spookiest national parks?

“The Ghost in Room 203”

George Poe did not want to leave Yellowstone at the end of the season, so he applied for a job as the winter-keeper at the Fountain Hotel. The élite hotel—which opened in 1891—sat on a small rise in Fountain Flats, close to the Fountain Paint Pots. The view of the geyser basin was magnificent and the hot springs were virtually right outside the door.

Mr. Poe was overjoyed when his application was accepted. The winter work at the hotel would be minimal. And his close acquaintance with the soldiers stationed at Fort Mammoth meant that he’d have company to break up his long winter evenings. If ever grew bored—which was unlikely—there was the endless display of the fountain basin geysers and mud pots just outside his door to entertain him—not to mention the wildlife.

Only a handful of guests—the last of the season—were staying at the hotel when the first ghostly incident occurred in Room 203. Poe, now caretaker, was working behind the counter at 6:00 pm, and darkness had fallen when the call bell rang for Room 203. Poe was surprised. No one was staying in Rm. 203—so who had rung the bell? The caretaker hurried upstairs, wondering if he’d given one of the guests the wrong room key. He knocked on the door and called out. No answer.

Using the master key, he opened the door and stepped inside. The room was empty. He blinked in astonishment and felt goosebumps up and down his arms and legs. This was strange. He closed the door in a hurry and returned to his desk duties.

The final guests of the season checked out the next morning, and most of the hotel staff followed suit, leaving only one man to help Poe close the hotel for the winter. There was a great deal of work to do, but Poe rather enjoyed having the place to himself with no guests to cater to. The luxurious feeling lasted until six o’clock that night, when the call bell for Room 203 once more tinkled happily into the echoing emptiness of the lobby.

“What the hell?!” Poe exclaimed, rearing up out of his seat.

“Is that the call bell?” his colleague called from the kitchen. “I thought all the guests were gone.”

“They…they are,”Poe murmured.

Mad as blazes at whoever was pulling such a prank, he marched upstairs to Rm. 203. Knocking and entering at the same time, he flicked on the light, ready to ream out the jokester hiding behind the door. No one was there. He checked under the bed. Nothing. He looked out the window to see if anyone had climbed in from outside, but there was no rope or ladder present. He retreated, more than a little spooked. Who had rung the call bell?

His colleague came out of the kitchen to inquire about the bell, but Poe didn’t have a satisfactory answer. “Probably one of the staff playing tricks on you,” the colleague opined.

“I don’t see how, unless they can scale the wall without a rope,” Poe replied. Still, the idea comforted him.

The next day, when the colleague was away, Poe heard the bell once more—at six o’clock once more. He fetched a heavy paperweight and ran to the second floor. The room was dark and silent in the chill autumn night. He flicked on the light switch—and, once more, no one was there. He was terrified.

Over dinner, Poe told his colleague about the ringing of the bell once again. “Sounds like a ghost to me,” the colleague said.

He left Poe alone for the winter the next day. “Don’t disturb the ghost,” he chuckled as he left.

Poe was polishing the countertop when the call bell rang at six o’clock that evening. He grabbed the pistol from the desk drawer and ran up the steps again. And, again, nothing. The shadows seemed deeper in the room, and the air was cold. “Stop ringing the bell. Stop ringing the bell…”

And he heard it again, and he turned, ready anywhere to see a specter. He vowed there and then that he would leave the hotel and never return.

Some time later, an old friend stopped by Poe’s house for dinner. They started talking about the ghost, and the friend smiled and said, “Oh, him? They found that ghost of yours.”

“What? Did they call an exorcist?”

“They didn’t need an exorcist,” the friend laughed. “They needed an exterminator. When the park had Room 203 renovated, the workers found the call-bell wire stripped of insulation. Every evening around 6, a mouse got hungry and chewed the insulation, and every time the little critter stepped on the bare wire, the bell would ring.”