By Joe Slay

My nieces, Katie and Abbie, and I retired to Room 302 of the Crescent Hotel around 11:00 p.m. on a Thursday night in December after a day at Silver Dollar City. We were exhausted and went straight to bed. They took the bedroom. I slept on the parlor couch.

I awoke at 6:00 a.m. to the most beautiful sunrise I’ve ever seen in my life. The sun shone through the sheer curtains of the balcony and onto the fireplace in the corner of the parlor. The avocado-colored walls momentarily gave the room a dreamlike glow, as if the hotel were speaking out loud, “Get up and make today spectacular.” I stepped out on the balcony to breathe in the fresh air. Eureka Springs smells like rose potpourri—the entire town—smells like rose potpourri. 

I started a pot of coffee and then headed to the shower while it brewed. 

If there is a fragrance sweeter than Eureka Springs air and fresh-brewed coffee, I’d spray it in an N95 and wear it for the rest of my life.  

When I came out, Katie was on the balcony sipping a cup. I poured one and joined her as we took in the bells coming from St. Elizabeth’s down below. Abbie soon awakened, and we went downstairs for breakfast.

We stepped into the Crystal Dining Room. It had that smell…that breakfast-away-from-home smell, the smell that says, “You’re on vacation and you’re having a wonderful time.” It reminded me of what my son once said about airports in the morning: “The air is saturated with Starbucks and Cinnabon.” 

A fellow in a flat cap was sitting at the center of the dining room playing a James Taylor set on his acoustic guitar. A group of children from a nearby table danced and pirouetted about him. It reminded me of a scene from a Rankin-Bass cartoon where faeries danced about a troubadour. He seemed to enjoy the attention, or it could have been that he could see the children’s mothers putting together a fairly hefty tip as a thank-you for his patience. 

Abbie ordered the biscuits and gravy, Katie got the French Toast, and I chose the veggie omelet.  

As our breakfast was being served, Abbie asked, “Did anyone else hear that crying last night?”

Katie’s eyes enlarged. “Yes!”

I was taken aback. As someone who had exhaustively studied the history of Eureka Springs, I had heard the urban tales of the disembodied crying at the Crescent. I knew, however, that they had no knowledge of it.

“Did it sound like a baby?” I asked.

“No,” replied Katie.

“It sounded like a grown woman, and she was bawling her eyes out,” Abbie responded.

Katie nodded in agreement. “It was a very hard, distraught sob.”

“Like someone who had just lost a loved one?”

“Exactly.”

“Was it coming from the hallway?”

“No. It came from the threshold between the bedroom and the parlor.”

Abbie nodded in agreement. “And there you were, in the parlor just snoozing away.”

I felt guilty for how well I’d slept, completely ignorant of their plight.

“I do remember one thing that I thought was a bit strange,” I said. “I woke up to go to the bathroom, and the wardrobe door was open. I closed it, but when I came out of the bathroom, it was open again.”

“Left or right door?” Katie asked.

I paused to remember my left from my right. “Left.”

“Joey, that happened to me three times. Wake up. Wardrobe door is open. Close wardrobe door. Go to the bathroom. Come out of the bathroom. Wardrobe door is open. Close wardrobe door. Go to bed. Wake up. Wardrobe door is open. Three times that scenario played out. Three times!”

“I just thought that I didn’t fully close it.”

“Well, every time I did it, I heard and felt it latch.”

“…and that rocking chair,” Abbie spoke up.

“The one closest to the balcony door?” Katie asked.

Abbie nodded. “It just sat there rocking slowly like there was someone really sitting in it.”

“Joey,” Katie added, “I watched that chair rocking while I was pouring coffee and you were in the shower. When I opened the balcony door, it stopped.”

There are four rocking chairs on that balcony. I did indeed see the chair in question rock independently when I was on the balcony the day before. However, we shared the balcony with the room next door, and they had their door open since it was an unseasonably warm December day. Their door slammed shut at the same time that I saw that chair begin to rock; I presumed it had caught a breeze. It did seem peculiar, however, that the three chairs closest to the neighbors’ door never budged.

After breakfast, Katie and I decided to take a walk in the courtyard. I gave Abbie the key so she could finish packing.

About five minutes later, my phone rang.

It was Abbie.

“We’re gettin’ the hell out of here right now!”

“What happened?” 

“I walked into the room, and there was someone sitting in the chair!”

“What did they look like?”

“It just looked like a shadow. I screamed like a little bitch. It disappeared, and I felt a draft pass my face. My hair moved. Let’s get out of here!”

“We’ll be right up.” 

When we got to the room, Abbie had her backpack over her shoulder.

“We’re leaving…NOW!”

The Crystal Dining Room has an excellent veggie omelet and Katie loved the French toast.