Our table for four became a table for five in haunted Charleston.

It was to be an enjoyable dinner out with another couple at one of historic, haunted Charleston, South Carolina’s fabulous restaurants; this one housed in what had been a provisions company many years earlier, located in the bustling Ansonborough neighborhood. The dimly lit bar area opened to an enclosed courtyard, and on that Sunday evening was on its way to standing room only. The buzz of chatter and laughter bubbled up from table to table. The vibe was upbeat.

My husband and I settled into a spacious circular booth among overstuffed throw pillows on an expanse of dark green crushed velvet with the woman of the couple, while her husband parked the car. We chatted as our server filled water glasses and took drink orders.

Someone wanted to make their presence known.

Before our arrival I hadn’t given any thought to how old the building was or the possibility of having a paranormal experience there. I’m open to them and with haunted Charleston’s rich history I should have considered the possibility, but we’d dined there on a few occasions and nothing had happened. However, it quickly became clear someone wanted to make their presence known.

With my arms resting on my lap under the table, I felt something brush the back of my right hand sending a tingling sensation up my arm. I yanked it out and rubbed where I’d felt a slight touch. I figured a bug had landed on me, nothing more—until the shenanigans continued.

It suddenly felt as though someone had scooted up next to me and our thighs were touching. It wasn’t the woman sitting next to me, she was carrying the conversation. There had to be a generous couple of feet between us.

The booth was shrinking and I felt trapped when our table for four became a table for five in haunted Charleston.

Now, with a better understanding of what was happening, I suppressed a smirk and scooted, as discreetly as I could manage, closer to my husband who was on my left, to give our unexpected guest a little more room.
I had no sooner stopped scooting when I felt the strange sensation return. Persistent, he was! (I decided the entity was a male since he’d positioned himself between the two females at the table.) The booth was shrinking and I felt trapped.

Again, I scooted even closer to my husband, who was no doubt beginning to wonder what was going on, but this time I silently instructed the entity to stop with a firm “cut it out.” If I’d had to keep scooting, I might have had to explain to our friend what was happening and, as you can imagine, not everyone is a believer. I didn’t want to disrupt our dinner conversation with an awkward explanation.

By the time her husband arrived and slipped onto the end of the booth next to her, our unexpected guest had lost interest at our table. Perhaps I didn’t react the way he would have liked me to. I was too calm. No outward reaction. Only a silent admonition and a demand to be left alone. No fun.

I can only wonder who else he visited that evening and if he had gotten a better rise out of them. Or was our booth his favorite? Perhaps I should revisit the restaurant and request it. Table for Five in Haunted Charleston

— Penny Goetjen, mystery author, in South Carolina

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