My husband and I love to go to San Francisco. We try and go every other year. Our favorite time to go is the day after Thanksgiving. Black Friday. The city is packed and we have a blast going to the tree lighting in Central Park, then to our favorite restaurant. We always stay at The Parc 55 Hotel. It is located in the heart of downtown. Also, my husband prefers we stay somewhere that is not haunted, because the spirits know I am there and they usually come find my room and pay us a visit in the middle of the night. My hubby prefers a ghost free vacation, and I respect that. But, the last time we were in San Francisco and we checked in at The Parc 55, I had a horrible experience. This story is not rated “G,” and it is disturbing. I am second guessing myself as I am writing this. Should I or should I not tell this story? But, as a Medium I cannot always have happy, pretty images come from spirits.
My husband and I get our room key and the girl at the desk says we are going to love our room. It’s a corner room with a beautiful 180 degree view. Large room with floor to ceiling windows overlooking Downtown. Yeah us!! We get in the elevator and up we go. As we are going up, I started to feel really sick. I felt like I was going to throw up and my anxiety level was rising. I start shaking and sweating.
The doors open to the elevator at our floor and we step off. I am now feeling ill and filled with dread. I don’t want to go to our room, but I also feel like I am going to vomit, so hubby opens the door and I go stumbling across the room to the bathroom. It was not easy getting across the room because my equilibrium was so off balance, I had to hold onto the furniture. I feel like I have the worst flu I have ever had. My poor hubby does not know what to do. I have him help me get to the bed and that is when I saw the girl sitting over by the large windows.
She looked right at me. She had her knees up to her chest and her arms wrapped around her legs. She was rocking back and forth crying. She had bobbed black hair, dark makeup on that was smeared all over her face. She had a small short top on, mini skirt, and ripped fish net panty hose. Her high heels were on the ground next to her. She then says to me, “This was the beginning of my demise.” What she showed me next was horrific. (I am going to call her Kat so I don’t keep referring to her as “she”)
Kat then shows me that she is in the hotel bar and at this point I have already figured out that she is a prostitute. She is talking to two gentlemen in uniforms. They look like pilot uniforms to me. Next Kat shows me all three of them going upstairs and they are going into the room we are in. I can smell the alcohol on the men’s breath. These two men proceed to overpower her. Kat is making me feel how scared she is and full of fear and panic. They ruff her up and rape her for hours. That’s as graphic as I will go, it was horrible. When they are done with her, they throw money at her while she is curled in a ball crying on the bed, and then they leave.
Kat then says to me, “That event changed my life.” She couldn’t go to her pimp and complain, because it was all about the money to him. She couldn’t go to hotel security, because she was a prostitute. She cried all night staring out that window. She didn’t know how she was going to live with that horrible night playing over and over in her head. Her weak and desperate solution was to block it out of her mind with drugs.
The first thing Kat said to me was, “This was the beginning of my demise.” She told me she died from a drug overdose not too long after that incident. She crawled deeper and deeper into depression and drug use.
During this time I was communicating with Kat, my husband was on the phone getting us another room. I still felt horrible, but as we left the room and got on the elevator, I felt back to normal. I was ready to start our vacation and hit the city. I thought about Kat a lot during that trip and still do. I did have nightmares about what happened to her, and I woke up crying because of how scared and helpless she felt. Then I would be mad and frustrated because I couldn’t help her. I hope she had some closure by sharing her story with me. I would hate to have her living in torment in the afterlife too.
P.S. Every hotel has stories to tell … it doesn’t mean it’s haunted.