When guest meets ghost: Orcas Hotel and other supernatural sleeps

ORCAS ISLAND — The place looked innocent enough. Charming even, with its white clapboard siding, its cheerful brick-red trim and white picket fence. There was a huge covered porch in front, gardens and lawns off to the side and a balcony that wrapped around a suite of upstairs rooms like the comforting arm of a lover.

It was the Orcas Hotel, our destination for the weekend, a 100-year-old landmark that loomed above the ferry dock like an April tax deadline.

Slogging up the hill, our suitcases trailing behind us like obedient dogs, my friend Rene and I speculated about the place. Surely, it had weathered a lot of history over the years; likewise, a lot of weddings, like the one we were here for.

"You two are in Octavia's Attic," the desk clerk said, checking us in. According to the hotel's Web site, that particular room possessed a "childlike charm," a phrase designed to strike fear in the heart of even the most inexperienced traveler.

After ponying up our two nights' rent, we dutifully followed the clerk up the staircase to the third floor, our suitcases and wedding gifts clumping up the stairs behind us. "Here we are!" the clerk said, opening a door at the far end of a hall. Rene and I peeked over her shoulder into a closet. A queen bed took up nearly the entire floor space; two claustrophobic end tables shared the rest.

"The bathrooms are just across the hall," the clerk said cheerfully. "You'll be sharing them with everyone else on this floor. There are two bathrooms, but one of them is on the fritz. Enjoy!" And then she was gone.

The island rhythm

A glass of wine later, we decided the room wasn't that bad. Sure, it was the size of my kitchen and as warm as steeping tea, but it was also peaceful and private and had direct access to a lovely outdoor staircase where you could sit and bask in the sun or quickly escape in the event of a fire. It had charm and character, the same qualities your friends so often found in the men they tried to set you up with; more important, it was the only room left in the place.

While Rene located the wedding rehearsal, I unpacked, then wandered down to the ferry landing. There, I found the usual marine-themed merchandise along with boat, bicycle and kayak rentals and the odd whale-watching charter. The sweet scent of waffle cones and the buzz of excited tourists lulled me into a relaxed island rhythm; after a while, I didn't even flinch at the ferry's blast.

By the time I got back, the wedding rehearsal was over and guests were gathering for the post-rehearsal barbecue at Moran State Park, a 5,000-acre recreational reserve on the other side of the island. Fabulous food, lively games and the inevitable minor injuries followed.

Upon our return, I grabbed a nightcap in the hotel bar then headed up to the room for a good night's rest. But it was not meant to be. My sleep was a sweaty tangle of flitting images and odd whispers. I cursed my roommate's tossing and turning; I cursed the roaring of the fan. More than anything, I cursed the oppressiveness of our hot little room. But apparently, someone had beat me to it.

"Did you read that journal up in our room?" Rene asked the next day. It was a beautiful sunny morning, and I was sitting in a lawn chair overlooking the twinkling waters, immersed in a cup of blissfully strong coffee and a coconut scone the size of my head. I confessed that I hadn't.

"I didn't sleep a wink last night. This hotel is haunted." Rene began to recite the gory details she'd read the night before. As she talked, her voice rose in a nervous crescendo. Spying the hotel manager, I called him over and put the question to him, hoping to squash the rumor like a cockroach.

The legend of Octavia

"A ghost? Sure, that's Octavia, the old innkeeper," he said, smiling at us. "She ran the place for about 40 years."

"And now she haunts it?" I asked.

"Well, people have definitely heard things. Especially in that room there." He nodded toward two windows overlooking the lawn; I wasn't sure, but I thought our room was directly across the hall.

"What kinds of things?" Rene asked, her voice beginning to quaver.

"Oh, footsteps overhead when there's no real floors to walk on, just joists," he said pleasantly. "That sort of thing." Despite the warm sun and my healthy cynicism, my arms began to sprout goose bumps.

"But she's a friendly ghost?" I asked, pointedly. I couldn't face another night of sleepless histrionics and was sure Rene felt much the same.

"Oh sure, she's friendly," the owner said. "Although she really put a scare into some workmen who were renovating the place back in '85. Octavia appeared out of nowhere, hissing and screaming. Poor guys ran all the way down to the tavern."

I was starting to crave a drink myself. Just then, I sensed a stealthy movement up on the balcony, near the windows where the owner had pointed. I turned and saw a weird figure dressed in a flowing garment, its face dark and menacing. I jumped, spilling my coffee.

"Hi, you guys!" the weird figure said, leaning over the railing. It was the bride-to-be. She was wearing her bathrobe and a half-dried mud mask. The wedding was held later that afternoon, followed by dinner, more goofy games and even goofier dancing. As dusk settled into darkness and edged its way toward the witching hour, I realized the time had come for me to return to Octavia's embrace.

A restless night

The room was quiet when I entered, at least it was until I turned on the fan. I got ready for bed and lay amid the deafening thrumming, suddenly wide awake. My eyes lighted on a pastel-colored journal lying on a bedside table. Curious, I picked it up.

Most of the entries were inventive variations on the "quaint and cozy" theme. But just as I was starting to drift off, I read something new.

This account talked about the presence of something weird in the room, something otherworldly. The guest, a woman, had gotten up in the middle of the night and had seen the reflection of someone else behind her in the mirror. She'd also heard weird sounds emanating from the walls, perhaps the crying of an infant, perhaps something else. I turned off the fan and listened. The distant strains of "Copacabana" wafted up the stairs. I felt the hair on the back of my neck rise.

Rene came in shortly thereafter and within minutes was sound asleep. I lay frozen on my side for hours, my mind rerunning the journal entry over and over in my head along with choice moments from the movie "The Shining."

After a while, I closed my eyes. When I opened them again, I saw a strange greenish light flash against the wall and then disappear. I kept my eyes open after that until I realized that the curtains I had so carefully pulled shut before going to bed were now wide open. I squeezed my eyes shut tight again, praying for sleep, for strength, for the cold logic which had long ago cleared my life of hobgoblins. Had I forgotten to pack it when I left the city?

After what seemed like hours, I heard a ghostly voice rise out of the mist of the early morning, penetrating the stillness of the room like a harbinger of doom: "All drivers bound for Anacortes, please line up in lanes one through five. One through five, please." It was time to go.

I got up and showered, too tired to wonder if Octavia had strewn the Dixie cups all over the bathroom floor or if spirits of a different sort had been responsible. We left on a ferry shortly thereafter, another supernaturally large scone tucked into my backpack.

I thought about that scone as our ferry edged away from the dock, leaving historic Orcas Hotel, with its picket fence and puckish phantoms, behind in the morning mist. I realized that the reason the scones seemed so big was because the room had been so small.

I figured the same could be said for my imagination.

Uneasy rider at Rosario, other hauntings

Rosario Resort: Rumor has it that an extremely friendly ghost haunts the halls of the luxurious Orcas Island mansion at the center of this resort. The spirit is said to be that of Alice Rheem, who lived there with her husband before the property was converted into a resort. When she moved there in the 1930s, Alice set tongues wagging with her trips into town on her Harley-Davidson motorcycle to play cards with the local boys at the general store. Apparently, not even death has slowed her down. Guests staying in Alice's old room have seen her ghost, clad in nothing but a skimpy red nightgown. The sound of moaning has been reported as emanating from her room, usually accompanied by loud bed squeaking. Nothing unusual in that, you might say, except the room was vacant at the time. Make tracks if you hope to meet Alice — who knows but that she might get fed up with the noise of remodeling, which will close the resort from Nov. 10 through next March. Fall rates start at $139 per night. 360-376-2222 or www.rosarioresort.com.

Thornewood Castle: Located in Lakewood (near Tacoma), this 27,000-square-foot manor is probably the most well-known haunted hotel in Washington, thanks to the recent Stephen King miniseries "Rose Red," which used Thornewood as its centerpiece. According to owner Deanna Robinson, the ghost of the mansion's builder, Chester Thorne, has made several appearances over the years. Some guests have also claimed to have seen the reflection of Chester's wife, Anna, in the mirror of her old room, currently used as the bridal suite. Happy honeymooners and others can call Robinson at 253-584-4393 to make a reservation or go online at www.thornewoodcastle.com. Prices range from $175 to $325 a night. Eeek!

The Shelburne Inn: Built in 1896, this Long Beach Peninsula retreat is said to be the home of a guilty ghost, possibly that of the original owner, Charles Beaver. According to owner Laurie Anderson, employees have felt the presence of something otherworldly on more than one occasion. A guest with psychic abilities claimed the ghost belonged to Beaver, who couldn't leave the hotel because he still felt guilty about an injury he suffered that forced his wife and daughter to run the family business. Talk about issues. Rooms at the Shelburne, in the town of Seaview, range from $119 to $189 a night and include a swanky breakfast. 800-INN-1896 or www.theshelburneinn.com.

IF YOU GO

The Orcas Hotel Bed and Breakfast is just yards off the ferry landing at Orcas Island in the San Juan Islands. Rooms range from $79 to $198 per night (double occupancy), and include a complimentary continental breakfast. No smoking and no pets. 888-672-2792 or www.orcashotel.com.

Getting there: Washington State Ferries (from Anacortes), 206-464-6400 or 888-808-7977, www.wsdot.wa.gov/ferries. Kenmore Air Harbor (from Seattle via floatplane), 800-543-9595, www.kenmoreair.com.

Orcas information: See www.orcasisle.com for information on lodging, shopping, adventures at sea, etc. Or contact the Orcas Island Chamber of Commerce at 360-376-2273 or www.orcasisland.org.

Diane Mapes is a free-lance writer who lives in Seattle.