Real Ghost Story: A Hotel with a “Rich” History – I’m a 20-year-old female journalism student from Terrebonne Parish, currently living in Hammond, Louisiana for school. I was born sensitive to paranormal occurrences. I’ve been encountering spirits since I was a small child, but being so caught up with school, my abilities have been a little diluted.
During my sophomore year, one of my (many) roommates offered me a job at the hotel she worked at as her replacement. It was regular hours and a nice pay, so I took it. I had never been to the hotel before, despite the fact that three of my roommates and my boyfriend all worked there.
It’s a large, sprawling rust-red concrete building with a calcified stone fountain out in front. Overgrown oak trees blocked most of the light from the highway.
Walking in, I suddenly felt uneasy. I was greeted with rustic orange stone floors and prints of French colonial paintings. The hotel was dimly lit by electric carriage lamps on the walls and the moonlight through the stained glass skylight overhead. I attributed my uneasiness to the atmosphere. I thought I was just thinking of “The Shining”.
It started out small. I started up as a front desk clerk. I loved my job. I loved the people. I loved the exposure to new types of people. After a few shifts, I even got into a routine. My routine included a five-minute cigarette break half way through my shift. Mid-March, I stepped out for my break.
After, I put out the butt of my cigarette and went to to open the side door, but it was locked behind me. I thought nothing of it really. But it was a little odd. The doors had to be manually locked by activating the magnet with a key. But I just walked through the front door and went back to work.
Just a few days later, we had an event in one of our conference rooms. I stepped in the room to unlock the front doors and lay out the refreshments. Suddenly, I got a whiff of cigar smoke. At first I thought it was me, but I hadn’t taken my break yet and the hotel is smoke-free. The cigar smell grew thicker and stronger.
The air was clear but it smelled like Al Capone’s house. I suddenly got really dizzy and fled the room. When my manager went in there after me, he came up to me, accusing me of smoking in the conference room. I denied it and told him it started while I was setting up. We ended up having to hold the event in another room.
Then things began to pick up. Just a week after this, I walked into the kitchen to grab some silverware for a guest. I called my boyfriend, since he worked a lot in the kitchen, to ask where the cook kept clean utensils. I stood in the doorway of the pitch black kitchen, holding my phone by my ear.
Looking around, I see a large black shadow move across the gray walls. I seize up and start to tear up in fear.
Two pots hanging over the prep table dropped off the hook and clattered on the ground. I ran and screamed back to my station. I told my boyfriend what happened. My boyfriend doesn’t believe in an afterlife, so he passed it off as my eyes playing tricks and the crummy construction. I believed him.
At this point, I hadn’t seen a ghost since in over four years. I had mentally blocked a lot of the things I saw, so I hardly remember what ghosts even look like. I wanted to ask my coworkers, but I was the youngest on staff and I didn’t want to come off as a kook.
For a while, the physical phenomena had declined. But I started seeing things. Little things. A figure in the corner of my eye. A shadow passing by the deluxe rooms. I started to see them clearer. And clearer. Each time.
It was June. I was working an evening shift alone. Usually the hotel was bustling, but it was dead for a Saturday night. I sat at the desk, listening to music, trying to pass the time, when the phone rang. The caller ID said “Room 186”. I answered, “Guest Services”.
Static. I could hear a faint voice on the other end.
“Hello?”, I asked.
Static.
I figured their phone was broken and needed to be replaced. I looked to see who was in 186. Then I realized. We don’t have a Room 186.
I got really creeped out. But the phone kept ringing. Over and over again from a Room 186. As soon as I hung up, it called back immediately. I sat at the desk and stared at my desk phone, clutching a rosary from the lost and found.
After about five minutes, the ringing stopped. I was fairly shook up, so I called my boyfriend to come keep me company. I got off the phone with him, and looked up to the second floor of rooms across from my desk.
A large man-like figure was walking down the hall. Before this, the figures were blurry and quick-lived. But this one was clear as day. Slightly transparent, but I could see a head and arms. He walked slowly. Past 208. 206. 204. And stopped, just a few steps from 202.
He just stood there. I felt my body go numb. My heart raced. Face flushed. I felt sick. I just kept staring at him. He walked in front of 202 and faced the door. I could see two arms reach up and press against the door. He stood in front of the door for a couple of seconds before walking past it and vanishing around the corner.
When my boyfriend arrived, I was in hysterics. I calmed down and told him everything that had happened. He made me call my supervisor. He automatically knew what I was talking about and came to the hotel. And then I found out about the hotel.
He gave me a brief history of the hotel. It was one of the first hotels to be built in the town. Built in 1965, it was THE hot spot of Hammond. Originally a Holiday Inn, it had a live band in the lounge every weekend, two bars open every night, a nightly jazz pianist, and a four-star restaurant.
The place didn’t truly start swinging until the 1970s when the nearby college picked up in popularity. The place had seen it’s fair share of tragedies.
A few deaths in a few rooms, a child drowning in a bathtub, a woman who fell off the balcony at night and bled to death. But apparent’y the rest of the crew had never really had a problem with these spirits, if they were even here.
All of the activity is attributed to one spirit. His name is Charlie Rich. The Silver Fox stayed here in July 1995 after traveling from St. Francisville to see a doctor for a cough.
He died from a pulmonary embolism in his bed in Room 202 while his wife ate breakfast downstairs. The country singer now roams our halls. I sort of feel bad for him. He struggled to get recognition for his talents, had a taste of fame, and watched his career die after an unfortunate event at a Country Music Awards ceremony.
Now that I know that he’s a harmless, lonely country singer, I got a lot more comfortable at work. I even play his songs for him at times when I’m lonely.
TL;DR I made friends with the misunderstood ghost named Charlie Rich (the country singer)
Source: ghostsstory