In Cape Cod, we stayed in a helter-skelter B & B (see below) that was slowly but surely falling apart just like its toupée'd proprietor. It was very dark and mildewy, had pictures of old captains all about, and the first thing we saw upon our arrival was the message "it was creepy at night, yet fun", which an anonymous person had jotted down in the guest book.
And creepy (in a fun way) it was. I don't know if it was that note in the guest book that put is in a weird mood, but everything in Yarmouthport seemed like it had been taken straight out of a Stephen King story. Right from the saltbox houses and colonial inns, to the graveyard and train crossing we had to pass before getting to lake for a swim. Yikes, I get chills down my spine just writing about it!