Omni Parker Hotel, Boston, Day 2

After our first day at the Omni Parker Hotel, and the way I felt a whole lotta nothin’, I fully anticipated that trend to continue. When Fae suggested that we head up to the 3rd floor–the site of Charlotte Cushman’s death, as well as that of a businessman who committed suicide there–I was a little reluctant. The hotel felt like any other. Why bother? But I went because I knew it would make her happy.

The second the elevator doors opened on the 3rd floor, I felt a change. This floor was not like the floor we were staying on, but again, I would be hard-pressed to explain why. To empathic people, you understand what I mean when I say the energy felt different, heavy. My eyesight went a bit hazy. I wished I had an EMF meter–anything to prove that what I was feeling was more than my imagination. All I had was the sense that I’d stepped into a whole new world.

“Whoa,” I said, and Fae agreed. This floor was, indeed, different.

We roamed the floor, fully expecting that we’d encounter something more substantive. There were a few odd things on this floor that weren’t on the 2nd, where we stayed. An odd storage room, for one. (We didn’t snoop much–the door was open a crack.) Another was a location where there was a chunk of carpet peeled up from the floor in front of a single door that looked different from the entire rest of the 2nd and 3rd floors. Images are attached below for reference.

The lonely black door with gray carpet in a sea of completely differently designed rooms
I am curious why this door and the carpet in front of it look different

The skeptic in me says we caught the hotel in the middle of a renovation, but it still struck me as very odd. I mean, every room to the left and right of this one is the same. Why is this one different?

In addition to those oddities, there was the flickering light. Unlike the Hawthorne, whose flickering lights I was willing to chalk up to old wiring, this was the single fixture I saw in the entire hotel that blinked.

The blinking fixture

Lastly is the door. We came across an unlocked door on our way back to the elevators. It was a door to a closet or a storage room. Something simple, but clearly unlocked.
“I want to open it,” said Fae.
“Don’t open it,” I said.
“I want to open it.”
“Don’t open it.”
“I’m going to open it.”
Suffice it to say, the door was opened, but only for a second. After that, Fae slammed it shut in a hurry. The explanation they gave was that something tried to push the door wide as soon as they opened it a crack. Fae had no desire to let out any trapped entities.

We never made it up to the 10th floor, another reputedly haunted floor, but after our examination of the 3rd, I must say I am curious. Perhaps on another trip to Boston.

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