a much more negative entity, according to paranormal investigators and bar staff alike. He can be felt most strongly around the ladies’ restroom and in the upstairs apartment, which is no longer used for anything except storage. Ashley said that most of the staff avoids the apartment and hardly anyone will go up there alone. “No one would live there,” she added.
“One night, after closing,” she continued, “the night bartender literally came running out of the bathroom, screaming. She said she’d been in the stall and felt somebody running their fingers through her hair, like they were standing behind her.”
Okay, that would be enough to shake me up, too, and I don’t rattle that easily. Ashley told me that a number of staff members and even some customers have felt as if they were being watched in and around the restrooms (even when there was no one else around), and a few have also reported being touched, although the night bartender’s experience was by far the most extreme. Most of what the staff experiences seems to happen when they’re cleaning up, after closing.
But what I wanted to know more about was the apartment upstairs. Being the brave soul that I am, I asked if it would be all right to go up and take pictures. Ashley said she didn’t think it would be a problem, but she put in a call to the owner, Robert Marlow, just to double-check.
About then, our food was ready, so while Ashley called her boss, I scribbled down a few notes and my husband dug into his burger. “Well?” I asked him.
He wasn’t sure if I was asking about the burger or the ghosts, so he just shrugged. As far as I was concerned, the ghost stories were more than worth the drive downriver. (But I enjoyed my dinner too.)
When Ashley returned, she let me know that Marlow didn’t mind me going upstairs. The only catch was that nobody had a key, so would I mind coming back tomorrow? Not at all!
While I munched on my fries, Ashley told us about the Motor City Ghost Hunters’ visit in 2010. “They were here most of the night with all their equipment. They’re the ones who told us that there were two different spirits, the woman at the bar and the other one upstairs. They got a bunch of stuff on tape.” If you visit the Motor City Ghost Hunters website, you can see for yourself the picture of an orb that they caught downstairs in the bar area and hear clips of the EVP (electronic voice phenomena) that was recorded during their visit.
By then other customers were drifting in, so Ashley left me and my husband to finish our food. I did visit the ladies’ room before we left, but, alas, if the ghost was about, he wasn’t in the mood to play with any customers that night.
I returned the next afternoon and was shown around back by the bar’s manager. He unlocked the door to the upstairs storage area, flipped on the light, and with hardly a word, retreated hastily back into the bar. Maybe he was too busy to accompany me upstairs, but I had to admit it was a little odd, being left to wander around on my own like that, even though Ashley was right about there not being much upstairs. The upper floor of Marlow’s was clearly hardly used at all. I took a number of photographs and left my digital recorder switched on, hoping I might see or hear something interesting. No such luck. I didn’t feel especially uneasy, either. Maybe I’ll have better luck somewhere else.
Before I left, I made sure to lock up, and I thanked Ashley again for all her help and promised her that the next time I’m downriver, I’ll stop back by for a burger … and maybe take another shot at ghosthunting!
CHAPTER 3
Camp Ticonderoga
TROY
I FIRST DISCOVERED CAMP TICONDEROGA a decade or so ago. At the time, I was waiting tables at a little Coney Island restaurant in Royal Oak, and, like most waitresses, I kept tabs on my regular customers—their names, their usual order, where they worked, etc. That’s how I met S. (I haven’t seen him in years, so I couldn’t ask him if it was all right to use his name.) It was pretty obvious what S. did for a living the first time he came in wearing a chef’s coat and checked pants, so I asked him where he worked.
“Camp Ticonderoga,” he told me.
“I have friends who eat there all the time. They told me it’s haunted.”
I hadn’t actually taken my friends seriously, but S. looked me dead in the eye and said, “Yeah, that’s Hannah. Everybody at Camp Ti knows her.”
I didn’t believe S. any more than I believed my friends. “Come on, you really expect me to believe your workplace is haunted?” Surely, S. and his coworkers were mistaking the sounds of an old building settling for the sounds of ghosts. But S. assured me that he didn’t believe in ghosts either before he started working there.
It didn’t take long before he changed his mind, however. “Lights flicker on and off all the time, and I swear the elevator has a mind of its own,” he told me. “The elevator door opens and shuts when no one is even near it, let alone in it. Sometimes other doors slam shut, and dishes fall off the shelves in the kitchen,” he added.
Needless to say, I was intrigued, so I decided to check it out—besides, the food was supposed to be pretty good, so at worst, I’d be disappointed in the ghost but get a good meal.
On my next day off, I drove up Rochester Road and arrived at the sprawling old farmhouse-turned-restaurant a little before the dinner rush. As soon as I was settled at a table, I asked my waitress if the place was really haunted. “Oh, yes, absolutely.” She told me the same things my friend the chef had, adding that Hannah had lived in the house around the turn of the century. The story was that she hanged herself from the rafters in one of the bedrooms—that area is now a part of the upstairs dining room. I was glad I was on the main floor.
“Why did she kill herself?” I asked.
“I don’t think anyone knows.”
I didn’t think much about Camp Ti or Hannah again until I started writing about Michigan’s haunted places and decided that it was past time to revisit the restaurant.
The building was originally a farmhouse that belonged to Elizabeth and Henry Blount and was built in the early 1820s, just after the city of Troy was settled. Elizabeth and Henry raised seven children in the large two-story home and eventually passed the property down to their grandsons, Harry and Frank. The Blount family continued to live in the home until May 13, 1924, when the farm was sold and ultimately developed into the Sylvan Glen Golf Course. The developers turned the old farmhouse into a restaurant. It has had many different names over the decades, including the Double Eagle, the Wooden Horse, and the Shark Creek Inn. In 1996, it became Camp Ticonderoga—or Camp Ti, for short.
According to their website, the restaurant is “an upscale, yet rustic, bar and grill … Camp Ti boasts a comfortable, inviting Adirondack atmosphere….” That description doesn’t really do justice to the rugged log-cabin interior with its three huge stone fireplaces, antler chandeliers, and mounted hunting trophies on the walls. My favorite part of the décor is right inside the door, where you’ll find Camp Ti’s “dog wall.” The owners are self-avowed “dog people” and love to have their customers bring in pictures of their canine companions. Once a month a “mutt of the month” is chosen and the lucky dog gets a doggy bag filled with goodies from the kitchen.
For its human clientele, Camp Ti serves up a variety of menu options, ranging from salads and homemade soups to Black Angus steak and specials such as traditional shepherd’s pie, “buffaloaf” (buffalo meatloaf),
