Anthony's Fine Dining Atlanta, Georgia - Ghost Story by Alan Levine

Ghost Story by Alan Levine
Excerpted from The Vinings Gazette
October 26, 1998

For a Halloween issue story The Vinings Gazette, I wanted to spend a night alone in a haunted house. After some research, the name of Anthony's came up and I contacted the restaurant’s general manager, Mary Dean Aguirre who said I could spend the night but added that "You can't leave until the morning crew comes because you'll set off the security alarm." "Have you ever seen a ghost in the house?," I asked. She said, “Oh, no. I don't stay here at night by myself. But we’ve had pastry chefs hear chains rattling around. They usually refuse to work by themselves at night. You should speak to Sallie Cwik, a former manager now living in Ohio.” “Yes, the house is haunted,” Sallie said. “There's a main staircase at the front of the building. Near there is an old photograph of Annie Barnett who was married in the house in 1882. Some people sense her presence near the staircase, others have heard children singing there. We’ve even had employees quit after being in the house late at night because they thought it was haunted.

“Ms. Cwik, have you seen a ghost at the house?", I asked. “Not really, but one night my husband and I were closing up the house. After turning off all the lights we went to our car in the parking lot. All of a sudden we noticed the lights on the second floor were on again. But there are no switches up there to turn lights on and off, you have to unscrew the lights from the sconces to turn them off which we had done. Yet when we went back into the house, the bulbs were screwed in tight. So we unscrewed them again and went back to our car in the parking lot. We looked up at the house…and the lights were all back on again!”

I chose the night of September 22, the Autumnal Equinox, for my overnight visit. This was not a great choice since the next day was the two-year anniversary for my wife and I, but the uncanny often occurs during times of transition like solstices and twilight. Ghosts are transitional entities existing between this world and the next. Walking outside Anthony's I looked up at the black windows high above. The ancient air conditioning unit near the back offices rumbled. Inside the restaurant the night kitchen crew were finishing the dishes. I lay my sleeping bag down amidst the dining tables of the glassed-in front porch on the second floor. I could see a few of the lights of Piedmont Road flickering through the trees. “Hey! You still here?,” shouted the night manager. “Yeah,” I answered. “We're leaving. You know you can't leave until the morning crew gets here?” “Yes.” “Good luck.”

Now alone and locked inside, I listened to the creaks as the house settled. Annie’s portrait hung just downstairs from where I watched and waited. I could see the spot on the stairs where someone had said they’d seen a ghost cat. I couldn’t muster courage to get up and walk around. Then, I felt a warmth wash over me along with a sense of peace and well being rarely felt. But it didn’t last long. I shivered and finally managed to push myself out of the chair. With dismay, I realized my flashlight was in the car! There were some dim lights on in the house. Most of the house was in shadow or total darkness. I entered a room and groped for a light switch. Nothing. I found a candle and lit it. Then another, and another. I lit every candle I could find. In one room I found a TV. I switched it on. The static blared out like a buzz saw. I quickly turned it off and crawled back into my skin. Finding a three pronged candelabra and looking like the doomed adventurer in a B-movie, I continued on my walk. Down in the wine cellar, a sculpture of Bacchus' large stony head laughed mockingly from the wall, chilling my blood. Making my way towards the back office, I heard three raps on the ceiling above me. My mind went blank and my mouth bone dry. I was alone with something my mind could not understand and my soul feared. Some part of my brain commanded one foot to go before the other. I went back up to the second floor. There was another bang somewhere in the house. And then there were the sound of bells - high pitched and beautiful like an angel song. As I continued to walk the house, misplaced footsteps and the angel bells were my companions. I crawled into my sleeping blanket. My body was fatigued, but my eyes were open wide. The bangs and bells had disappeared. Like the captain of a ship lost in fog searching for a beacon, I sought out the distant city lights. I needed a reality check. Sleep began to come. Then I heard the sound of footsteps, soft but distinct and coming up the stairs. And rustling too. I huddled down deeper into my sleeping bag. The footsteps arrived at the top of the stairs and began to walk towards me. I poked my head out to see who was there. But nothing. Only the feeling of another presence. And the rustling. Someone invisible was just a few feet from me. I couldn't speak. My voice was gone. There we stayed for an uncountable duration. Me and my host. The presence slowly faded. I tried to relax. The soft footsteps and rustling began again. From the bottom of the stairs, up and to me, the presence came. And again I stared hard down the hall searching, but saw no one. Three times the presence came up the stairs but never went down. After the last visit, dreamless sleep thankfully came.

My next memory was of voices - real human voices. The light of morning shone in my eyes. I returned home to the loving arms of my wife. “Happy anniversary, baby,” she said. “I had a strange dream last night. We were together at Anthony 's. A woman I've never seen before in a dress unlike anything you'd see today came and brought me to you.”