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The guests in Room 10 seemed perfectly normal.
“They were Mr. and Mrs. Boring. They hadn’t been drinking or smoking anything funny,” recalls Judith Blincow, owner of The Mermaid Inn in Rye, England.
But when Blincow came on duty in the morning, they were fast asleep on the couch in the lobby.
“They woke up in the middle of the night and saw a figure walk through the wall,” says Blincow. “They were too scared to go back upstairs. We had to bring all their clothes down and they got changed in the loo.”
Such tales are commonplace at The Mermaid Inn, which ticks all the boxes in the “haunted hotel” department. The moment I laid eyes upon its circa 1420 half-timbered façade, I was at once terrified and spellbound - like an Egyptologist who has no choice but to descend into a horribly cursed tomb.
The Mermaid Inn is set upon Rye’s most picturesque road. Carpeted with chunky cobblestones and lined with heritage homes that perspire ivy, Mermaid Street is a living postcard, its name a testament to the days when the port town was surrounded on three sides by the sea (it has since receded, and fortified Rye now resembles a dry-docked island).
The seduction doesn’t vanish at the threshold: The Inn’s interior oozes the kind of cosiness that only wood-burning fireplaces, gilded picture frames and leather furniture can evoke.
All the furnishings are genuine relics from bygone eras, and some come complete with mysterious auras.
A 16th century chair featuring a goat’s head and cloven feet is said to have come from a witches’ coven, and should your derriere make contact with it, bad luck shall follow (to balance things out, a good luck dragon seat is also on site).
Before I met Blincow, I assumed that the owner of such an elegant hotel would be reserved – stuck up, even. But she has a girlish glow, her manner infected with amusement. This is solidified when she responds affirmatively when I toss out: “have you ever tried out the priest hole?”
“I came out all black,” she laughs.
The priest hole is easy to navigate compared to rest of the building, a warren of black-and-white Tudor hallways punctuated with portraits of regal personages. Everywhere you turn, a new set of stairs seems to materialize; a spooky corridor beckons. The floors creak unanimously.
An aspiring time traveler could easily be convinced that one of these black doors is the gateway to the past they have been seeking.
Mind you, a jaunt into the 18th century may not be so wise: during that period, The Mermaid Inn was a smugglers’ hotspot. In fact, the notorious Hawkhurst gang made it their headquarters, and, according to Blincow, they were so smug about their power that they made little effort to conceal their criminal activities.
“They would be in the bar with guns and such openly on the tables,” she says.
Not all guests have been so unsavoury. Some chick named Elizabeth I poked her head in during a royal visit to Rye in 1573. Other celebrity visitors have included Henry James, Charlie Chaplin, the Queen Mum and Johnny Depp.
The humblest rooms, which go for a reasonable 75 pounds per night, are a Tudorphile’s dream. But the jewels in the crown are Dr. Syn’s Bedchamber, where a secret staircase lurks behind a bookcase, and the uber-haunted Elizabethan Chamber.
I insist upon the latter. If one is going to tempt the paranormal into a performance, one must go directly to their favourite theatre.
The Chamber is drop-dead gorgeous, with a Caen stone fireplace, stained glass windows and an 18th century carved four-poster bed (“it must have been built in the room, it’s too big to have been brought in,” says Blincow).
Let the ghost register show that a guest once awoke to find a duel raging around her. “The combatants were dressed in doublets and hose, fighting with rapiers,” reads a leaflet supplied by the Inn. “The victor disposed of the body of his opponent by throwing it down the oubliette, or secret dungeon, situated in the corner of the room.”
It sounds like the spirits are minding their own business, so I am not overly alarmed.
However, when I extinguish the light and settle into the shadowy room, my pulse quickens more than I care to admit. The panes rattle, and I hear the muffled hubbub of the bar below.
And then it happens…
I fall asleep.
And what a sleep it is! The bed and its luxurious linens make for slumber heaven. In the morning, I reluctantly extract myself from its antique embrace and migrate to the dining room for a proper “Full English” breakfast, complete with black pudding and fried toast.
I depart satisfied, but with a heaviness in my heart. I realize that something is, indeed haunting me: my desire to return.
The Mermaid Inn
Rye, East Sussex, England
www.mermaidinn.com
(44) 1797 223065
Rates: From 75 to 200 pounds per night, including full English breakfast
For more info on Rye, see www.rye-tourism.co.uk