is locked. Mom gave me the key to this door, but once I open it I can, apparently, unlock the corridor doors from the other side and return to the Lobby without going back through the garden. However, to get into the Managers Office, I need to find some sort of a lever to prise open the handle, because it's broken. I'm not making this up, I swear to god.

I'm not even going to do it now, because I just scared myself.

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I would recommend pushing up bookcases against windows as soon as possible.

And why do you want to go to the swimming pool anyway?

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Because, well... you know... scary? Empty, abandoned swimming pools in old mansions?

Man, the GOOD news is that we get the best suites in the hotel, AND any other room we want, AND we can do pretty much anything we want. Wooo! Right now, I'm making moaning noises on the intercom and it sounds like a thousand dying zombies. If I wanted, I could lock the intercom button down, and then play resident evil music, and then walk around the building with the shotgun from above the fireplace.

And we get baby soft tissues with added aloe vera in our room. Which means if I want, I can use EXPENSIVE COTTON ALOE VERA TISSUES TO WIPE MY ASS. That is, right after I go around doing all the stuff you can't ordinary do in hotels, like, for instance, walking into random rooms, or whatever. I don't know. What is there to do? Why won't the man in the portrait stop looking at me? And why does he look so similar to the man in the portrait in the Adelaide Room, East Wing? AND WHY IS 307 THE ONLY ROOM IN THE HOTEL THAT I CAN'T FIND THE KEY FOR?!

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If I wanted, I could lock the intercom button down, and then play resident evil music, and then walk around the building with the shotgun from above the fireplace.

You should definately do that.

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UPDATE: The plants in the lobby do not appear to have any medicinal qualities, and taste pretty much like plastic. Mixing them only results in soiled carpets and squashed shrubs.

I found a Medikit under the desk in the reception!!! Man, now I have a gem, a vase, a shotgun, and a medikit!!! Oh, although I already used the Gem on the Clock on the Mantle piece.

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:blink: So um, Yufster......when are you actually gonna start saving all this splendid writing and put it all together and publish your book and make lots of money and be rich and fabulous and have your bitch boss hate you out of jealousy and receive your revenge for making you work on Christmas?

You do know Kingz and I agree that you're a moron and that I've take this unto myself as a personal crusade to bring this up to your pasty untanned ass* to remind you whenever you write long winding posts like this, don't you?

* Pasty and untanned because you can't afford to fly it to Aruba or Saint Tropez because you haven't published your book and made lots of money.

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Ha ha ha. Owned!

She'll be sorry later on, when she's trying to get past the 'painting' in the hallway with only one shell left.

EDIT: Oh, and hardly any health either, because basically what I'm saying is that she's going to regret it when she needs health in an emergency, or whatever.

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Yufster you have to take pictures of this, if only to prove that you're not just a huge liar. Either way, I'm enjoying this.

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Carefull with the ravens, they'll peck your eyes out!

You need some paintings that cry blood to have a complete set! :eyebrow:

And a cursed toaster that always burns the toast!

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Yufster you have to take pictures of this, if only to prove that you're not just a huge liar. Either way, I'm enjoying this.

I'm not lying. We're back home for now, but I think we're going back again on Thursday, so I'll probably take pictures then, of the shotgun and medikit and the pictures with the eyes that follow you, and the vanilla ice cream with the blood all over it.

Until then, here is the official site. It mentions it being old, but I'm not sure if it mentions the hauntedness. Or my Mom, for some reason.

Check out the history of the hotel if you don't believe me. They don't mention an awful lot of the best stuff... this seems to be the scariest thing they say;

The Margaret Power Guestroom

Margaret Power was the only daughter and heir to Nicholas Mahon of Dublin. She married Nicholas Power in 1818 and the couple came to live in Faithlegg. It was not a happy marriage and in 1860 she returned to live in Dublin, where she died in 1866. Her room was orignally knows as the blue room. According to family tradition, her spirit occasionally returns to this room in search of her jewellery!

Man, it doesn't even look scary in those pictures, but they empty/push back all the furniture in January, so imagine everything is dark and weird looking. If you really don't believe me, you can phone the hotel on Thursday night and, if I'm there, we can play Receptionists and Guests. It's like Mommies and Daddies, sort of, except I pretend to book you in to the hotel and stuff. Who knows? It could be a lot of fun. You can give me your credit card details and stuff for prebooking.

Until Thursday though, here's another story altogether; an American friend of mine, Tristan, is over here in College, and he bought himself a bike to cycle around the city on. After a few weeks, he noticed the front wheel kept buckling, so he returned it to the store and explained the problem to the person that had sold him the bike. The salesman walked around it in a circle, stroking his chin thoughtfully, and then asked Tristan how often he cycled with it.

"Every day, pretty much." Tristan replied.

"Ah! Well, therein lies the problem!" The salesman nodded knowingly. "You see, I sold you a now-and-again bicycle. What you need is an everyday sort of bicycle."

"Hmm. I see," Tristian said, and proceeded to spend another $200 buying a new bike. I can't wait until he finds out it's not a turning-corners bicycle, so that he can pay another $200 for that feature, too.

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That Margaret Power thing is the lamest ghost story ever.

"There was this woman Margaret Power who died. Now she's a ghost possibly! Ooh!"

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Honestly, there are far worse stories than that floating around. They actually made the one on the website up, as far as I know. Jewellery my ass, that girl was chained up in the attic.

Also, the floorboards in that place have a really spooky way of creaking... they seem to creak a couple of seconds after you step on them, so as you're walking along the corridors it sounds exactly as if somebody is following you.

If you phone the hotel on Thursday night, after about 11pm my time, I shall answer the phone and tell you all the stories that the receptionists usually save for the guests after they've paid the deposit. If that's not proof this story is true, then I don't know what is. Besides photographs, but I'll come to that.

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I would probably call you if it didn't cost ten thousand dollars a minute.

Actually it doesn't cost that much, I have since discovered.

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I just thought of something else scary about that place. My mom acted totally crazy and irrational when she was there. For instance, I lent her my laptop for her to write college reports on, but a couple of days ago she did something to it. The keyboard wouldn't work on it, and it didn't work if you tried to plug in an external keyboard either, and on top of all that, if you tried to click anything it would crash.

She asked me to have a look at it and I didn't have time, what with my own exams. I hadn't realized the extent of the problem so a few days later, when we were staying in the hotel, I was pretty horrified to find my laptop completely broken in a hideous way that I never even knew was possible. I didn't know you could break something that much. Honestly.

I told her I probably wouldn't be able to fix it, but the computers in the lobby had Word.

"Well, the computers in the lobby don't have THREE OF MY REPORTS ALREADY ON IT." She snarled, and stormed into the lobby.

Speechless, I followed her.

"And oh, by the way, THANKS A MILLION." She continued.

"I didn't break it." I said.

"Then who did?"

"Uh, YOU did?" I reminded her, in by best sarcastic American accent.

There was a silence. Then,

"Yeah, well, you could have tried to fix it sooner so that I knew I'd have to write those reports again. Thanks for pretty much NOTHING."

Actually, incidents like that have happened pretty much every day since the hotel. For instance, I went in to SuperValu today (which is kind of like Walmart to Americans) in search of Copier Paper, and I just happened to notice a special offer in the corner, on these big paintings and mirrors. They were $14.99 each, and perfect for my room which I'm currently renovating. I was especially delighted to discover I'd chanced upon the very last one. Since they didn't have Copier Paper, however, I paid for the mirror and headed further downtown.

My Mom called and I told her I was heading to the Office Supplies store, so that's where we met up. She was on her way back to where we'd left the car anyway, so I asked her to take the mirror. "But be careful," I warned her, "It's windy outside."

"No problem. Don't be long!" She said, and left the store.

Three seconds later the door opened and she came back in, slightly more ruffled-looking.

"The mirror blew away. It broke." She said, and held up the completely shattered mirror. The clear plastic packaging was distorted with a heavy pile of broken glass shards that lay around the corner of the now empty frame. Even as she held it up, slithers of glass were beginning to cut through the plastic and tinkle merrily to the floor. I gazed at her, speechless.

"How much did you pay for it?" She asked.

"$14.99," I replied, still heartbroken.

"You paid $14.99 for this? You silly girl. Look at it! It's broken! Anyway, what a dumb day to get a mirror. What a silly idea, buying a mirror on a windy day. Silly, silly girl. Here, take it. I'll meet you back at the car."

I couldn't even reply, because there was so much anger welling inside me that my jaw was just stuck open. But the question still stands: WHAT IS THE RIGHT SORT OF DAY TO BUY A MIRROR? A sunny day? A rainy day?! I can imagine it now. "I'd like to buy this mirror here, please." "Oh, we can't sell those today; it's windy." Or perhaps, "Yes, we have plenty of those in stock because it's been windy so nobody has bought them." Maybe that's why there are so few Mirror Stores in the world. "Guys, sales of Mirrors have been bad this week, due to the wind. But don't worry, we're expecting a huge backlog of mirror-purchasers as soon as the sun comes back out."

I didn't even care about the mirror as much. But she gave out to me in the middle of the store for buying a mirror on a windy day. Just wait 'til she's grocery shopping the next time. As I'm carrying a bag full of glass jars, I'll drop it and say something to the effect of, "Man! Blah blah blah! What a dumb time to go shopping! NOBODY goes shopping on a windy day! Blah blah blah!"

Pfft.

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"You paid $14.99 for this? You silly girl. Look at it! It's broken!"

hahahahahhaaaa

ah.

excellent.

women.

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