A Horror Film Mecca
My husband is so kind, so amazing and loves me so much that he has been known to force me to go on vacations with him against my will.
Which at times can include kicking and screaming until it is recommended I be shot with a tranquilizer gun so I don’t swallow my tongue, foam at the mouth and start kicking out windows.
This all might seem disturbing if not for the fact that (1) my life insurance policy sucks; (2) I’m afraid of flying; (3) in five years I have not willingly left my children for more than 62 hours; and (4) my husband is really good at
pretending to be being nice to me.
(Oh, also, be encouraged by the fact that Jules from Go Guilty Pleasures! survived a suspicious hot air balloon
plot trip with her husband.)
So recently my husband surprised me by announcing he had booked us a flight to Denver and a stay in a mountainside condo in Estes Park.
And when I say “surprised” I mean like the part in Pulp Fiction where Vincent is sitting on the toilet and Butch walks in and blows him away.
I love being surprised.
Anyway, this part of the trip wasn’t bad.
This part wasn’t either. (I thought I was pointing to mountains but instead I could be flipping off motorists.)
This part was pretty great too, minus the snow in my eyeballs part and minus the standing very close to the edge of the Rocky Mountains part.
And, as an animal lover, I couldn’t help loving a city that has desegregated its wildlife creatures. They’re like real human citizens to the point where squirrels can share family campsites and elk can ride the same theme park rides.
Guys, they’re tearing down social walls in Estes Park. It’s all happening.
But this part? This part I didn’t like. This part I didn’t see coming.
I thought Danny was just riding his big wheel around in an abandoned hotel. But then ghosts of murdered twins appear out of nowhere at the end of a hallway.
Sort of like The Stanley Hotel in Estes Park, Colorado appeared out of nowhere as we were driving into town.
I had no idea until we drove past it that it was located in Estes Park. How did I not know this? Being that The Shining is the scariest movie I’ve ever seen about the scariest hotel I’ve ever heard of, you’d think I would’ve mapped it out so as never to end up there.
The original 1980 movie wasn’t filmed here (the forgettable 1997 made-for-TV version was). But Stephen King’s stay at The Stanley Hotel inspired him to write the book. He stayed in the infamous room #217 on a night when the hotel was cleared out for the season. Perfect.
Oh, and the hotel is supposedly haunted. Of course it is.
Do I look like the devil here? I sort of do. When I saw this picture, I thought, I look like the devil here. Am I possessed?
Or maybe it’s just a really, really bad picture of me. Because I’m known to have really, really bad pictures on occasion, occasions that I cannot always attribute to being possessed.
Unless by “possessed” you mean “high on Bactine and sugar-coated corn flakes”.
You may be disappointed to learn we didn’t stay overnight at The Stanley Hotel. Are you kidding me? I would never. I couldn’t. No way. Never.
Although, it did make it a bit less scary to see that The Stanley Hotel really likes to play up The Shining thing. Like it’s some kind of theme park. Only, elks cannot attend this theme park. Something about how they get possessed and then foam at the mouth and kick out windows.
Cheesy $15.00 ghost tours? Check.
Movie posters hanging in random places like the restrooms? Check.
Autographed photos of The Shining cast members? Check.
I was touched to learn that “Danny,” the psychic boy in the movie, is actually named “Danny”.
Although, disappointingly, “Tony,” the little boy who lived in Danny’s mouth, the voice who talked through Danny’s finger, is actually named “Steve”.
Also, I hear he’s not really that helpful in times of crisis and is actually a total jerkoff.
And that is exactly why I never like to look behind the curtain.
Well, because of that . . .
. . . and also because of this.