About 10 or so years ago, my best friends and I went to Mexico for a sun-filled vacation.I was living in Oregon at the time and the thought of being on a beach in Mexico in the middle of winter was just too tempting to pass up. We have actually been back multiple times to visit our old haunts (excuse the pun), but it was our first trip there that would prove to leave the longest lasting impression.
We planned to stay for a week. The first few days we thought we'd stay in style and get a room at a more upscale hotel. The last few days, we thought we'd stay at a more moderately priced hotel in order to have more money to drink, shop, drink, eat, drink, eat some more, lay on the beach (drink in hand of course), and then, well, drink even more.
One day as we were perusing the vendors that were selling their wares on the malecon, we came across a man who made pictures out of straw of the various Mayan gods and holy days. As we were talking to him, he asked us where we were staying. We told him where, that it was our first time in the city, and we were having a great time. Looking back now, I realize just how foolish it was potentially to share so much information, but we were young, naive, probably drunk, and enjoying our vacation.
The man mentioned that his sister worked at that hotel and asked us how we liked it. We said we liked it very much, but it was a bit beyond our budget and we woldn't be staying more than another day or two before moving on to something closer in to the heart of the city, cheaper, and with more charm.
He asked us if we had noticed anything odd about the hotel. His English, while conversational, wasn't exactly fluent, despite the fact that it was a well-visited tourist area by English speakers. My Spanish is functional (I grew up speaking more Spanish than English but over time, my linguistic competence has diminished, but comes roaring back after a few cervezas or cuba libres); between the two of us we were able to carry on a fairly decent Spanglish (Inglespanol?) conversation. When we asked why he was curious to know, he went on to say that our hotel had a reputation for being encantado.
We laughed it off as being just his way of spooking us, of giving the tourists a fun "extra" their first time in the city. It was the following night that we were to understand exactly what he meant.
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We stumbled back to our room, pretty drunk, which was how we spent the majority of time in Mexico (on that as well as subsequent visits!!). As someone who stays in hotels frequently, it is just second-nature to me, no matter how blitzed I am to make sure my door is locked before I crash at night. Not just locked, but I always turn the extra deadbolts and make sure the rape lock is latched. This night was no different. We changed into our pjs, drank some water to attempt to stave off the impending morning hangover, and crawled into bed.
When we woke up the next morning, groggy, eyes bloodshot from the copious amounts of anejo rum we had drunk the night before, any possibility of a hangover was instantly removed: our hotel room door, which we were sure to close, bolt and latch, was standing wide open.
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