Beaver Motor Hotel — Hotel in North Battleford

I waited a little over a year to review this motel for fear that they may find me. I was shocked to find a place so reminiscent of Innsmouth so far from the sea.

The Arrival; We rolled into North Battleford on a late summer night. On first look it seemed to be a rundown town, something that once was in the 1950's but has seen ill repair since. The streets first appeared to be empty but shadows lumbered through the back alleys of a mostly industrial area with the occasional yelling and glass shattering sound in the distance. The building next to the Beaver was the marked city planning and development, one window was boarded. We could see though the only uncovered window that the roof had caved in on itself. As we parked in the ‘lot’ next to the beaver we were forced to strategically maneuver the car to avoid bottoming out on the potholes.

The Motel; The smell was that of old mold and dust. It reminded me of the smell you would get from a summer home that hasn’t been visited in a season or two. The first thing I noticed was that there was an elevator to the right. It actually had light bulbs and hard brown plastic buttons as controls, I know this may sound like the normal elevator controls but revert back to my reference to the 1950’s. The Beaver seemed to be empty but we waited at the front counter and an older man with broken English made himself known from the back room. We exchanged pleasantries with a smile that would not be broke from his face. Handed us a key attached to the old diamond shaped plastic with the room number on it. We went to the room but the key didn’t seem to fit, we had to go back… He appologiesed profusely for the mistake (but the key tag indicated the correct room number) and personally escorted us to our room located directly above the lobby.

The Room; (I would like to now ask you to go onto google street view, you can direct yourself into the parking lot next to the Beaver Motel, look at the back of the motel, you will see windows behind the A/C units on the roof on the second floor. That was our room, as you can see to the left, it is isolated from the rest of the motel by a small hallway that leads to the roof) The room was droll, dank and quite depressing. By this point it was not lost on us that this town was exceedingly Lovecraftian. I went to the washroom to shower…..I didn’t shower. The beds were from the 70’s It still had the manufacture date on it… they creaked. We both value our organs and our lives. We pushed the furniture provided in the room in front of the door but still feared that we were being watched through the wall via the strange hallway cutting us off from the motel.

The Next Day; After a restless night we made for the car…the town looked different. It was as if it wasn’t the town we arrived in. I fear for my sanity.

3 stars for the memories that I may...

What can I say about the Beaver? Well, as an outsider, the Battlefords are creepy at night, but old Innsmouth had always been prejudiced against by outsiders. We walked briefly the streets...a quasi industrial area heavy with markets down the main drag...all closed with for lease and for sale signs, in poor repair, some collapsing in under thier old weight, while hunched people became shadows as they ducked in the (apparently) more used back alley running parallel to the road. A short exposure was all we could endure before seeking refuge in the well lit hotel...

It's not like it's dirty - it's more like sleeping in a museum, or more accurately like if you trespassed in a heritage site after it closed and slept In a bed unused since 1844 A.D. ...you feel the wrong much the same way, an interloper from another displaced time. I remember feeling the elevator would play ancient discordant tunes...but given its rather claustrophobic feel and our delayed, awkward greeting from the employee (?) that seemed like he was expecting literally any other person/fishman but us, we figured we should err on the side of caution and not immediately trap ourselves In a steel box. We were given the wrong room at first, we debated going back...wherever he came from, it took awhile, and we felt we may be infringing on some sombre, indescribable ritual going on there...eventually we decided to try again, and the same man led us to our room with some suspicion. I averted my eyes stratigically from the room he was coming from this time, unable to bear the suspense of what horror might be glimpsed. The room immediately aroused suspicion...the window looked out to an air conditioner unit providing a blocked view of sinister eyes probing us from the shadows of the alley. We pushed the furniture against the door...a desperate maneuver designed to provide some paltry protection for our kidneys. I eventually passed into oblivion, as I considered the terror I had wrought against us bringing us here - and the futility of barring the door, as the aforementioned air unit outside the window was on a ledge accessible from just outside our room...

Eldritch visions and alien vista's plagued our dreams. The sun rose on an unfamiliar town, the place looked completely different. No staff were the same, though the town remained free of people. I will never look at a hotel the same...

The Beaver Hotel is not merely a place to stay; it's a celestial tapestry woven with threads of opulence and luxury. As one steps into the grand foyer, a breathtaking panorama unfolds: a celestial expanse of brown carpet and tattered chairs, illuminated by a constellation of dimly lit flickering bulbs that dance with ethereal light. The air is perfumed with the promise of indulgence, and the anticipation is palpable. You can literally taste the air. Each room is a private sanctuary, a masterpiece of design and comfort akin to a maximum security prison. Plush cigarette burned carpets caress the feet, while softly stained linens invite weary travelers to surrender to slumber. Greasy filmed windows frame panoramic cityscapes, transforming the room into a stage for the city's dazzling nocturnal performance. Oh such excitement! The hotel's exclusive lounge is a haven for the discerning palate and the sophisticated soul. Here, one can savor libations crafted by master mixologists, each sip a journey through a symphony of flavors. Ooh what's this, a cigarette butt? The ambiance is electric, a harmonious blend of the overplayed and the long forgotten, rauccous laughter, and the gentle shattering of beer bottles over heads. As the night deepens, the lounge transforms into a glamorous rendezvous, where the city's elite gather to celebrate life's exquisite moments. It's the who's who of "who has?". The Beaver Hotel is more than a mere accommodation; it's an experience that transcends the ordinary. It's a place where dreams go to die, where time stands still, and where the extraordinary becomes...