The year was approximately 2014, late December. Working 3rd shift-night audit, around 0200, quiet, no one in the lobby, maybe 3 occupied rooms upstairs and no other staff present. Staring at the computer screen as I let the mind wander, doing the nightly tasks, checking incoming reservations, running reports for the day shift, ignoring the otherwise dead of night. I had long hair then, bound in a ponytail, draped down my back, not quite mid-back length. Dressed in black jeans and Casual Friday attire; decent enough for day but appropriate for the night shift where I might be on hands-and-knees cleaning from time-to-time.
As I focused on the tasks at hand, standing in front of the computer, my ponytail was tugged from behind and 2 swift ‘hey baby’ slaps on my butt~the left cheek, to be precise. I spun my head faster than Linda Blair in The Exorcist to see who had slapped me; no one there. No one in the gift shop behind me, no one in the lobby, no one in the stairwell. There had been NO ONE since my shift began at midnight, yet someone did this, someone wanted to make their presence known, someone who wasn’t there. I believe the person responsible was Claude Harvey, the maintenance man murdered in the old hospital back in 1935. Stories told of a fatherly figure, a ladies man and one that was a bit protective, albeit fresh with the ladies. I now have Claude’s old office as my own and I feel his presence often; I believe he is still keeping an eye on this old building and letting the current occupants know he’s still here.