I’m not sure when and why it happened, but I do remember how.

It was as if a wave of energy ran through me and my senses just came alive. I couldn’t make out what it was initially or where it was coming from but something in me recognized the sound. A baby crying uncontrollably. The type of high-pitched, unconsolable cry that jolted me to life in a second, senses heightened, heart in a knot, all after a good night’s sleep. The kind you only get on a long, cold winter night, snuggled under a warm blanket while the snow is falling outside, casting a peaceful silence.

Whatever state I was in before that snowy night, the moment the baby started crying, I was wide awake. More than that, I felt alive. I started hearing other sounds, noticing people around me, and observing everything, from a squirrel leaping from a tree onto the windowsill of the corner room on the first floor to the groceries being delivered through the back door every morning at 6 a.m. sharp.

The days that followed were dizzying but as time passed, I realized they were the quietest and most peaceful I’d ever witnessed. A period so peaceful you could hear your thoughts at night before going to sleep instead of worrying about the next day or some upcoming event you couldn’t control. I didn’t understand that at first. Everything was new and thrilling. I was suddenly aware of everything around me so I took it all in: the quiet brownstone-lined street with the Willow Street sign, the loud alley on the side, the carriages, the women in tight corsets and decorated dresses, the men in waistcoats and top hats.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let’s go back to those first moments.

Soon after the baby started crying, I was overwhelmed with everything I was sensing. But his desperate cries silenced it all. There was nobody there with him. I didn’t know what to do so I cracked a window to let in some fresh air since the room was a bit stuffy. I also turned on the radio and searched for a station playing Christmas carols, hoping the soothing tunes might help. Nothing worked.

Then I heard angry thumps coming up the stairs. That’s when I became aware of Mrs. Thingtom, the owner. A very noticeable presence I was blissfully unaware of until then because of the crying baby that tuned out everything else.

Mrs. Thingtom seemed quite old at the time but later I realized she wasn’t; it was just how people looked and carried themselves back then. She always wore clean, pressed clothing. Most usually a white dress with a high neckline decorated with a thin layer of lace, long sleeves, and a floor-length skirt with subtle floral details.

She wasn’t the owner on paper, her husband was but she was managing everything while he spent his days in a bar on Montague Street. He wasn’t a bad man or a bad drunk; he just came home every night reeking of alcohol, kissed his wife with an ashamed look in his eyes, and went to bed. They seemed fine with this arrangement.

When it came to getting things done, Mrs. Thingtom wasn’t one to hesitate. She used her master key and entered the room.

“Oh no, why are you alone in here?!” she said. “No wonder you’re crying. And the window is opened, what kind of mother leaves the window open on a cold winter night like this?”

Oops… Didn’t think of that…

“Come here, little one. Let’s sing this carol together. At least she had the decency to leave the radio on”. She continued rolling her eyes at the radio but quickly turned to the baby as if the mere idea of thinking of the mother wasn’t worth even a second.

That made me smile to myself. One good idea, one bad. Not too shabby all things considered…

“I am kicking her out this time, no excuses. Not only is her baby waking up all my guests, but she’s also an irresponsible mother! It’s not your fault, little one. But I can’t risk a tragedy. That would haunt me forever and ruin The Willow. Nobody stays at a hotel where something awful happens to a baby. You’re coming with me, little one.”

As Mrs. Thingtom left, the mother was coming up the stairs, snow in her hair, shock in her eyes.

“Mrs. Thingtom, where are you taking him?!”

“He was crying and alone, Alice! What if something happened?! Also, who leaves a window open?”

“I didn’t leave any window open!”

“Of course not, nothing is ever your fault… The radio was a good idea, though.”

“What radio?! I didn’t leave any radio on. It would have woken him up.”

“This is the last time you disrupt the peace of this hotel. It’s bad enough you’re late on your payment…” but as she pulled air in her lungs preparing to give a speech she clearly gave before, Alice politely interrupted sensing a mean comment was coming her way. Again.

“I’m terribly sorry for everything. My husband arrives tomorrow to settle the bill. I just went out for milk. It’s a bit far but it’s the only one open this late. He was sound asleep. It won’t happen again. We’ll be gone by Friday.”

They wouldn’t be and Mrs. Thingtom knew it. She doubted the husband was coming to the rescue. In fact, she started to wonder if there even is a husband, to begin with. But she was curious to see how Alice would explain herself. Besides, she was also secretly fond of little Mel. His real name was Malcolm, but Mrs Thingtom called him Me as she didn’t like the sound of “Mal.”

I’ll always remember Mel. His desperate cry woke up something in me; something I wouldn’t understand for a long time. It was the start of an adventure that I never expected. Mel woke me up making me the beginning and the end of so many brief chapters in people’s lives. I witnessed so many passing through my doors only to spend a few days here. Many beautiful moments and some horrendous ones too.

But everything started with Mel and the cry that pierced through the night – and my long sleep. It was sad, in a way, but also full of life and vitality, which made it beautiful.

What happened to Alice, though… that was horrendous. The first of many lessons I’d learn after becoming The Willow.