I once spent a year working as a Night Porter at a small hotel in the city. It was probably the dullest year of my life, as hardly anything ever happened. No famous people ever stayed at the hotel, apart from the Academy Award winning actress Miss Susanna York. She only spoke to me once, to ask where the nearest bottle shop was. I whiled away the hours watching movies, reorganising the office or just playing patience. All I had to do was check in any late arrivals, clean the lift and sweep the street out front.
The hotel was a few doors up from the Melbourne Town Hall. It’s entrance was down the end of a short corridor, next to a Japanese restaurant. I tended to sweep the corridor and footpath outside at around five am. One night, however, I did the sweeping a few hours’ earlier, at about two am, because there was something I wanted to watch on the telly. I was out on the street, getting rid of all the filthy cigarette butts, when I just happened to look down the street. About 200 metres away, at the corner of Collins and Swanston streets, next to the statue of Burke and Wills, I noticed a man standing still, looking back at me. I immediately felt a cold chill come over me, and a strange flash of anxiety. I got on with my sweeping, but gave furtive little glances to see what he was doing. But he just stood there, looking at me, with a slight smile on his face. He was well dressed, in a smart overcoat and stylish hat; like he had stepped straight out of the 1950s. I finished my chores as quickly as possible, and still feeling unnerved, went back inside and locked the hotel front door.
I retreated to the office, on the first floor, and settled down to whatever it was I planned to watch. I had my back to the security camera monitor, but regularly looked over my shoulder to see if anything was happening downstairs in reception. About twenty minutes later I again felt a cold chill along my spine. The hair on the back of my neck stood up, and I felt inexplicably anxious. I looked over my shoulder at the security camera monitor, and there he was. He was in the corridor outside the glass front door. He was looking directly at the camera, a pleasant smile on what I could now see was quite a handsome face. I felt certain that he knew I was watching. It was incredibly disturbing, and despite knowing how irrational it was, I felt frightened. He stared at the camera for about another minute before finally turning away and heading back out to Collins Street. I got up and flicked the security channel over to the full corridor view. After a brief glance back over his shoulder, he was finally gone. I sat down for a while to wait and see if he was going to come back. Eventually I went downstairs and out onto the street. But there was nothing to fear, he was nowhere in sight. I waved to the security guard on duty at the Town Hall and went back inside.
