There was an old inn called the Blue Ball Inn off of Route 30 in Downingtown, Pennsylvania. We decided to make that our first haunted hotel experience. The inn is supposedly haunted by a spirit by the name of Old Prissy, who was the former owner of the inn until her death in 1908. The paranormal had always fascinated Warren and me, and we came with several cameras and a voice recorder, very much intent on not sleeping a wink and capturing as much activity as possible.
Upon arrival, we noted a small cabin-like house to the right, directly across from the inn itself. It was mid-February and there was thick, dark smoke rising from the chimney of the cabin. It looked extremely lovely and very cozy. Warren remarked how lucky those people must be to be warmed up next to a fire. We checked in and went to our rooms.
We decided to stay in separate rooms located next to each other in hopes that an entity would be less intimidated to reveal itself when only one of us were in the room. Warren helped me set up my equipment and then I went to help him.
That night we hung out a little down at the bar, and when midnight rolled around, we excitedly departed to our rooms. What a disappointment when the sun rose the next morning and Warren and I, both very tired but both very angry, seeing as nothing out of the ordinary happened the entire night! We checked out in a huff and climbed into my SUV, loading up our equipment and cursing the inn silently under our breath.
Suddenly, Warren cried out and pointed across the road, “Where is it?!” I looked and, sure enough, there was no cabin-house. No chimney. Not even a foundation! Just an open field covered in dead corn stalks.
Astonished and confused, we hurried back to the check-out desk and asked the man where the cabin had gone. Had it miraculously burned down in the middle of the night? And if so, where was the charred remains? The desk man narrowed his eyes in confusion and said that there hadn’t been a cabin there since 1855. It was used as the servant quarters, even though Old Prissy sometimes spent the night there herself. We told the desk man that we both were witness to a cabin with smoke rising from the chimney just last night. Of course he smirked a bit at this.
Warren and I realized that the Blue Ball Inn hadn’t disappointed us after all! We were witness to a “ghost house.” Not exactly what we were hoping for, but good enough! And a swell story to tell. Perhaps we will return again and finally see Old Prissy.