If you ever find yourself driving through the wooded hills of eastern nowhere and spot a hand-painted sign for the Whispering Pines Haunted Hotel— keep driving. Especially if the sign welcomes you to “Stay If You Dare.”
Not dissuaded? Fine, but temper your expectations. The only thing you’re likely to encounter is peeling wallpaper, passive-aggressive staff, and an aggressive lack of cell signal.
The Whispering Pines claims a long and storied history of hauntings: disembodied whispers in the halls, lights flickering ominously at odd hours, cold spots materializing in the dead of night, and — naturally — the spectral presence of a “Lady in Blue” who allegedly roams the third floor sighing dramatically about her lost love.
Naturally, I booked two nights.
Upon arrival, I was greeted not by a ghost, but by an undercaffeinated teenager who handed me a real brass room key and warned me, deadpan, to “ignore the drafty noises — it’s just the spirits settling in for the night.” Translation: the building’s original 1907 heating system is still in valiant, failing operation.
My room — The Eleanor Suite, because of course every haunted inn needs named rooms — offered all the paranormal amenities one could hope for. The floorboard directly under the bed creaked in protest every time I breathed. The window refused to latch and rattled in the slightest breeze. The radiator banged so violently at midnight that I briefly considered calling the front desk to report a ghostly bare-knuckle boxing match happening inside the walls.
I dutifully stayed up late, EMF meter (borrowed) in one hand and flashlight in the other, waiting for something otherworldly. The only whispering I heard came from the paper-thin walls as the couple next door argued about whether they’d overpaid for the “Ghost Experience Package.” (Spoiler: they had.)
On the second night, I did have a sighting. The legendary Lady in Blue turned out to be a slightly intoxicated woman in a cobalt bridesmaid’s dress trying to locate the vending machines. She was briefly confused, spectacularly lost, and infinitely more entertaining than any of the hotel’s official ghost stories.
Final thought: the Whispering Pines Inn offers plenty of chills — mostly from poor insulation. If you’re hoping to encounter the paranormal, you’d have better luck listening to static on an AM radio at three a.m. But if you enjoy a good draft, a firm mattress, and the lingering sense that you’re being judged by a thousand aging floral bedspreads, it’s worth the visit.
Bring a sweater — and your own snacks.