My father, an avid skier, has spent winters in Aspen, Colorado, for over twenty years. I lived in his Snowmass Village house briefly in the early 1990s and always felt uneasy in the dimly lit downstairs area. That feeling returned during a recent holiday visit.
My husband, son, and I joined my brother's family at the two-level house. Built into the mountainside, the lower floor is particularly dark, with two bedrooms, a bathroom, a laundry room, and a sauna. Since my earlier stay, my father had acquired an antique pipe organ from the 1800s, a gift from a business associate. My mother refused it, so it now dominates the second, darkest downstairs bedroom.
As the last to arrive, my husband and I were assigned that very room. Exhausted from travel, we went to bed early. Needing water to acclimate to the altitude, I woke up around midnight to use the bathroom. In the dark room, I glanced down and saw a striped cat patiently waiting by the door. This was impossible—my father is allergic and has never owned a cat. I stared, rubbed my eyes, but the cat remained. Remembering our sleeping dog was also in the room, I finally decided to let the 'cat' out. I opened the door, expecting it to walk out, but instead, our dog bolted out as if chasing something that was no longer there.
The next morning, my husband—a skeptic of the supernatural—made me promise not to tell anyone what he was about to say. He confessed that around 2 a.m., he woke to find the room filled with a mist. Within it, he saw the floating head of a woman at the foot of the bed. At first, he thought it was me, but then he heard me groan softly beside him. Startled, he looked closer. Without his contact lenses, his vision was blurry, but he could make out a skeletal woman's head with heavy makeup, long hair, and a large hat tied under the chin. The head floated up over my side of the bed, looking directly at him, before vanishing near the headboard. Terrified, he tried to forget it and eventually fell back asleep.
I kept my promise about the head but mentioned the cat to my sister-in-law and nieces. They then confessed that they, too, had felt a persistent sensation of being watched in that room. Later, my son reported the same feeling.
For the rest of our stay, nothing else happened. Afterwards, my sister-in-law and I theorized that the phenomena might be connected to the old organ. My father knows little of its history but considers it a valuable antique he now wishes to leave to me. I politely declined, suggesting he donate it to a church instead. I have no desire to inherit it.