So far we’ve gone south quite a few times: New Orleans witches for Coven, a murderous clown in Florida for Freak Show, and now a North Carolina transplant couple being faced with the reckoning of a spectral colony in Roanoke. The second season’s Asylum admitted us to a Massachusetts mental health facility. And, of course, Los Angeles was the backdrop for not one, but two seasons when we moved into Murder House and checked into Hotel. Ugh, #EastCoastBeastCoast, anyone? Yeah, let’s make that a trending topic.

Because I am an adopted New Yorker, and because I’m sick of Murphy staying in his LA backyard, I couldn’t help but wonder what a Manhattan-set edition of AHS would be like. Because of this season’s excellent execution of the real-life Roanoke Colony’s disappearence, the showrunners could pull from plenty of NYC’s haunted past and dark secrets for inspiration and I’ve decided to compile some suggestions…

The Dakota, Upper West Side

Sure, the posh and prestigious co-op building would have some parallels to Hotel. But perhaps the historic Central Park West residence, which was also the setting for the 1968 horror film Rosemary’s Baby, could be connected back to Lady Gaga’s Countess character from season five. After all, she did make mention of having lived in NYC for some time. While there, she could have lived in the storied building and had some run-ins with John Lennon and Yoko Ono.

Of course, Lennon was shot and killed by a fan outside the Dakota in 1980. At the time, he was living there with Ono, who has since reported seeing the Beatle’s ghost sitting at his white piano. He reassured her, “Don’t be afraid. I am still with you.”

But even before his death, Lennon was very much part of the Dakota’s ghostly lore. He was one of many to claim to have seen a spirit that has come to be known as the Crying Lady Ghost. It’s believed that she’s the ghost of former manager Elise Vesley. She was a believer in the supernatural herself and experienced the tragedy of her son getting hit and killed by a truck right outside the building. Add this to the apparition of a little girl that greets residents and Murphy has got himself the perfect menagerie for a full season’s worth of spookiness.

84 and 85 West Third Street, Greenwich Village

Let’s face it, between his birth in Boston and death in Baltimore, more places claim Edgar Allan Poe as their own than Abraham Lincoln. But the American gothic writer did call Gotham home for a bit, too. 85 West Third Street, now NYU’s Furman Hall, was Poe’s humble abode while he penned parts of his poem “The Raven.” Although all that remains of the original house is a banister, Poe has been seen by students climbing the accompanying stairs.

But Poe has otherworldly neighbors, too. Actually, Anderson Cooper now lives at 84 West Third Street and is very much alive. But before the CNN superstar anchor moved in, the building was a fire patrol station. In 1930, a Firefighter Scwartz hanged himself from the ceiling. His apparition has been seen hanging in his final state… American Horror Story: College, with special guest star Anderson Cooper, anybody?

St. Mark’s Church-in-the-Bowery, East Village

Would St Mark’s Church-in-the-Bowery really be Manhattan’s second oldest church without at least one ghost? Not only is the church built on the former farmland of Dutch colonial governor Peter Stuyvesant, his remains are also buried in the churchyard. All of this adds up to peg-legged Stuyvesant’s ghost disturbing the peace as he’s been known to ring bells and disrupt church services. Oh, and don’t forget his singing hymns in Dutch for all to hear. Maybe musical numbers didn’t go over so well on Freak Show, but I don’t see Stuyvesant making it on The Voice so let’s give him a musical season of AHS.

The House of Death, Greenwich Village

I don’t know about you, but the ghosts of 14 West Tenth Street are feeling 22. Or at least that’s how many supposedly haunt the townhouse. One of them is yet another historical figure, writer Mark Twain.

But more gruesomely, the house is the site where attorney Joel Steinberg beat his six year-old, illegally adopted daughter, Lisa into being brain dead and eventually physically dead. When Lisa was fond unconscious, another baby was discovered covered in filth and tied up to a playpen. That baby survived, but the horrific history of the townhouse remains.

12 Gay Street, West Village

Apparently Manhattan ghosts prefer townhouses over apartments. But this West Village site has scarier elements than its creaking floorboards.

During the Prohibition Era, the picturesque townhouse was actually a speakeasy called the Pirate’s End, as if the establishment foreshadowed its own haunted future. A specter wearing a top hat has been seen in the windows and many believe it to be the ghost of former NYC mayor Jimmy Walker, who used to live in the house. But Howdy Doody puppet designer Frank Paris also called the now haunted house home so it could be him, too. Regardless, AHS has proven a penchant for men in top hats: see the voodoo gatekeeper of the spirit world Papa Legba in Coven and the ghost of real-life man-with-two-faces Edward Mordrake in Freak Show

The Morris-Jumel Mansion, Washington Heights

This Washington Heights mansion has plenty of historical significance, even housing George Washington for a bit after the Battle of Brooklyn. But the real eeriness surrounds Eliza Jumel, the widow of Stephen Jumel. After Stephen died under mysterious circumstances, Eliza went on to marry none other than Aaron Burr, the former vice president who killed Alexander Hamilton. Rumor has it, Eliza still haunts the mansion so beware… Especially if you’re in a group of school kids, whom she’s been known to scold to quiet down.

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You know that adrenaline and excitement you get when you’re queuing for the ride? That was my friend Greta and I after we found stupidly cheap flight tickets and accommodation around Bali. Everybody gets excited when they book a holiday, and even more so when they actually arrive at the airport and the realness kicks in. Our transfer to the airport was hassle-free, and our flight was actually quite pleasant. Everyone loves it when you get out the airport on the other side, and that wall of heat hits you, and everything looks and feels tropical. But, being 2 young girls, as soon as we got to the airport in Denpasar we were bombarded by taxi drivers ‘asking’ to drive us. I say ‘asking’, but in reality it was hassling; they were brushing our arms, trying to help us with our bags and following us as we walked around. Usually, my Dad would take charge, pick someone and negotiate a good price all within a matter of minutes. Now, it was our turn. It got to the point where there were so many people following us, looking at us and shouting at us that I felt overwhelmed, and looked at Greta and said ‘I just want my Dad.’ This was my first shell-shocked experience. Anyway, after finding a driver and paying far too much money than we should have, we were taken to our hotel.

The taxi ride from the airport was a real eye-opener as to cultural differences. But I was prepared for this, so instead I let my eyes feast upon the scenery Bali had to offer. But don’t get excited, we are still going down on the rollercoaster. Arriving at our hotel, we were greeted by 3 sixteen-year-old boys that hardly spoke English. They were in charge of taking down our details and sorting out our room which I was very sceptical of. They then took us to our room where the second shock came. We hadn’t booked any expensive hotels as we’re students, but we had gone for the nicest possible rooms at the best price. This, however, looked nothing like the photos we’d been promised. Actually, I lie. It looked like the photos, however the photos must have been taken as soon as the hotel opened or been majorly photoshopped, and it seemed that since then the hotel or the room had never really been cleaned properly. We had cockroaches in our room, the bed sheets were stained quite badly and the ‘bathroom’ if you can even call it that, consisted of a crappy toilet, a dribbling shower just barely mounted on the wall and a dirty sink. Admittedly, I avoided the bathroom as much as I could during this time and tried to use beach showers whilst we were out as our one made me feel disgusting.

So, after various distressed messages were sent out to friends and family, after not unpacking (I didn’t want to put my clothes anywhere in the room) and after making sure all my valuables were completely locked up because the room didn’t feel secure, we headed out as soon as we possibly could to exchange some money and get dinner. Now, here’s a little up for you on the roller-coaster! We knew Bali was cheap, but we didn’t realise by how much! Our first dinner was nothing extra-ordinary, and not Balinese food (yet), but with a few drinks to help us take our mind off of the room, we were pleasantly surprised by the bill. We headed back to the room, went straight to sleep and woke up the next morning feeling like we had judged the room a bit too harshly. We figured that we wouldn’t actually be spending that much time there and that it would suffice for the short time we were there.

Back down the roller-coaster we go… So, we’d heard about an amazing beach club called ‘Potato Head’ from our friends and were told that we must go. Myself and Greta were feeling braver and had agreed the taxi price we’d be willing to accept beforehand. So, as soon as the first taxi agreed to that price, we hopped in and we were on our way. The taxi driver was really friendly and chatty, but of course everything was going too well! We arrived at the club and handed over the agreed price of 150,000 IDR ($11/£9) to him, he turned around and started arguing that we had to pay 250,000 IDR ($19/£15) because of the ‘traffic’. We argued back that there was no traffic, that it wasn’t fair as we had already agreed a price that we were all fine with and he ‘d been so nice and shouldn’t do this. We once again tried to hand him the money, but he threw it back at us and at this point he was getting frustrated and raising his voice. Luckily out of instinct, and partially because I was getting annoyed with him, I opened my car door just as he went to lock us in! I slid out, my friend threw the money and got out my side of the car, shut the door and we walked off as fast as we could. My heart was in my throat – I was so angry that he had suddenly turned back on the agreed price, and that he suddenly flipped and part of me was also scared to think what would have happened if we were stuck in the car with this angry man.

For now, we were safe. After security checks, we walked into the absolutely beautiful and amazing place which they call ‘Potato Head’, and instantly I was relaxed. They were playing chill music, there was an infinity pool with a pool-bar looking out onto the crashing waves of the ocean and people lounging around almost everywhere you looked just drinking vibrant coloured cocktails. We spent all day consuming over-priced cocktails out of shells and coconuts, cooling down in the turquoise waters and taking photos to make everyone back home jealous. Later on that evening, we met and had dinner with some of Greta’s friends who were travelling around Indonesia. We shared stories about our dramas so far, and they had their fair share too so we figured it was just the nature of travelling where we were. We went to bed on such a high and feeling super relaxed.

You guessed it. We’re going back down the roller-coaster super fast, and this time it’s bigger and scarier than any other time. Greta was bombarded with messages from friends and cousins of the people we had met up with the night before. Nobody had heard from them in over 12 hours, and people were starting to get worried. All sorts of scenarios popped up in my head- had they had an accident on the moped? Had they fallen in with the wrong crowd? Had they been drugged on a night out? Suffice to say, me and Greta were worried – we started brainstorming everything we could to try and possibly help. We headed down to the beach as there was nothing we could yet do until we got more information, but it was impossible to relax. A few hours later it was all resolved. The girls’ phones and credit cards had been stolen so they had no way of contacting anyone and didn’t have any money either. Thankfully a very kind lady had given them a hundred dollars to help them out, and they were both safe and fine.

This was another major shock for myself and Greta, and we realised just how careful we had to be. We were in a new country, alone, with money we couldn’t work out and with people who would do anything to try and rip us off. But, this was just the first 4 days of our Bali trip! There were many more ups and downs during the rest of the trip. Tune in next week for Part 2 of our ‘misadventure’.

Edited by Chermaine Sowa

The post Holiday in Bali: Bad Luck in the Tropical Paradise (Part 1) appeared first on The Urban Watch Magazine.