To make a little extra money while in college, I took a job at a very old, privately-owned two-story, restaurant in a small town on the outskirts of a major New England city. For this story, I will not name the city or the real name of the establishment. It has been called many things over the years, but today, its current moniker is Ye Olde Forge Inn and Tavern. For the sake of storytelling, let’s call it “The Forge”.
The Forge was the oldest building in town, dating back to 1782. It originally stood by itself and began its life as an inn and tavern for travelers, but as time went on, more establishments were built nearby. Eventually the area became its own little unincorporated town, complete with a quaint wooden sign.
I was hired on the spot and asked to start the following day after picking up the necessary clothes to meet the dress code. I was about to leave, when something in the corner of my eye caught my attention while passing the base of the staircase. I looked up and saw a young woman wearing an old-fashioned blue and white housekeeping dress with a white bonnet. She was pretty, a little older than me, maybe in her mid to late 20s, but what really captivated me were her ice blue eyes.
She just stood there, looking down at me. Her arms hung casually in front of her with her fingers interlaced, like she was waiting for something. I habitually raised my hand, giving her a shy wave and an awkward smile. She seemed to move in slow motion. She formed a very small sad smile and slowly raised her hand to wave back. Not thinking much of it, I left to go buy my new clothes.
After a few weeks of working as a busboy, I was promoted to waiter. The money was really good. Our clientele consisted of the usual locals and a lot of tourists. One night, while walking from the dining room to the kitchen to grab an order, I took a quick glance at the top of the stairs. There she was. Just the same as when I had seen her the first time. I wanted to walk up the stairs to say hello, but I had orders to deliver. She stood eerily still, but her blue eyes were fixed right on me. I greeted her with a quiet “Hello” from the bottom of the stairs. The same sad, shy smile formed on her lips.
I considered going up the stairs. Things had been moving smoothly and the food could wait a few seconds. The moment my foot touched the first stair, she turned and slowly moved into the upstairs hallway, out of view. I walked up the stairs to follow her. I made it to the upstairs hallway, but she was nowhere to be seen. Disappointed, I retreated back downstairs to deliver my order.
Later that night, after things had slowed down. I returned to the upstairs hallway to look again. Still, she was not there. I walked out to the balcony to check, but she was not there either. While I was out there, I decided to smoke a much-needed cigarette. I flicked a match to light the cigarette when a gust of wind blew it out. I tried again, different match, same result. After the third match blew out, I blamed it on the wind and gave up. I needed to head back downstairs anyway.
When I approached the top of the stairs, I suddenly heard a very quiet squeaking sound. I paused to listen, and it stopped. I froze in place to see if it happened again. Sure enough, the squeaking resumed. It was coming from one of the far inn rooms. I turned down the hallway to investigate. I moved very slowly, hoping it would continue. I was able to locate the source. It was a doorknob, specifically it was coming from the knob on the door to an unused room. The doorknob was turning very slowly. The old metal workings caused an ominous squeak that echoed through the hallway.
Now I was alarmed, this room was kept locked at all times for reasons not disclosed to me; the only key was downstairs with the owner. Now it seemed someone was inside. Something compelled me to touch the doorknob, so I drew my hand up and reached forward. My hand hovered around the doorknob, but I had yet to touch it. I could feel cold air blowing through the keyhole, chilling my fingers to the point of pain. I took a deep breath and grasped the knob.
The squeaking stopped suddenly, as did the cold air blowing through the keyhole. I began to feel the muscles in my arm start to shake. The doorknob felt like ice. I let go of the doorknob and stepped back. I waited for a moment to see if it would start again, but nothing happened. I decided to return to the dining room and finish my evening. The events left me shaken and I did not sleep well that night.
The next day, I worked up the courage to talk to the owner about my experience the night before. He was lurking in the dining room office where he usually could be found. He told me I had formally met “Molly”, the most active ghost of the Forge. I was flabbergasted. I had my suspicions, considering the age and history of the place, but to have it confirmed to me by the owner required some time to process. He told me the previous owner informed him about Molly when he took ownership. Fascinated by the concept of owning a haunted building, he told me he did some research on Molly. He found some information in the 1850 census showing a “Molly” who lived at the local tavern as a housekeeper. In the winter of 1857, Molly’s frozen body was found beneath the wreckage of an overturned wagon in a roadside stream north of town. It is believed her horse became spooked by something and started running. Unable to calm the horse, Molly lost control of the wagon, which crashed and tumbled into the stream.
He suspects the locked, unused room upstairs belonged to Molly in life, and he keeps it locked because the room is always inexplicably cold, even in the summertime. Guests who stayed in the room would complain of the cold and demand another room, so he locked it up. Considering how she died, the cold made sense to him.
He opened his office desk and pulled out an old newspaper clipping. In 1989, the local newspaper interviewed him as part of a “Haunted History” article for Halloween which featured The Forge.
Molly was the star of the segment. When referring to her, the article reads: “Molly is a quiet spirit. She wears a blue and white dress and keeps her red hair pulled tightly into a bun hidden beneath a white bonnet. When she appears, Molly is most often seen standing at the top of the staircase. Her footsteps can be heard ascending and descending the staircase at all hours. She is occasionally seen drifting from the dining room to the kitchen. Some nights, she has been sighted looking out of one of the upstairs inn room windows, her face seemingly lit by soft candlelight. She has given some inn guests a fright by tucking them into bed in the middle of the night. Some guests have reported their clothing being laid out on the bed when returning after being away; clothing that had been previously packed or put away, as if to suggest what they should wear for the evening.” Strangely, the article made no mention of her piercing, blue eyes.
Over time, I gradually made peace with the idea of working in a haunted restaurant. A part of me may have even felt excited. But I soon learned that Molly wasn’t the only spirit to call the Forge their home.
There was an old fisherman named George, who enjoyed sitting at one of the corner dining room tables. We could tell he was there because he would light the oil lamp at the table on his own, well before any other lamps had been lit. George would also light his lamp after all the lamps in the dining room had been extinguished for closing time. Sometimes, you could see him sitting there, but only his reflection in the window adjacent to the table; his bearded face and his newsboy hat illuminated by the lamp. He enjoyed smoking an old pipe, the embers of which could also be seen glowing in the window’s reflection. Some nights, you could smell it. There is no smoking allowed in the restaurant, and sometimes guests would complain of the smell. We typically told them that it must be coming from somewhere outside.
Then there was Charlie, who we thought was a bartender for the tavern in the 1800s. Charlie was a prankster; he regularly liked to rearrange the glasses and spirits at the bar. While I never saw him, some guests and staff claimed to have seen him standing at the bar, waiting for someone to come and request a stiff drink, only to vanish when approached. He appears dressed in period clothing: a white shirt, black bowtie, suspenders, and black sleeve garters. His hair is combed to the side and he sports a rather fashionable handlebar mustache. According to those who claim to have seen Charlie, he always had a slight, content smile.
There was also Agnes, who supposedly frequented The Forge in the 1940s, but very little else was known about her. She was our resident “Lady in Blue.” She appeared to be a middle-aged socialite with a strong, rose-scented perfume that emanated throughout the entire restaurant. She had been sighted sitting at the bar as well as standing next to the piano in the dining room.
Lastly, there was a young-looking, rarely-seen British soldier in a classic redcoat uniform, named “Larry” by the staff. He was often blamed, yet not always responsible for objects being knocked off of walls, shelves, and the fireplace mantel. It wasn’t uncommon to hear the kitchen staff yell “Dammit Larry!” after pots, pans, plates, or anything else that makes loud, obnoxious crashing sounds in kitchens fell over. When seen, Larry prefered to stand vigil next to the fireplace in the dining room, musket in tow.
I periodically spotted Molly on the stairs and in the hallway, but never again gave chase. I would simply offer her a soft smile, which she would return, and I would continue on with my shifts.
As stupid as this may sound. I credit Molly with helping me quit smoking. I felt like Molly did not approve of my smoking habit. As before, when I first looked for her, I was unable to light cigarettes while at The Forge. Nothing worked; matches, lighters, even coworkers lighting them for me resulted in the ember either falling off or going out completely.
About a year after being promoted to Dining Room Manager, I was in the office going through the night’s profits, making sure the busboys were getting their cut of tips. I was enjoying a local brew with Thomas, my newly assigned Assistance Dining Room Manager. Carl, our Head Chef, came in to report that the kitchen was clear and that he was heading home. I could tell Thomas was exhausted as it had only been his second or third week as a manager, and it was a very busy night, so I told him I would finish up and he could head home.
Thomas hadn’t been gone five minutes before I felt like I was being watched. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end and the room grew cold. I leaned back in the office chair which gave me a clear view of the dining room. I looked for George’s lamp. Nothing. I looked toward the fireplace, expecting to see Larry glaring at me for letting the kitchen staff blame him yet again for their clumsiness. Still nothing. I shrugged it off and went back to the ledger. I couldn’t shake the eerie feeling, so I decided to investigate.
I started with the barroom. Everything seemed normal, so I checked the kitchen and storage hallway. Again, nothing was out of place. I listened intently for anything, the only sounds present were the hum of the clunky furnace and the rain outside pounding on the windows. I decided to check upstairs. Nothing seemed amiss and no overnight guests were scheduled that evening. I began making my way back downstairs.
I was stopped in my tracks. I suddenly heard the distinctive chime of the cash drawer from the old-fashioned register in the barroom. I ran down the stairs, thinking that perhaps a thief had broken in. Unfortunately for said would-be thief, the cash drawer had been emptied earlier in the evening. Expecting to catch the criminal in the act, I darted into the barroom and saw…nothing behind the counter, nothing among the bar stools and small tables. It was just as I had left it. The room is fairly small and provides no hiding places. I walked behind the counter to inspect the drawer. It stood wide open. I cautiously closed it and walked back to the hallway to continue my search.
As soon as I stepped foot into the hallway, I heard the drawer chime again. I froze. No one could have been able to re-enter the barroom without being seen. I slowly turned around and glanced across the room once again. Everything was in place. I walked behind the bar and found the drawer back in its open position. I slid the drawer shut again, then paused.
“Ok, Charlie! Very funny!” I stated, thinking that maybe the spectral prankster may be responsible. Relieved, I left the barroom and headed back to my office to finish the ledger. I had made it about halfway across the dining room when I suddenly felt a cold spot. I stopped again and listened. After what felt like an eternity, a voice whispered in my ear.
“…Stay…” it said softly.
My blood ran cold. This was new, there had never been voices before.
“Stay?” I asked, “What do you mean stay?”
With a very breathy respone, it whispered again.
“…Staaaaaaaay…”
This time, the voice seemed to emanate from inside my head entirely. I tried rubbing my ears to see if I possibly could have been hearing things. The only sounds our ghosts had ever made were footsteps.
“STAAAAAAAAY!” the voice demanded, this time I could tell the voice belonged to a woman. Could it be Agnes, Molly, or possibly a new spirit? I couldn’t stop shaking. I was beginning to get cold sweats. By this point, I was fairly used to the activity, but this was extremely unnerving.
I looked around. “Molly? Agnes?” I called. I walked back to the barroom and began to smell the air for Agnes’ perfume, but there was nothing.
Suddenly, I saw movement in the corner of my eye. A shadow moved through the hallway, heading towards the kitchen. I felt compelled to follow. When the kitchen door came into sight, it was gently swinging back and forth, as if someone had just entered. I peered through the small circular window, but saw nothing. I felt like it wanted me to follow, or it wanted to show me something. I cautiously opened the kitchen door. The door’s normally squeaky hinges made my already cold blood run colder in the already quiet hallway.
I hesitated. What if…I was being lured? What if this was a new spirit? Something harmful, malicious. I began to feel sick to my stomach. I fumbled in my jacket for my cell phone. Maybe the owner had experienced something like this before? He claimed to have seen shadows, but never said anything about being beckoned by a disembodied voice.
No signal. Dammit!
All of a sudden, there came a faint orange glow on the walls. I could see my own shadow amongst the glow. I quickly turned around. To my horror, all four gas stove burners had been turned on to the highest setting. The normal blue flames instead were orange and flickering. I approached the stove to turn off the burners. As soon as I touched the first knob, the flames shot up like jets, forming large blazing pillars. They roared loudly and nearly reached the ceiling. I reeled back from the intense heat, but found the courage to cover my face with my jacket and reach for the knobs.
I felt the first knob and turned it to the off position, then the second, and the third, and finally the fourth. When I lowered my jacket, the flames were gone. The metal stands creaked as they cooled. I breathed a sigh of relief, and decided that I had had enough excitement for one evening. I turned towards the kitchen door to leave.
I pushed on the door like I had every night, but it stood fast. I nearly slammed my face into it. I checked to see if the never-used lock had somehow been engaged, but it had not. This door had always been left unlocked. There was no reason to lock it. This door’s only purpose was to keep guests from being able to see into the kitchen.
Frustrated, I drew my arms above my head to slam my fists into the door. As my fists contacted the door, I yelled “Come on! I’m tired, and I don’t want to play games!” The door gave way and swung open.
There came a bloodcurdling shriek echoing through the entire building. It was a woman’s shriek, loud and intense. This was a cry of panicked mourning, the kind you could expect from a woman discovering a deceased child.
That was it. It was time to go. I hurried myself into the dining room again and headed directly to my office, and grabbed my bag.
“You can’t leave!” The voice cried again; it sounded demanding.
“What do you mean I can’t leave?” I shouted. “This isn’t funny!”
“You…can’t…LEEEEAAAVE!!” The voice shrieked again intensely.
The extinguished logs in the fireplace erupted into massive blue flames. The piano keys began playing randomly, completely devoid of melody. The lights flickered and the dining room chandelier began swaying back and forth.The walls of the building began to groan like it was going to collapse at any moment.
My legs took over; I felt myself running for the front door. I didn’t care that I was parked out back, I wanted out, and I wanted out now.
My hand contacted the knob of the front door and I began to turn it, but it would not move. Something on the opposite side of the door’s glass window caught my attention. It was a pair of bluish-white eyes, staring back at me through the window. I knew those eyes. It was Molly, but she didn’t look like the Molly I knew.
She was paler than usual, veins were visible through her paper-like, translucent skin, her lips were blue, and her eyes were sunken in. Her bonnet was missing, and her red hair was a curly, wild mess. She didn’t look sad, she looked angry and desperate. I stood in shock as Molly spoke to me directly for the very first time.
“You can not leave.”
Her voice sounded more like an echo, and the words didn’t sync with her lips. Her dead eyes wide with the look of absolute horror.
I was petrified. I tried to pull my hand from the doorknob. It was stuck. It’s like the muscles in my hand had seized and now had the doorknob in a death grip. I pulled harder and harder to no avail. I looked back at Molly. She had now placed her hands to the door window, her black-tipped fingers were more like claws as she scratched at the window. Frost began to form one the glass where her fingers touched the window. I felt like she wanted to hurt me, to strangle me, or worse.
One last time, she screamed “YOU CAN’T LEAVE!” It was the most horrifying shriek yet. I felt it echo through my soul. Her face morphed as the words left her mouth; her eyes vanished into deep dark voids, her nose disappeared, revealing a skeletal pit. The skin on her hands shriveled and tore, until only bone remained. Her teeth instantly decayed as they curled over her frozen lips, and her red hair became a sickly shade of gray.
Without warning, my hand slipped free of the doorknob and I fell backwards to the floor. I looked to the door towards Molly, but she was gone. All that was left was frost. I ran to the rear of the building. I prayed that I could get out. As I ran, I felt all my pockets for my keys.
Right jacket pocket, thank God! Screw the bag, I’ll get it later.
I made it past the kitchen, to the storage hallway, and finally out to the loading dock. The rear door flung open. I slammed it, fumbled for my keys, and barely managed to lock it without snapping off the key in the lock.
It was pouring rain. I ran to my car and threw open the door. I was drenched from head to foot. I started the engine, and peeled out of the parking lot, kicking gravel all over the place. The rocks bounced loudly off the undercarriage like bullets.
I drove like a madman and wanted to get as far away from The Forge as possible. The trees were one single mass of green, blurred by my speed and the rain. It was raining so hard that my windshield wipers couldn’t keep up. I could barely see anything at all, but I didn’t care.
I was almost home when Molly suddenly appeared again in the middle of the road in front of me. I instinctively slammed on the brakes and turned the wheel hard to the right. I began to skid out of control. Time seemed to move in slow motion. I closed my eyes tightly and braced for impact into one of the numerous trees. Suddenly, everything went black.
That was it. I was dead, I just knew it. Molly had killed me. What had I done to upset her? Was she lonely and wanted me to pass over to keep her company for eternity? Was she really an evil spirit bent on taking my soul?
I was roused by a bright light. Deliriously, I believed it to be the passage to the afterlife. But then I started to hear someone talking and my vision slowly came into focus. The light was not some spiritual tunnel, it was the beam of a flashlight. A sheriff’s deputy wasaging his flashlight on my face and asking if I was ok.
I realized I wasn’t dead after all and was still in my car seat. I heard the deputy tell me not to move and that paramedics were coming. My head was throbbing, but I needed to get out of the car. Despite the protests from the deputy, I exited the vehicle and looked around. My car had drifted to the side of the road and rested against a tree, but there didn’t appear to be any damage to the tree, or my car. It was as if the car simply rolled to a stop against the tree.
I could hear the siren of the approaching ambulance. The deputy walked over to me, again asking if I was ok. After I nodded, he said I was lucky, to which I agreed. I could have hit one of the many trees along the road, but somehow my car glided to a safe stop. He shook his head.
“No, it’s lucky you spun out here, if you can believe it.” the deputy said. “About three-hundred feet up the road, the bridge is out. Washed away by the rain. Must have happened in the last twenty or thirty minutes. We only got the call a few minutes ago and just now closed off the road. It would have been really hard to see in this rain. You could have been washed away and never seen alive again, if at all.”
I took a deep breath and leaned against the deputy’s truck. The paramedics arrived and tended to me. For the most part, I was uninjured, save for my headache and some whiplash. While my mind was racing, I had a revelation. Molly wouldn’t let me leave because she knew I wouldn’t have been able to see the road until the rain had stopped. Maybe, had the timing been right, I could have even been on the bridge when it was washed away.
Lost in thought, I heard the voice again…Molly’s voice. This time, it was soft, solemn, and calming, unlike the voice I had heard earlier. Though I had never heard Molly speak before that night, something inside told me that this voice was the real Molly.
She simply said…”I’m sorry.”
I continued working at The Forge for another two years, but I never saw or heard Molly again after that night. I’ve since moved on to a new life, far away from that charming New England town. I do check in every now and then. Thomas and Carl keep me updated. The Forge is doing well these days, but I often wonder if Molly is still there. I honestly believe she was trying to keep me safe. Maybe, she still is. Sometimes, I still find it impossible to light a cigarette.