My Intimate Connection With Stephen King–Maybe

Many stories are told of the haunting of 17Hundred90, an inn built that year in Savannah, Georgia. None can be confirmed.

The version shared by the hotel is of Anna, who was brought to the city as what we might call a mail-order bride. Imagine the girl, not much older than a child, tossing across the waves alone, traveling to a strange land. With no photos to study or videos to watch, she likely had little idea how her future looked. Few would blame her for befriending a young sailor during the journey.

As one might guess, the pair fell in love—or so Anna thought. Yet, once in port, things went awry. Perhaps her husband-to-be learned of the affair. Perhaps the young man was trifling with her all along. But as Anna gazed out the inn’s window, she watched the sails billow. Her beloved’s ship headed out to sea without her. Who can guess her overriding emotion? Betrayal? Anger? Despair? Certainly despair.

She threw herself from the third-floor window outside Room 204, smashing her body onto the brick courtyard below. Or was she pushed?

According to many, her spirit remains. Over the years, some have reported the sensation of being watched, the tampering of personal belongings, and unexplained nudges—particularly in Room 204.

But Anna is not alone.

On the ground floor of the restaurant and tavern, a boy named Thaddeus places dimes on the tables, bar, and front desk. They say he’s friendly, manifesting as a warm presence.

On the other hand, a woman they say practiced Voodoo hangs out in the kitchen area, tossing spice jars and the occasional pot. Clinking metal bracelets announce her presence.

On our visits, neither my husband nor I have sensed any of these spirits, but we are not true believers.

One afternoon during our recent stay, on our way out I reminded the man at the front desk of our dinner reservations that evening.

“Yes,” he said. “You’re in Room 202, the room Stephen King stayed in.”

I felt my face light up. “Stephen King stayed in Room 202?”

The clerk explained the famous author had written of holing up in a small inn in Savannah to work on one of his projects. His room was tucked away for privacy and had a skylight. Which our room had! The staff had called around to the other hotels and inns in the city and none claimed a room with a skylight. They surmised King was speaking of 17Hundred90 in Room 202. What better hotel for a writer of horror?

We later returned to our possibly famous room and pondered over my meager writing career and this connection with the literary great.

My husband said, “Just think. You’ve sat on the same toilet as Stephen King.”

Maybe!