We have gone deep in the last few postings, so tonight, tonight we will go a little light-hearted. I am going to share some memories with you which might help to explain why I like good horror movies and scary books. Stephen King was my favorite author growing up. I cannot remember how many times I fell asleep to his words. I became so enticed with the stories that I had a stockpile of them in my head. While in the UK, my scouts would beg for story after story well after the last flames of the fire would die out. I even shared the stories when my scouts, along with British scouts, went to the Czech Republic. It is amazing to know that stories can be translated and still work.
I looked for every opportunity to find ghosts. I looked within my own home (those stories will be shared later), and I looked for it in my home town. As I have mentioned in the past, I grew up in a small town in WNY. Youngstown has a rich history, and along with a rich history comes ghosts. The town was destroyed in the War of 1812 and rebuilt. The fort that protected the town has its own stories. Add to this the fact the area also was a big player in the Underground Railroad, and the mind can really start to go places.
The Ontario House, better known as the Jug, belonged to members of my family since pre-WWII until recent. My cousin will often tell me about the ghost hunts that happened in the upper floors of the place in the family areas. I know from my summer of cleaning the bar that voices could often be heard as I walked the halls. Nothing bad ever happened to me there, but I never felt as if I was alone in the place – especially the basement.
But tonight’s memories do not take place in the Jug, they take place next door. I do not know what business is currently in this little building, but when I worked there it was called RR/DD Pizza – more commonly referred to as Double R, Double D. The owner claimed to have invented Pizza Fingers. We had a great crew that worked there and the weekends were hopping in the kitchen. We partied a lot and worked hard. It was a great job to have as a first real job. I did everything from delivering pizzas, to cooking, waiting tables, cleaning dishes, and eventually quasi-assistant manager. But I also loved to mess with the others that worked there. Sometimes, it can backfire.
One night the restaurant was quiet. We stayed open late on Fridays and Saturdays so that patrons from the Jug and other establishments could come get food and coffee. We were in that lull between when the family customers had finished with us and the bar customers had yet to come. We were busy in the back getting as much cleaning done as possible so that we could leave right at close. We had the radio playing, for some reason the song, “We’re Not Gonna Take It” comes to my mind. As the song finished, we could hear somebody in the front calling out to us, “Hello?”
Todd and I looked at each other. Without speaking we were asking who was going to go take care of the customer. He was closer so I won. He went out front. I continued cleaning. He came back a few seconds later with a puzzled look on his face. “You did hear someone, right?” I nodded. “No one is out there.” We decided someone was playing games on us. It could have been the owner’s son – they lived upstairs. We went back to cleaning. The voice called out again. We both went to the front. Again, the restaurant was empty and the door stood still. We searched every corner to find the prankster. Nothing.
The next day, when I went back to work, Todd had shared the experience. I took it upon myself to add some “history”. I told them that I had done some research and found out that there was an escape tunnel between this building and the Jug. It had caved in at one point killing a number of people. I gave them their ghost.
A week later, our friend had reappeared. Perhaps a little upset that I had tried to invent him. It was a busy Friday afternoon. The restaurant was busy. We were cranking out pizzas, burgers, chicken wings, and such. The waitress had just filled an order of soft drinks and was leaving the soda fountain. On top of the dispenser sat a big box of straws opened at the top for easy dispensing. We also had trays filled with clean glasses next to it. The waitress was a good ten feet away from the dispenser when the box of straws went flying off the machine and into the seating area. A few trays of glasses followed suit. Most people in the restaurant just applauded thinking that an employee had knocked everything over. We knew better. Nobody was near the machine.
The next event dealt with the cellar. We didn’t use it for much. However, a few things were stored down there. One of the team went down, you had to go through the lady’s room to get there. The person went down into the cellar as she had done many times before. She came up white as a ghost. She swore that while down there, she heard someone talking to her. The door had also become stuck at some point. The guys all went down, but found nothing.
Finally, after sharing the stories with a friend, she gave me the solution. She told me how a spirit use to pull the food out of her fridge every time she left the house. She found that by telling the spirit to knock it off or she would get rid of him did the trick. They lived in harmony after that.
I can still remember that February afternoon. It was cold and I was waiting tables, so I wore a thick sweater. I went into the kitchen were my friend Todd was cooking. I told him I had the solution. He begged me to leave it alone. I smiled. He cringed. I looked to the ceiling and yelled, “Okay you! Whoever you are! You need to knock it off. You can live here but if you can’t knock off this crap, we will get rid of you one way or another.” Todd looked at me with a look of what have you done on his face. I looked over to my brother who happened to be the pizza cook that day. I don’t think anyone else saw the humor.
I walked around the cooler to the wine window. Yes, wine window. We had the reds in a window between the kitchen and the dining area. I counted the bottles and turned to walk back to the end of the glass cooler. As I hit the end, it happened. A gallon, I never said we had good wine, bottle of wine exploded. Everyone hit the deck. I could feel the shards of glass fill the back of my sweater.
It took a few seconds, but the staff in the kitchen finally stood up. The diners were still ducked down. At first we thought someone had thrown something through the front window. Everything out there was intact. I looked behind me to see the red wine dripping down from the window – no gallon bottle could be seen. I carefully took off the sweater where we found a good portion of the glass. The rest was on the floor.
I quietly swept up the glass. My buddy, Todd, just told me that it hadn’t been cool to threaten a spirit.
We never heard from him/her again. We all decided that the exploding bottle was the last prank for the ghost. It left us to be after that.
So that is when I learned, well not really, not to mess with ghosts. Tomorrow, I will tell you how we had a ghost take over a scout camp one summer. Baden Powell had its own spirit.
Thank you for meandering with me tonight.