Recently, we took a road trip to our favorite town in Vermont to do our own version of picking — scrounging about in barns, junk piles, rock piles, riverbeds, and thrift shop collections — for little treasures for our crafting projects. We were not disappointed. We ended up coming home with bags full of charming, unique, and whimsical bits and pieces. And while our 3-day trip was peaceful, with scenic rides along rivers and in the shadows of mountains we also, true to form, had an experience that stands out as, well, odd.
We had booked our room at a motel we had never stayed at before. All seemed fine with the booking, and the proprietor even called us while we were on our way to give us a heads up that he wouldn’t be there to greet us …. or at all that night. He would leave our room unlocked. As New Yorkers, this struck a weird note, but nothing too terrible. We arrive. We are, indeed, very much alone. Both at the far end of town where we find ourselves, as well as in the entire motel. Our room is, as promised, unlocked. Storm clouds (of course) are gathering by this time and a light drizzle has started.
It is beginning to have that Bates Motel feel to it….The alarms in my head are going off, and after comparing notes, in my sisters’ heads too. But as in all horror stories, we drag our suitcases in and claim our beds.
Two hours later, after a meal to nourish the brain, we race back to the motel, drag our luggage back out, throw it into the back of the van, and away we go. We found out over lunch that each of us was unsettled about something: one, being totally alone; two, the burnt candles on the overhead shelves; three, the statue with the twisted hands and face looking down over the beds.
We head back to the middle of town where people are, book a room elsewhere, and get ready to shop. It ended up being a great trip and we were able to explore some interesting and quaint places!