When we moved to the Texas Panhandle I promised my wife frequent green vacations. She grew up in the Midwest and high desert just doesn't cut it for her. We often argue about whether a mesquite qualifies as a tree.
This year we brought Murphy the dog.
I was able to find him a nice boarding facility in Estes Park where he exhausted himself romping with other dogs and generally ruining the excellent work the groomer did just before we left. He was fine on the roadtrip, even offering to take a turn at the wheel.
Not being stupid, the operators of The Stanley Hotel have capitalized upon this and offer ghost tours. Of course I signed up for one! So one Wednesday afternoon the girls and I gathered with the rest of the herd in the basement of the hotel. The tour lasted 90 minutes and was a mixture of local history and ghost stories. Most of the ghost stories were fairly benign, such as Mrs. Wilson, who worked as the head chambermaid until the day she died, took a weekend off, and came right back to work. The fourth floor and a particular staircase are alleged to be haunted by the ghosts of children who grew up, died, and returned to the hotel to spent their afterlife. Only one ghost allegedly died in the hotel; from a case of appendicitis.