Haunting at the Oneida - Part 2 - On Vacation

I was supposed to go to the Oneida on Friday night, but due to a last minute family emergency, my entire weekend was spent at Beth Israel hospital (all is OK, thanks for asking). I gave Reginald a call from the hospital and asked if I could do his thing early the next week, and he said fine. Nice of him, given that he had no choice in the matter and all.

I showed up at the Oneida on Monday (yesterday) afternoon looking like a tourist who’d just stepped off the plane. Reginald told me that no one knew I was coming, and I didn’t intend to blow my cover by looking like a New Yorker.

The front of the Oneida, located in Midtown, is heavily ornamented and loomingly high. A line of taxis were streaming up and down the block, loading and unloading travelers. A few towncars and a Maybach (look it up if you’re unfamiliar with ludicrously overpriced automobiles) were parked out front. I pushed my way through the crowd on the sidewalk and went inside.

The lobby is a huge, lofty affair, with high ceilings and painted in a creamy white color. The walls are decorated with paintings of former hotel owners, most of whom tended to have a hand in areas outside of the hotel business (oil, for example). A grand staircase glamorously rises up to the next floor in one corner, while four gold elevators are situated on the opposite wall. Tourists reading newspapers and guidebooks were seated on the several antique sofas that dotted the room. Dominating it all was a large oak reception desk, which I went up to.

Sign-in wasn’t any trouble. Reginald had booked me for the 13th floor. Most of the disturbing activity had occurred at higher levels, which I assume is because the responsible party (or parties) want to have some time to escape before management gets complaints and sends someone up to check it all out. I got my keycard and road the elevator up to my floor and got out.

The hallways were as stylized as the lobby, with intricately designed wallpaper and paintings. There must have been around 20 rooms on my wing of the floor. As I approached my door, I noticed a large grandfather clock stationed at the end of the hall near the exit to the stairwell. It began to dong the hour and I swore that if it continued doing that throughout the night, I’d have to excuse the smashed clock to Reginald as yet another occurrence of the Oneida ghost.

Given the grandness of the hotel I had thus seen, I have to say I am a little disappointed in the room they gave me. It looks only slightly above the grade that comes with what one would consider a normal hotel, and I wonder if Reginald is in fact sparing expenses when it comes to my stay. Queen-sized bed, television, desk, normal bathroom, and a fridge. I looked over the room, then grabbed a few things and headed out. I wanted to have a look around the place to see if I noticed anything or anyone before it got busy.

I stepped out into the hall and immediately heard a high-pitched whining noise coming from around the corner. It sounded like a cat screeching at the highest pitch possible, and kept fluctuating in tone. And it was getting louder – whatever it was, it was coming towards me.

A moment passed, then a thin, bookish-looking guy with wiry blond hair and thin glasses came around the corner. He was holding a gray rectangular box, which I saw had a button or two and a meter on the front. I asked him what he was doing, and he told me he was Richard, a parapsychologist hunting ghosts. The box he was holding is known, apparently, as an electro-magnetic frequency meter (picture found online):

He explained to me (with the seriousness of someone explaining the fundamental laws of the universe) that ghosts give off strong electromagnetic frequencies, which in turn make the needle on the meter jump and the whining noise raise in pitch.

Richard the Ghosthunter told me that strange stories about the hotel have always been well known, but rumors about the sudden jump in activity have everyone in his “society” (whatever the hell that is) excited. He also said I’d probably see a few more people like him over the week. I asked him if he’d found anything yet, and he told me no, but that he was confidant something would come along. He showed me a few other tools – one looked really high-tech but ultimately turned out to be just a fancy thermometer, while another was only a tape recorder. I feigned some interest and asked if he thought any earthly causes were behind it. He said no, but I subtly pressed him to tell me if he had seen anyone out of the ordinary. He said that in the evenings, there generally seemed to be quite a bit of traffic in the hallways after hours, but no one stood out specifically. I thanked Richard and continued on my way.

I noticed a few faces on various floors that I committed to memory – a redhead on 10, a tall man in a striped suit on 14. But no one was coming out of their rooms shrieking about a ghost, nor were there any guys in sheets running up and down the hallway. I used the opportunity to see the rest of the hotel – the dining room, the ballroom, the workout room, the pool – but didn’t notice anything peculiar.

I went back to my room at around midnight and still hadn’t seen anything that struck me as strange. I had passed a few more people walking around with gadgets in their hand, then later noticed a hotel employee talking to them angrily. After that, they disappeared.

I snaked a camera through the crack at the bottom of the door and gave myself a good view of the hall. I connected the receiving end to my hotel television and turned it on. Then, I got into bed fully dressed and shut off the lights. The hotel was pretty quiet, despite its location, and for a while there, I got the feeling someone was watching me. I got up and shut the closet door to hide the full-length mirror that had been staring at me. Maybe the ghost stories have sort of started to eek past my tough front. Nah.

At around 1, I was awoken by the incredibly loud sound of pounding. It sounded like four or five fists were slamming on the door to my room. I jumped up and looked at the television.

Onscreen, there was no one at the door. And yet if I looked at the door itself, it was clearly being slammed by someone on the other side. As I got out of bed, the banging immediately stopped. I ran to the door and opened it, but the hallway was empty. A few other guests were sleepily looking out of their rooms. There were two escape options for whoever it was – toward the elevators or down the stairwell, and I took the stairwell route because it was closer.

For a moment, I could hear echoing footsteps a few floors down, then they vanished. It could have been the culprit, it could have been someone going down to their room. Otherwise, it was silent. I went back to my room and noticed I had left the door open. Inside, I found the faucets and shower running cold water at full blast. Crushed ice was in both the bathtub and sink. I started to laugh. This was too much fun. Then I saw that my snake camera was gone, and I stopped laughing. That thing cost a little too much to be funny.

I grabbed a notepad and camera, then barged into the hallway – and smacked directly into a short thin man with a long face and gangly arms. He jolted back in shock.

“I’m sorry!” he said, voice quivering. “I didn’t see you!”

“My fault,” I said. “Didn’t think anyone would be up this late.”

“I have to be,” he said. “I’m an employee here. My name is Anthony Engles. We had more complaints, and I was checking it out.”

“I heard some noise. Seen anyone?” I asked.

“No, sir. As usual, no one around.”

“Listen,” I said, handing him a $20. “Let me know if you do see anyone. Something of mine got nabbed, and I’d like to get it back personally.”

He took the money with shaking hands. “Will do, sir.” We said goodbye, and walked in opposite directions. At the last moment, I turned to ask him something, but he had already gone.

I spent the next hour camped out in the different hallways around the top-most floors of the hotel but didn’t find anything. Annoyed, I went down to the hotel bar for a drink.

There was another man there, dressed in a doorman’s uniform, who was being consoled by the bartender. The guy, named Tom, had apparently just been fired by Reginald, and was in a shitty state. I got that he owed rent that he couldn’t afford and that his girl was going to leave him. He finished his last shot, then stood up to go.

“I know how I can get back at him, though,” he said.

“Reginald?” I asked.

He nodded. “Didn’t understand at first, but they were right all along. Funny how getting fired can make you get it.” Then he vomited. This created a bit of commotion, as the bartender sprung to life and began hollering for some clean-up help – which, of course, at this hour of the morning there was little of. Meanwhile, Tom the Doorman looked like he was about to pass out in his own puke, and I led him to a chair. I tried to get him to talk, but he was out for the night.

I headed off to bed, and nothing more happened.

I woke up this morning and ran into Richard again in the hall. I asked him if anything had happened around his room last night, but he said no. I also asked if he had talked to the hotel employee Anthony Engles, and at that Richard went silent.

As it turns out, Anthony Engles died about forty years ago in a fire in the hotel kitchen. Meaning that the guy I ran into last night is either a ghost or one of the perpetrators of the stuff that’s been going on, and I let him go with $20 and a smile.

I’ve got a meeting in fifteen minutes with Reginald, and I’m going to try to stay another night. As I said, I don’t believe in ghosts, and it bugs me when someone tries to suggest I’m wrong.