Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel
This 12 story luxury hotel for the rich and famous, the biggest and brightest stars, was financed by Douglas Fairbanks and Mary Pickford, and had its grand opening in 1927. A ballroom, called The Blossom Room was the location of the first and second Academy award banquets. The hotel had everything, including a large pool, large banquet rooms, a penthouse library, luxury suites, and an elegant decorum. The guests walk into a two story lobby, decorated in a rich Spanish style, featuring hand-painted wooden beams.
In 1984, The Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel underwent a 12 million dollar restoration, renovation face lift to restore it to its “original glory.”
Afterwards, ghosts started to become very active in the grand old hotel, ready to move back in with the eager living, who wish to experience elegance and history.
While many guests of this grand hotel are completely unaware of the ghostly clientele, and just enjoy this glorious touch of Hollywood, there are quite a few unseen entities happily residing here, unable to find peace needed to go to the other side.
Montgomery Clift had stayed in room 928 for three months in 1952, while filming From Here to Eternity. After the hotel was renovated, and brought up to snuff, a strong presence was felt in and around his old room, 928.
His ghost has come back for an extended stay. His apparition has been seen pacing the hallway of the 9th floor. He also practices his trumpet in the hallway. Maids have felt something cold brush by them. Other maids have felt a presence watching them, or felt a presence walk beside them.
People have had unusual experiences in Clift’s old room, 928. While her husband slept in the bed, a wife lay in bed reading. Someone gently patted her shoulder, thinking it was her husband, she turned to say goodnight, but was startled to see him still asleep.
Psychic Peter James decided to spend the night in Clift’s old room, 928. As he stood in the hallway outside the door, he felt a lot of angry vibes coming from the room. He went to sleep in the bed around 2 AM. He woke up, feeling like an unseen presence was lying on top of him, so he couldn’t move. He managed to take a deep breath, and move his arm back, lifting the weight off him. He finally was able to go back to sleep.
He woke up a few hours later and saw a shadowy apparition of a man sitting in a chair in the corner of the room. This male apparition was the ghost of Clift Montgomery, who just sat there and watched James for about 30 minutes. Without warning, Montgomery arose and walked toward the bathroom, disappearing. James got the distinct impression that Clift was trapped here, unable to find peace.
Carol Lombard’s apparition has been seen on the 12th floor, in a suite where she and Clark Gable used to stay.
A mirror that used to be in suite 1200, sometimes reflects the image of Marilyn Monroe, as a startled employee found out. When this employee was dusting the mirror, which was at the time hanging in the Manager’s office, she saw the reflection of a sad , blonde woman. Turning around to talk to her, the employee found no one there. Yet, when she looked back into the mirror, the blonde was still there. This mirror is on display in the lower elevator foyer.
Other reflections of deceased guests have been spotted in the mirrors hanging in the hallways.
Two ghosts are known to haunt the Blossom Room.
A cold spot, about 30 inches in diameter, which was about 10 degrees cooler than the rest of the room is believed to be an academy award nominee, from long ago. Psychics have felt the presence of a man in a tuxedo, in a state of great anxiety.
In 1990, a couple was strolling on the mezzanine, near the Ballroom, heard piano music, so they walked onto the balcony overlooking the empty Blossom Room. They saw a man, wearing a white suit, standing beside the piano. They attempted to make contact with him, but he didn’t respond. When they walked nearer, he dissolved into the air.
Security guards have seen ghosts take a late night, early morning swim in the pool. One such ghostly resident decided to do so at 3 AM in the morning, to beat the crowds. While the security cameras picked up his image in the pool, when a security guard went down to investigate, he communicated through walkie-talkie that no one was there. Waving his hands at the camera. However, on the security camera, the guard was waving his hands right through the apparition’s head!
- A little 5 year old girl, who calls herself Caroline has been spotted singing and skipping around the fountain in the lobby, in the early morning hours. She was wearing jeans and a pink jacket, with her hair pulled back into a pony tail. She looked solid and lifelike, so the receptionist thought she was a real child. Imagine her surprise when the child suddenly disappeared before her eyes.
In 1992, psychic Peter James, while investigating the hotel, in a series of midnight sessions was first introduced to this little girl apparition in the Academy Room, not far away from a very cold spot, that James describes as a “tubular shaft,” a doorway used by the spirits to enter this world. She told him that her name was Caroline, and that she was looking for her mother. He found her again in the penthouse library, and she was crying, worried that her mother may be hurt. James comforted her, and she disappeared.
Ghosts having fun! Guests have been locked out of their own rooms, when their doors were mysteriously locked from the inside. The switchboard in the lobby will get calls from empty rooms. Phones are lifted off their receivers in empty rooms. A maid was pushed into a closet by an unseen presence. Attempts to film the known haunted places in the hotel have been foiled by unexplainable electrical failure, etc. Talking heard in empty rooms and the sounds of nonexistent children playing in the hallways have been reported by other guests.
The restless spirits that are the ghostly guests of the hotel, are an amiable bunch, and welcomed by the hotel staff. As they shared the pleasures of this hotel with other guests while they were alive, they are good sports about sharing the hotel with the living. They are enjoying their memories of their time spent in this great hotel.
Located in Prescott’s historic downtown area, about a block from Whisky Row.
Built in 1917, this 2 story restored hotel bed and breakfast truly has an old-world atmosphere, with some modern conveniences as well for the comfort of their guests. It’s 16 rooms are all nicely decorated, with “transom windows, iron radiators, oak furnishings, original woodworking, period wallpaper, ceiling fans, handmade patchwork quilts, lace curtains” plus a choice of modern bathroom show/tub combinations or old-world pull-chain Toilets and old-fashioned claw tubs. A lovely verandah can be found on the second floor. A nice sitting room can also be found in the front of the hotel.
The Hotel Vendome has had many owners throughout the years. A woman, Abby had come to Prescott in the late teens for treatment for her consumption. She fell in love and married a Mr. Byr. This couple in 1921 bought the Hotel Vendome and ran the hotel. Unfortunately, they lost the hotel because of unpaid taxes. The new owners kindly let the Byrs stay in room 16, located on the second floor, off the verandah, and hired them to continue to manage the Vendome. One evening, Mr. Byr went out to get Abby some medication and never came back, either because he met with foul play or he deserted her. Abby was so heartbroken that she refused to eat and died in her room, along with her cat Noble, who had been locked in the closet and starved to death. (A seance held in 1984 revealed how Abby and the cat died. )
Abby and her cat Noble began to make their presences known around WW2, and have continued to this day. They basically haunt room 16, though she has been known to venture out to check up on the living. The current owners have a large binder which holds information, sightings, manifestations of Abby and Noble. Below are just a sample listed in the notebook.
A) Sample of Occurrences which have happened inside room 16:
1) The closet hangers have been heard moving by themselves, and the sound of a cat toy being played with can be heard as well.
2) Guests have experienced objects being moved when they are not looking, being touched softly by unseen presences, hearing or feeling Noble or Abby sitting on the bed, the smell of a strong perfume and feeling a gentle cool breeze blow past them in the room.
3) Abby will occasionally make a visual appearance and has spoken to guests when they’re in a sleep state.
4) Spirit orbs have been photographed in the dark in room 16 by psychic researchers Dr. Oesten and Dr. Gill.
B) Occurrences which happened outside room 16.
1) Footsteps have been heard in room 16, which traveled down the hall, and descended down the stairs to the lobby.
2) Maids, while cleaning up the various rooms, sometimes have the TV on while they work. They have reported that Abby will turn down the sound on the TV, if she doesn’t like the program being watched, listened to but will turn the sound back up if the living will switch channels. She hates MTV!
3) Above the entrance to the Vendome, spirit entities have been seen in various forms.
Various psychic researchers and guest alike have confirmed that Abby and Noble are friendly entities who have never left the Vendome.
Why old portraits’ people never smiled?
Remains to Be Seen
Why are people in Nineteenth Century photos usually grimacing? This newlywed couple looks like they’ve just been sentenced to hard labor. American author Mark Twain explains their expression:
A photograph is a most important document, and there is nothing more damning to go down to posterity than a silly, foolish smile caught and fixed forever.
Twain wasn’t alone. He supported a traditional though fading belief that smiling made you look stupid. The Atlantic cites scholar Nicholas Jeeves:
Twain wasn’t the only believer in the idiocy of the style. Look back at painted portraiture — the tradition photography inherited — and you’ll rarely see a grinning subject. This is, in fact, Jeeves’s subject. “By the 17th century in Europe,“ he writes, “it was a well-established fact that the only people who smiled broadly, in life and in art, were the poor, the lewd, the drunk, the innocent, and the entertainment.”
Indeed, not only were smiles of the middling sort, they breached propriety. In 1703, one French writer lamented “people who raise their upper lip so high… that their teeth are almost entirely visible.” Not only was this discourteous, he asked: Why do it at all? After all, “nature gave us lips to conceal them.”
Portraits represented an ideal. It’s easy to mock them — they were the profile pictures of the aristocracy, in a sort of way — but they were crucial, tied to mortality, a method of preserving a person’s visage and affect. Jeeves puts it well: “The ambition [with portraiture] was not to capture a moment, but a moral certainty.” Subjects never looked exactly like their picture, yet their portraits were how they appeared. Portraits had permanence. You did not want to commit a permanent faux pas.
Link -via Glenn Reynolds
You never escape. Not really. It’s always going to be there.
Sometimes hidden away in the back of your mind in the form of a nightmarish memory. Or it sits and stares you in the face, daring you to just try and forget.
Do I consider myself lucky? Maybe. I don’t know anymore. I did at one point I suppose. I encountered something terrible. Inhuman. A real…whatever it was. It tried to hurt me. It hurt my friends, my family…all to get at me.
I don’t want to talk about “it”. Even thinking about it is causing my hands to shake. God, I’m sweating. The scars on my arms are itching at the memories flooding back. But “it” isn’t what I wanted to talk about. More, rather, I want to talk about after.
That creature killed people. And it almost killed me, but I beat it. I stopped it. Sometimes, on the darkest of days, I try to think of myself as a hero. That by stopping it, I saved countless future victims. Or that I avenged my fallen family. But I know it was just self-defense. Nothing more. A man isn’t a hero for shooting a charging bear. He’s just lucky the odds were in favor. I don’t consider myself a hero…or lucky either now.
I hear so many stories of people surviving against odd creatures. Monsters and demons…but they don’t delve into what happens after. Maybe a few lines but never the details.
You don’t hear about the countless sleepless nights staring out your dark window, imagining a beast pressing it’s head up against the window, staring and smiling. You don’t hear how they jump at the slightest creak in the house, wondering if another of its brethren has come to sink those stinking claws into you for revenge. They don’t talk about how their home is gone, lost. Not to those creatures, but to memories. You can wash away the blood from a room but not from your mind. I can still see my little brother’s room. So much…
That’s what happens after. The worst thing about that dark world that lies just out of sight of our own is knowing that it’s there. Knowing that the dark should be feared. That every creak or rustle can have something terrible behind it.
I know and worse, I can see them. Once you’ve been touched, it’s like you’re attuned for them now. You notice the small signs that give them away. I’ve seen a young boy play with a little girl who almost managed to hide the small, bloody hole in the back of her head with her long brown hair.
I’ve seen the jogger running through the park, unaware of how the trees above her rustle along at just the right intervals to constantly remain right above her. She looked just like my friend Connie too.
God, I miss her…
I’ve almost thrown up many times to the news articles outlining mysterious suicides where the victim showed no signs of depression but seem to always occur in the darkest hours of the night.
Sometimes, I wonder if I should get involved. Warn the jogger or the boy of the creatures they’ve attracted. Try to help them escape a fate that no person should be forced through. But, the truth is, I’m terrified.
If I help, I know I’ll attract them back to me. I’ve managed to keep my head down long enough after that creature to avoid any others. However, constantly sitting back and watching them target those poor people has weighed on me.
I…don’t know how much longer I can hold on.
Sometimes, on the blackest nights, when all light seems to be snuffed out, and the creaking grows in my house to where I’m sure they’ve found me, I pull out the small pistol I bought. It gives me comfort. It reminds me that those things are vulnerable at least. Claws, nasty face, or an inhuman body doesn’t make you bulletproof. Now, it’s a different comfort I feel as I place the cold barrel into my mouth. The metallic taste on my tongue and the surprisingly heavy weight in my hands seems to call to me. Offer a way out. It gives me a chance to be free from this dark knowledge.
I could never do it though. It’s not because I have some great deed left to do or even because I really want to live on. It’s because death horrifies me. It chills me to my core. Every time I think about it, my mind turns to them. I get the feeling that’s what they’re waiting for. For death to take me as he has countless others. Then I would join them in their world. Nothing would stand in their way as they claimed me like one tried to do long ago.
I just know, deep down, that the only thing that separates my world from theirs is this fragile, delicate body I live in.
So, there really is no escape. No matter how long you run or hide or forget, you can never escape the inevitable. One day, they’ll have me.
And there’s nothing I can do to stop it.
Someone wants to suck your blood.