If a thirst for a good strong drink every now and then is one of man’s most ingrained (pardon the pun) vices, then surely tending bar is one of his oldest professions (not the oldest, of course – that distinction belongs to a decidedly different, if related, set of tastes.)
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Updated 9/23/2019 – From ancient inns to taverns, from saloons and speakeasies to the modern honky-tonk juke joint, bars have always given us a place to sit down, partake in a bit of the nectar of the gods, and – on nights when the music isn’t too loud and we’re really lucky – maybe just glean a little bit of philosophical and spiritual wisdom from the guy polishing the glass with a dish towel.
Bars, in short, are oases of comfort in an otherwise dry and barren world.
Except for the ones that are haunted, that is.
Built in the mid-nineteenth century, what was once called the Eagle Saloon is today known as the Clayton Club.
And if sources are to be believed, it is the most haunted place around.
Far from the saloon of its heyday, the Clayton Club nevertheless doubles as a historical monument from another time, and the sort of place where you might go on a Saturday night and expect a drunken patron to come out of the woodwork.
But it’s what might come out of the mirrors at Clayton Club that should really concern you.
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Visitors to the bar have often reported strange things happening: sometimes there are cold spots which give off strange vibes.
Items in the bar such as glasses have a habit of moving themselves around sometimes.
The lights will sometimes go off and come back on for no apparent reason.
Sometimes when this happens, patrons will see a ghostly figure in the mirror, with its hands pressed up against the glass, as though it is trying to get through.
There are two camps of general consensus.
One camp claims that these events are the muddled memories of professional-grade alcoholics, and are therefore not to be trusted.
The other camp consists mainly of people who don’t go to the Clayton Club anymore, because they don’t want to see again what they once saw.
“It was really hard to tell if it was a man or not,” says one former Clayton resident, who claims that what she saw one Saturday night in the Clayton was so disturbing that it directly led to her decision to leave town for good, “but you could see its hands very clearly.
One second the lights went out, and the next they were back on, and then off again.
And during that second that they came back on, you could see him there.
He was clawing the glass frantically, as if he were in pain on that side and needed to get to safety.
Except…” she trails off for a long moment.
“Except I don’t think that he was in pain.”
What, I ask her, does she think he wanted?
“I think he wanted us to be in pain.”