Atlanta, Georgia’s Haunted
Restaurant - The Ghost of Annie Barnett
© 2008 Alan J. Levine
Restaurant - The Ghost of Annie Barnett
© 2008 Alan J. Levine
It was back while working as editor at a now deceased community
rag in the county of Cobb in Georgia that I came up with the idea. I
would stay the night in a house which was supposedly haunted.
Alone. This was to be a stunt for our October edition. My search for
such a place led me to a popular Atlanta restaurant named
Anthony's. Construction on the building which is now Anthony's was
started in 1767 by Wiley Woods Pope. The house first stood in
Washington, Georgia, 117 miles east of Atlanta. During the
restoration and move to Atlanta, original boards and pegs of lumber
were used. So presumably, the current house is substantially the
same as the one in which Pope and his family once lived. As luck
would have it, the manager of Anthony's had no problem with me
spending the night alone there.
“But you can’t leave until the morning crew comes because you’ll
set of the security alarm,” she said.
“Have you ever seen a ghost in the house?” I asked.
“Oh, no,” she said. “But I don’t stay there by myself at night. We’ve
had pastry chefs come in around the middle of the night and swear
they hear chains rattling around. Most refuse to work here by
themselves at night.”
I next spoke with Mrs. Sally Cwik who left Atlanta for North
Carolina. She and her husband used to manage Anthony's.
“Yes, the house is haunted,” Sally said. “There’s a main staircase at
the front of the building. Near there is an old photograph of Annie
Barnett. She was married in the house in 1882 I think. Some people
can sense her presence near the staircase. Some hear children singing
there. Others have seen a cat at the top of the stairs.
“We’ve had people quit after being there late at night. Some of our
employees who worked there late by themselves burned sage to keep
away the spirits. A chef named Jesse came in early to prep and saw
an arm come out of the wall that mirrored whatever his own arm did.
He refused to work by himself after that.”
“Have you seen a ghost there?” I asked.
“No, but my husband and I had to close one night. After turning off
all the lights we were in the parking lot and noticed the lights on the
second floor were on again. There are no switches up there. You
have to unscrew the lights from out of the sconces to turn them off.
When we went back into the house the bulbs were screwed in tight.
We unscrewed them again. When we got back out to the parking lot
the lights were all back on.
“My son didn’t believe any of it, but one evening he was under a big
oak near the house where a boy hanged himself. He saw lights
swirling in the tree branches. It gave him a good scare.
“Oh, and a woman named Margaret who helped open Anthony's thirty
years ago had a heart attack and died in the back of the house on
Valentines. She always said she’d die at work at the most
inconvenient time. We had 300 people there that night. Misty
blotches have shown up on photos over the spot where she passed
away.”
“Has anyone stayed the entire night in the house by themselves?”
“No, not to my knowledge.”
I chose the night of September 22, the Autumnal Equinox, for my
visit. I had read to look for times of transition if you are after the
uncanny. Solstices, sunsets, new moons, midnight, cross-roads –
these are times and places where opposites meet. And ghosts are
transitional entities seemingly caught between this world and the next.
The night before I was to go to Anthony's, I lay awake in bed and
thought about bringing company. Both my wife and brother offered to
go with me. When it comes to things that go bump in the night,
lighting a candle may help a bit to dissipate the bug-a-boos. But
another warm, living soul by my side would be like a million candles
shoring up my courage. Yet in the bright light of the next day, my
nerves returned along with a sense of adventure. I would go on alone.
At twilight, driving home from work, I swerved to avoid driving over
a large, dead black cat in the middle of the road. Once home, I tried
to relax a bit with my wife before leaving for the night. Tomorrow
would be our second wedding anniversary. Jokingly – for the most
part – I said I hoped I would see her again. I gathered some
essentials, kissed my wife, and left.
Stopping to fill my car with gas, a carload of four teenagers pulled
up next to me. Three looked nondescript, but the driver was
shrouded in a black cape and hood with their face covered by a
death’s mask. I drove the rest of the way to the restaurant with the
thought I was to be a sacrifice dancing in my head. But a sacrifice to
what? I had no idea.
As I walked alongside Anthony's, I took a good long look at the
black windows above me. I listened hard to the rumbling of the
ancient air conditioning unit near the back offices where Margaret
might now be waiting for our time alone together. I envisioned
plodding through a room, searching the dark corners for danger when
the lights would suddenly go out, and as I stand there frozen with
fear, an icy hand slowly slips into mine and I slip into terror. The End.
I rounded the corner of the house and ran into the valet as he left for
the night.
“Jeez! You scared the – out of me!” he exclaimed, and then ran off to
meet his ride.
The night crew was finishing washing the dishes. I lay my sleeping
bag on the floor of the glassed-in front porch on the second floor.
From there I could see a few of the lights of Piedmont Road
flickering through the trees. Anthony's, though in the middle of the
city, is set back on deeply wooded property.
“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?”
“Yeah.”
“Good luck.”
I watched two cars zoom down the driveway towards their homes. I
listened to the little creaks as the house began to settle. I sat down. I
was quite jittery. Under the floor on which I sat hung Annie’s picture.
I could see the top of the stairs where some had seen the ghost cat.
Though I didn’t want to venture into the house, I thought I owed it to
the story to actually walk the premises once. I would look into each
and every dark corner to see what there was to see. My reward
would be to return to the porch from where I would again see the
lights of the city and remain there for the rest of the night. I managed
to push myself out of the chair.
“Son of a . . . ”
My flashlight was in the car! There were some dim lights on in the
house, but mostly the house was enveloped in shadow or absolute
dark. I entered a room and groped for a light switch. Nothing. I found
a candle and lit it. Then another candle. And another. I lit every
candle I could find.
In one room I found a television. I switched it on and static blared
out like a buzz saw. I quickly turned it off and crawled back into my
skin. I found a three-pronged candelabrum and lit its candles. It made
a perfect prop for a B-horror movie. Properly armed, I continued my
walk deeper into the house. In the wine cellar, there was a large stone
head of Bacchus. He grinned at me, looking a bit like Vincent Price.
Making my way towards the back office, somewhere in the vicinity
of Margaret’s last breath, I heard three raps on the ceiling above me.
My mind blanked. My heart thumped hard as if it wanted to leap
from my chest and run away. My tongue was a lump of dry bone. I
was alone with something I did not – could not understand – but my
soul instinctively feared. There was another bang. And then there
were the bells.
Or were they bells? They were high pitched and beautiful.
Melodious. Very voice like. I forced myself to take another step.
And then another. As I continued to walk the house, misplaced
footsteps and voices or bells were my constant companion. I reached
the kitchen where the phantom arm had reached out to Jesse. I was
being watched. The ice machine sent a resounding crash through the
kitchen. I wanted it to be morning more than ever. Yet I had barely
been in the house an hour.
When I reached my sleeping blanket on the big glassed-in porch, I
slowly, gingerly slipped in. I was physically tired, but my brain was
overheated and hyper alert. There were no more bangs and bells. I
could see some of the lights of the city. I lay there for what seemed
like hours. Finally, sleep began to come.
Step. Step. Step. Soft, distinct footfalls were coming up the steps.
Rustling. There was rustling too. I remained in my sleeping blanket,
just sticking my head out to watch the top of the stairs. There was
nothing to be seen. Just steps approaching. And rustling. And the
presence of someone or something just a few feet away from me. I
didn’t say a word. Perhaps I should have. But I was mute. My host
and I remained there for some time, until slowly the presence faded.
Three times that night someone or something walked up the stairs to
me, but never down. After the last visit, dreamless sleep came. Next,
there were the voices of real humans as the light of morning shone in
my eyes. I gathered my stuff and left.
No one at the restaurant asked me how things went. I didn’t even see
anyone from the morning crew. They at least know that no body was
ever found. I arrived home and fell into the arms of my loving 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, laughing and wearing a dress unlike anything you’d see
today, came and brought me to you.”
rag in the county of Cobb in Georgia that I came up with the idea. I
would stay the night in a house which was supposedly haunted.
Alone. This was to be a stunt for our October edition. My search for
such a place led me to a popular Atlanta restaurant named
Anthony's. Construction on the building which is now Anthony's was
started in 1767 by Wiley Woods Pope. The house first stood in
Washington, Georgia, 117 miles east of Atlanta. During the
restoration and move to Atlanta, original boards and pegs of lumber
were used. So presumably, the current house is substantially the
same as the one in which Pope and his family once lived. As luck
would have it, the manager of Anthony's had no problem with me
spending the night alone there.
“But you can’t leave until the morning crew comes because you’ll
set of the security alarm,” she said.
“Have you ever seen a ghost in the house?” I asked.
“Oh, no,” she said. “But I don’t stay there by myself at night. We’ve
had pastry chefs come in around the middle of the night and swear
they hear chains rattling around. Most refuse to work here by
themselves at night.”
I next spoke with Mrs. Sally Cwik who left Atlanta for North
Carolina. She and her husband used to manage Anthony's.
“Yes, the house is haunted,” Sally said. “There’s a main staircase at
the front of the building. Near there is an old photograph of Annie
Barnett. She was married in the house in 1882 I think. Some people
can sense her presence near the staircase. Some hear children singing
there. Others have seen a cat at the top of the stairs.
“We’ve had people quit after being there late at night. Some of our
employees who worked there late by themselves burned sage to keep
away the spirits. A chef named Jesse came in early to prep and saw
an arm come out of the wall that mirrored whatever his own arm did.
He refused to work by himself after that.”
“Have you seen a ghost there?” I asked.
“No, but my husband and I had to close one night. After turning off
all the lights we were in the parking lot and noticed the lights on the
second floor were on again. There are no switches up there. You
have to unscrew the lights from out of the sconces to turn them off.
When we went back into the house the bulbs were screwed in tight.
We unscrewed them again. When we got back out to the parking lot
the lights were all back on.
“My son didn’t believe any of it, but one evening he was under a big
oak near the house where a boy hanged himself. He saw lights
swirling in the tree branches. It gave him a good scare.
“Oh, and a woman named Margaret who helped open Anthony's thirty
years ago had a heart attack and died in the back of the house on
Valentines. She always said she’d die at work at the most
inconvenient time. We had 300 people there that night. Misty
blotches have shown up on photos over the spot where she passed
away.”
“Has anyone stayed the entire night in the house by themselves?”
“No, not to my knowledge.”
I chose the night of September 22, the Autumnal Equinox, for my
visit. I had read to look for times of transition if you are after the
uncanny. Solstices, sunsets, new moons, midnight, cross-roads –
these are times and places where opposites meet. And ghosts are
transitional entities seemingly caught between this world and the next.
The night before I was to go to Anthony's, I lay awake in bed and
thought about bringing company. Both my wife and brother offered to
go with me. When it comes to things that go bump in the night,
lighting a candle may help a bit to dissipate the bug-a-boos. But
another warm, living soul by my side would be like a million candles
shoring up my courage. Yet in the bright light of the next day, my
nerves returned along with a sense of adventure. I would go on alone.
At twilight, driving home from work, I swerved to avoid driving over
a large, dead black cat in the middle of the road. Once home, I tried
to relax a bit with my wife before leaving for the night. Tomorrow
would be our second wedding anniversary. Jokingly – for the most
part – I said I hoped I would see her again. I gathered some
essentials, kissed my wife, and left.
Stopping to fill my car with gas, a carload of four teenagers pulled
up next to me. Three looked nondescript, but the driver was
shrouded in a black cape and hood with their face covered by a
death’s mask. I drove the rest of the way to the restaurant with the
thought I was to be a sacrifice dancing in my head. But a sacrifice to
what? I had no idea.
As I walked alongside Anthony's, I took a good long look at the
black windows above me. I listened hard to the rumbling of the
ancient air conditioning unit near the back offices where Margaret
might now be waiting for our time alone together. I envisioned
plodding through a room, searching the dark corners for danger when
the lights would suddenly go out, and as I stand there frozen with
fear, an icy hand slowly slips into mine and I slip into terror. The End.
I rounded the corner of the house and ran into the valet as he left for
the night.
“Jeez! You scared the – out of me!” he exclaimed, and then ran off to
meet his ride.
The night crew was finishing washing the dishes. I lay my sleeping
bag on the floor of the glassed-in front porch on the second floor.
From there I could see a few of the lights of Piedmont Road
flickering through the trees. Anthony's, though in the middle of the
city, is set back on deeply wooded property.
“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?”
“Yeah.”
“Good luck.”
I watched two cars zoom down the driveway towards their homes. I
listened to the little creaks as the house began to settle. I sat down. I
was quite jittery. Under the floor on which I sat hung Annie’s picture.
I could see the top of the stairs where some had seen the ghost cat.
Though I didn’t want to venture into the house, I thought I owed it to
the story to actually walk the premises once. I would look into each
and every dark corner to see what there was to see. My reward
would be to return to the porch from where I would again see the
lights of the city and remain there for the rest of the night. I managed
to push myself out of the chair.
“Son of a . . . ”
My flashlight was in the car! There were some dim lights on in the
house, but mostly the house was enveloped in shadow or absolute
dark. I entered a room and groped for a light switch. Nothing. I found
a candle and lit it. Then another candle. And another. I lit every
candle I could find.
In one room I found a television. I switched it on and static blared
out like a buzz saw. I quickly turned it off and crawled back into my
skin. I found a three-pronged candelabrum and lit its candles. It made
a perfect prop for a B-horror movie. Properly armed, I continued my
walk deeper into the house. In the wine cellar, there was a large stone
head of Bacchus. He grinned at me, looking a bit like Vincent Price.
Making my way towards the back office, somewhere in the vicinity
of Margaret’s last breath, I heard three raps on the ceiling above me.
My mind blanked. My heart thumped hard as if it wanted to leap
from my chest and run away. My tongue was a lump of dry bone. I
was alone with something I did not – could not understand – but my
soul instinctively feared. There was another bang. And then there
were the bells.
Or were they bells? They were high pitched and beautiful.
Melodious. Very voice like. I forced myself to take another step.
And then another. As I continued to walk the house, misplaced
footsteps and voices or bells were my constant companion. I reached
the kitchen where the phantom arm had reached out to Jesse. I was
being watched. The ice machine sent a resounding crash through the
kitchen. I wanted it to be morning more than ever. Yet I had barely
been in the house an hour.
When I reached my sleeping blanket on the big glassed-in porch, I
slowly, gingerly slipped in. I was physically tired, but my brain was
overheated and hyper alert. There were no more bangs and bells. I
could see some of the lights of the city. I lay there for what seemed
like hours. Finally, sleep began to come.
Step. Step. Step. Soft, distinct footfalls were coming up the steps.
Rustling. There was rustling too. I remained in my sleeping blanket,
just sticking my head out to watch the top of the stairs. There was
nothing to be seen. Just steps approaching. And rustling. And the
presence of someone or something just a few feet away from me. I
didn’t say a word. Perhaps I should have. But I was mute. My host
and I remained there for some time, until slowly the presence faded.
Three times that night someone or something walked up the stairs to
me, but never down. After the last visit, dreamless sleep came. Next,
there were the voices of real humans as the light of morning shone in
my eyes. I gathered my stuff and left.
No one at the restaurant asked me how things went. I didn’t even see
anyone from the morning crew. They at least know that no body was
ever found. I arrived home and fell into the arms of my loving 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, laughing and wearing a dress unlike anything you’d see
today, came and brought me to you.”
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