Ghost Stories

 

Beaver House Restaurant Ghost Stories

     In our family, Clay is the now the story teller.  He has a memory for the details of things like ghost stories.  He will screw up a good joke, but he can tell a pretty good ghost story.    I can only assume he got his story telling skills from my dad.    He couldn't really tell a joke either.   He just never could get to the punch line.   He would talk for five minutes straight and the next thing you know you would be doubled over laughing.   Ghost stories were a different animal all together for him.  When he told them he was very serious.    I am not saying my dad was scared of ghosts, but he believed in them.  If two people in the house agreed on the material facts of a ghost story, there was a pretty good chance my dad wouldn't stay around for long.   He grew up in this house.  He knew the ghosts were real... 
    

West's Ghost Story

I have had my share of unexplained experiences at the Big House, as we used to call it. 

About five years ago, I was in town working on the guest house.  We were expanding the cottages and I was working with one of our semi-regular laborers laying floors and touching up paint.   At the end of our work day we slipped into the dining room for a quick bite to eat before guests arrived for dinner.  I remember it like it was yesterday.  Walter and I sat face to face at a two-top in the formal dining room like we were on some kind of a date.   My back was to the porch door on the north side of the house.    The table was crammed up next to the pocket door opening to the living room.    I was facing the center hall, directly across from the fireplace in the dining room.  Walter was facing me with his back to the fireplace.  The cook that evening brought us fixed plates from the food he was preparing for dinner.  About the time we finished our meal,  I saw a female in white, out of the corner of my left eye, walk from the living room, through the french doors,  into the foyer.  What sends chills down my back to this day, is that Walter and I both turned our heads at the same time toward the living room to see who was there.  We both saw the same thing, looked at each other directly across this small table and our expressions said, "did you just see what I saw?"  At that very moment, a waitress starting her shift, walked through the center hall door to the dining room and approached our table.  I told her jokingly that she startled us walking through the living room.  She didn't know what I was talking about.  She had come directly from the kitchen.  I jumped up and went toward the kitchen where I found the only other person in the house cutting meats at the kitchen table.  I turned again and went back up the center hall, to the front door, and sure enough it was still locked.  The only other door was direcly behind me during dinner.  I went back to the table to compare notes with Walter when I realized there was no way he could have actually "seen" the mirage in his peripheral vision.  He is blind in his right eye.

Sue's Ghost Story

My favorite way to entertain friends is to give a ladies luncheon.  In June of 1984 Johnny’s secretary and close family friend was to celebrate her 20th birthday.  I decided that a perfect ladies luncheon would be a wonderful way to mark her moving from a teen to a young lady. 

            Nancy was the epitome of both parents, having her mother’s grace of voice and good looks, and her father’s “spice for life” personality.  It was a great pleasure to entertain for her, her friends and family.  I really wanted this to be a day that she would always remember.

            Once invitations were extended, I immediately began to shine and polish all my favorite worldly possessions.  The silver goblets, the sterling flatware, the fine china, and crystal were all gleaming.  I starched and ironed the tatted lace placemats and linen napkins. It is so gratifying to me to set a beautiful table  

            I stayed late the night before the luncheon to set the table and make sure everything was immaculate. Certain that everything was ready except for last minute menu assembly I locked the front door and went out the back door, locking it as I left..  All the doors at the Beaver House have to be locked with a deadbolt key which only Johnny and I had.  The side door from the dining room to the side porch was always locked, as it was not used regularly.  I left the house with anticipation of a great luncheon the next day.

            The next morning I came in the back door to the kitchen and began last minute menu preparation.  I was alone as Johnny’s office was closed and he was entertaining the boys for the day.  While the bread was cooking I decided to turn the lights on in the house and check to be sure that everything was ready for company. I started up the hall and felt the most cooling breeze coming down the hall.  Then I realized that the front door was standing wide open, with the crimson wing chair propped in front of the door.  I then went through the living room to check the dining room table – sure that everything would be gone, stolen – all my silver and china. Then I realized that the side door to the porch was also wide open.   A feeling of panic overcame me before I noticed that everything was in perfect order.  Not one thing was touched or missing.  I went to check the rest of the house and it all seemed normal.  I could not find one thing that was unusual or out of place. 

            This was the most illogical event I have witnessed at the Beaver House. It seemed to me to be a blatant statement of authority.  It was then that I knew that I was not the only one that was overseeing the house.  I was only a keeper of the house and some one else had much more clout.  Perhaps somewhere I had over stepped my boundaries or perhaps I was just receiving a helping hand in anticipation of arriving guests.

This was my first experience with the other residents in the house, but it would not be the last. I would again be reminded that I was not the only lady that walked the house.
 

West's Other Ghost Story

    I have very little musical talent, but I like to play the guitar.  My mother bought me an acoustic guitar for my 23rd birthday.  I was living in the duplex behind the restaurant at the time.  On week nights, when I was bored, I would play my guitar in the empty restaurant after hours.  One night I walked over to the restaurant with my guitar in hand.  I opened the back door to the dark house and closed it quickly behind me.   I locked the heavy glass and wood door soundly.  I didn't want my girlfriend sneaking up on me while I was playing poorly and singing worse.  It was hard enough getting her to go out with me in the first place.  I didn't want to scare her off.  She caught me playing Led Zeppelin on the Steinway once.  Not good.
      Anyway, I was in the second floor hallway playing the guitar when I heard the back door slam loudly downstairs.  I got real quiet. I listened for footsteps.  I assumed it was my dad, brother or mom coming in for a late night snack.  Nothing.  I put the guitar down and eased over to the stairway railing.  You could lean over and see the downstairs hall.  Nothing.  I had played this out in my head before.  A late night burglar in the house that didn't know I was there.  I would make my way through the master bedroom and down the stairs.  Hopefully, I could make it out the back door before the robber knew I was there.  I took off my shoes to cut down on the noise and went for it.  Down the stairs, hug the banister, sprint for the tea room, and out the back door!  Wham!  Backdoor still  locked.  

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