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The Supernatural characters belong to Kripke Enterprises and the CW, not me. No money is being made from this story. It is for entertainment only.
Real Ghost Stories
Chapter 6
Little Millie Pratt
The Old Pratt Hotel sat high up in the Central Colorado Rockies. Just outside of the tiny statutory town of Empire it subsisted upon tourists and would-be ghost hunters, all of who feasted on the sad, lonely spirit of little Millie Pratt. Once a proud and gracious Lady of the Mountains, the now tottering hotel lived on scraps the world tossed it.
Sam and Dean pulled up at the entrance of the Old Pratt Hotel and Sam went to get their bags out of the trunk. He waited for Dean to park the Impala and come back to him. The bell hop, who was probably older than the hotel, huffed and left, seeing any possibility of a tip fade into the flannel shirt pocket of the newest hotel visitor. Sam watched the old man leave and Dean skittered up beside him,
"What's up with the old guy?" Dean watched the stiff backed old gentlemen disappear into the dark interior.
"No, tip," Sm grunted. ""Get your bag but wait. Before you go in I have to talk to you." They sat down on a bench just outside the entrance and looked out over the little mountain town, sparkling in the clean mountain air of the all too brief high mountain summer.
"Alright," Dean started. "What's the skinny on this hunt? You told me squat other than directions on the way up here. How much are they paying us to un-ghost their little tourist trap?"
Sam rubbed the back of his neck, a classic Sam 'tell'. "Well, that's just it, Dean. There is no pay involved. It's just something that I wanted to look into." Sam glanced at his brother, trying to gauge the level of his irritation.
Dean turned on the bench and cast a veiled stare at his Sammy. "What have you done, Sam? This little trip is costing us a pretty penny and I didn't see any convenient pool halls on our way up here."
"Sorry, but it's really sad and I thought we might be able to help." Sam leaned forward and braced his elbows on his knees. "You just can't say anything or they'll throw us out."
"Is this another one of those State protected ghosts again? Are the cops going to show up and arrest us for killing off another money-maker like the Baniff Hotel ghosts up in Canada? " Dean snorted. "I can't believe you got us on another one of those."
"No, it's not State protected but this Hotel will dry up and blow away without their little ghost to keep them in business." Sam responded. "Half their guests come from ghost hunting excursions."
Dean stood and stretched, breathing in deeply to get his momentary irritation with his little brother under control. "Well, we're here and I'm hungry. Let's check in and you can pay for it. "
They hoisted their bags and walked through the glass doors that were uncomfortably grafted on to the front of the hotel lobby. Sam thought they looked very much out of place but it wasn't his problem. They found the registration desk and in no time were ushered to their room on the second floor by the ancient bell hop. This time Sam did tip him.
"Ok, Sam." Dean huffed as he threw himself on his bed. "What's the story? Why am I here instead of some place warm like L.A.? It gets nippy up here at night, you know and I didn't see anybody in this hotel younger than about fifty so looking for a warm body to keep the chill out is also a non-starter."
Sam threw his spare pillow at his brother nailing him right in the face. "God, you are such a one trick pony. Can't you even think about anything but sex?"
"Give me something better to think about and I'll take a run at it." Dean responded. "Are you going to tell me about this ghost or you gonna wait for me to fall over it?"
Sam propped himself up on his head board.
"Right after the Civil War a Union officer named William Ludley Pratt made a fortune in the gold fields of California. He brought his money here to Colorado and built this hotel supposedly to have a place to bring his sick wife to recover from tuberculosis. At the time doctors had no idea how to treat the disease and dry mountain air was the only recommended treatment that showed any signs of success."
"Pratt's wife brought with her their baby daughter, Millie." Sam took a breath and continued.
"As was the way then, Pratt's wife got sicker and sicker and finally, when Millie was about five years old her mother died and Pratt was left grieving for his wife with a five year old on his hands."
"He withdrew from his little daughter, leaving her care in the hands of a crippled old woman who lived on the third floor of his hotel, mostly confined to her bed or a chair from weakness. Millie was left alone most of the time in the big, empty hotel. She spent her days wandering the hotel, checking the rooms for her missing mother, playing in the halls and waiting for her mostly absent father to visit."
Dean sat up straighter on his bed. "Don't tell me the ghost is a little kid."
Sam went on, "Hotel staff could hear Millie playing with her ball in the hallways and wandering about, crying for her Mommy. One day, not surprisingly, when no one was watching her, the little girl fell down the front staircase and died at the bottom. So, yes, our ghost is a little kid."
"God, Sam, " Dean said. "How are we going to deal with that? Do you know where she's buried?"
Sam shook his head. "It's not going to be that easy, Dean. After Millie died her father sold the hotel as soon as he could, and had his wife and his daughter both dug up and transported back east for re-burial. He and his money and the bodies of his family disappeared from the historical record. I have no idea where he went."
"The only thing left behind in Colorado was the spirit of his baby daughter who supposedly roams these halls at night, bouncing her ball and knocking on doors and walls looking for her Mommy. Women guests are often awakened in the middle of the night by a small child's voice whispering Mommy, Mommy against their cheek."
Dean stood and restlessly moved to the window. "What do we do about it, Sam?"
"She's too young to talk to Dean," Sam said. "Normally I wouldn't even try. I'd just avoid something like this because it would hurt too much to contact the spirit and have nothing to offer but something else started happening here and I might have an idea."
Dean turned to look at his brother gain. "What is it?"
"There have been reports of another ghost," Sam went on. "A man in a blue uniform of sorts appears sporadically in some of the rooms. I think her father may be looking for her."
"Well, that's creepy," Dean said. "How long ago did these people all die?"
"I think the wife and Millie would have died in the 1870's but the father may have gone on for who knows how long. He could have easily made it into the 20th century," Sam responded. "I'm thinking of summoning him. This is all his fault and guilt is a powerful motivator."
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After dinner that evening the brothers retreated to their room and took turns standing watch while one slept and then the other. It was about three in the morning when Sam heard the thump, thump, thump of a child's ball bouncing down the upper hallway. There was the sound of lightly skipping feet. He poked Dean awake.
"I think we've got one of them now, " he whispered to Dean. "Stand watch while I set up the summoning."
Sam grabbed his duffle and dug out his favorite brass bowl. He dumped in a mixture of herbs and other materials that he had mixed together earlier, chanted an invocation and lit the dry leaves. The smoke filled the room. He had previously pulled down the smoke alarm and taken out the batteries. He just hoped it all would be over before the smoke hit the hallways.
Dean kept watch through the crack of the slightly opened door and listened to the increasing beating on the walls. There was something more than a five year old's hand beating on those walls. It was grief and sorrow and loneliness turning into rage.
He glanced back to Sam. "How's it going, Sam? She's getting closer and I think she's throwing a tantrum."
Sam's voice rose in command and a bluish flickering started in the corner of the room. It was like a radio just skipping over the edges of a station; not quite catching the right frequency but closing in on it. Sam's voice became stronger and the light flickered more slowly. The pounding was coming down their hall now, getting closer and closer.
The figure of a man coalesced from the static and Sam shouted for Dean to open the door and duck. Both brothers hit the carpet with their arms over their heads and a shot of something like lightening went straight for the door.
When the light hit the hallway the pounding, which had become deafening, stopped dead. There was a smell of ozone in the air.
Dean pushed up from the floor. "Well, that was exciting. Do you think we're going to get evicted for making too much noise?"
Sam laughed. "Let's just try to get some sleep before they realize that their ghost has been kidnapped. I really want to hear them try to rationalize throwing us out."
"Tell me, Sam." Dean said quietly. "What do you think just happened?"
Sam stood and walked out into the hallway. There was just a faint wisp of smoke floating in the air from his little herbal fire. The hallway was empty, the walls undented and nighttime peace lay heavily in the air.
"I think Mr. Pratt found out once he got to the end of his days that he had left the most important thing behind when he left Colorado and he was just trying to get it back."
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This was my take on the Millie Pratt legend. This legend has circulated in ghost hunting circles for years and can be found on the oldest of the ghost hunting sites online, The Shadowlands. It can also be found on the Fogotten USA web site and in the book "Ghosts of the Old West" by Earl Murray (1988).
Where the Old Pratt Hotel can't be found is on any Colorado map on Map Quest or in the List of Historical Hotels. There are five Pratt hotels listed but none of them is in Colorado. There is a hotel in the little town of Empire (pop. 355 in last the census) but it is called the Peck House - a historic hotel and restaurant. It was founded about the right time but the man who built it arrived with a perfectly healthy wife and three teen age boys. The Peck House is still in business. The little town of Empire is west of Lawson, Colorado on Route 40. If anyone knows anything more about this legend I would love to hear from you.