The old wizard told them to meet with the woman at the second to the last on the left bar stool at the Whale’s Tale Tavern in New Bedford, Massachusetts. When they arrived, no one was seated there, so Derek turned to Cathy and said, “well, what do we do now?”
“I suppose we can wait and see if someone sits there…” she said.
“Why don’t you sit in that stool, and then you can fulfill the old fool’s prophecy. I told you this was just so much nonsense,” he pushed past her and dropped himself into a booth.
“Don’t be an asshole, Derek. You know I don’t like this any more than you do, but what other choice did we have?”
“I know you’re right. I’m tired from the drive. Let’s get a beer and wait,” he said as he grabbed the ratty beer menu from behind the napkin dispenser and ketchup and malt vinegar bottles.
A short, weathered waitress came over to the couple, greeting them with a warm smile. “How are y’all doing?” She spoke in a southern accent, a little unusual in this old yankee city.
“Great,” Cathy said. “Say, we were told to meet a woman here. Is there a regular who sits at that barstool over there,” she pointed to the spot the wizard told them.
“Oh, nobody ever sits there. That’s Granny Bradford’s stool.”
“Granny Bradford?” Derek said. He could tell from the look on the waitress’ (Andrea, if her name tag was to be believed) face that she was about the embark on a tale.
“Oh yeah. Granny Bradford used to own the Whale’s Tale. She inherited it from Ernest Bradford, who bought this place when he came back home from the Great War. He was gassed in France, and couldn’t go back to working in a factory on account of his health. So he set up the tavern, and basically drank all day while his daughter Granny Bradford, well, she weren’t a Granny back then, her name was Virginia, served the customers,” Andrea gestured to the stool, “this place was always packed when Granny Bradford ran it, but that was her stool, and hers alone. She never let anyone sit there, no matter if customers were waiting for a seat. And when she died, well, nobody dared sit there. And that’s been the rule ever since. Nobody sits in Granny Bradford’s stool.”
“When did she die?” Cathy asked.
“ Back in 2001. On September 11 to be exact. She wasn’t in New York or nothing. It was just a coincidence. She went missing on the morning when the towers was hit,” Andrea said.
“Missing?” Derek said.
“Missing, yeah. She was here every day for decades at 10 am, like clockwork. But that day she was missing. They found her that night. Dead in her house. Hanging from a ceiling fan they said. Tragic, nobody ever knew why she’d done it. Anyways, would you folks like a beer? And if you’re hungry, there’s no point ordering anything except the fish and chips.”
Derek looked at Cathy with confusion and more than a little dread on his features.
“Did you work with Granny Bradford?”
“Heck no! I’ve only been here a couple of years. But folks talk about Granny Bradford all the time. Like it was yesterday. She made a big impression on lots of folks,” Andrea said.
“She was well loved?” he said.
“Haha, that’s a good one. Nope. Well hated is more like it. That’s why she still haunts this place, and that’s why nobody is fool enough to sit in her stool,” Andrea looked back toward the kitchen, “I’ll come back to you guys in a few minutes, I’ve got some food to bring out. Be right back.”
Cathy looked back at Derek. “You ready for another angry ghost?”
“Do you want to sit in the stool first or should I?”
“We’ll flip for it,” grinned Cathy, “But first, I’m getting some of those fish and chips. And a beer.”
“I suppose we can wait and see if someone sits there…” she said.
“Why don’t you sit in that stool, and then you can fulfill the old fool’s prophecy. I told you this was just so much nonsense,” he pushed past her and dropped himself into a booth.
“Don’t be an asshole, Derek. You know I don’t like this any more than you do, but what other choice did we have?”
“I know you’re right. I’m tired from the drive. Let’s get a beer and wait,” he said as he grabbed the ratty beer menu from behind the napkin dispenser and ketchup and malt vinegar bottles.
A short, weathered waitress came over to the couple, greeting them with a warm smile. “How are y’all doing?” She spoke in a southern accent, a little unusual in this old yankee city.
“Great,” Cathy said. “Say, we were told to meet a woman here. Is there a regular who sits at that barstool over there,” she pointed to the spot the wizard told them.
“Oh, nobody ever sits there. That’s Granny Bradford’s stool.”
“Granny Bradford?” Derek said. He could tell from the look on the waitress’ (Andrea, if her name tag was to be believed) face that she was about the embark on a tale.
“Oh yeah. Granny Bradford used to own the Whale’s Tale. She inherited it from Ernest Bradford, who bought this place when he came back home from the Great War. He was gassed in France, and couldn’t go back to working in a factory on account of his health. So he set up the tavern, and basically drank all day while his daughter Granny Bradford, well, she weren’t a Granny back then, her name was Virginia, served the customers,” Andrea gestured to the stool, “this place was always packed when Granny Bradford ran it, but that was her stool, and hers alone. She never let anyone sit there, no matter if customers were waiting for a seat. And when she died, well, nobody dared sit there. And that’s been the rule ever since. Nobody sits in Granny Bradford’s stool.”
“When did she die?” Cathy asked.
“ Back in 2001. On September 11 to be exact. She wasn’t in New York or nothing. It was just a coincidence. She went missing on the morning when the towers was hit,” Andrea said.
“Missing?” Derek said.
“Missing, yeah. She was here every day for decades at 10 am, like clockwork. But that day she was missing. They found her that night. Dead in her house. Hanging from a ceiling fan they said. Tragic, nobody ever knew why she’d done it. Anyways, would you folks like a beer? And if you’re hungry, there’s no point ordering anything except the fish and chips.”
Derek looked at Cathy with confusion and more than a little dread on his features.
“Did you work with Granny Bradford?”
“Heck no! I’ve only been here a couple of years. But folks talk about Granny Bradford all the time. Like it was yesterday. She made a big impression on lots of folks,” Andrea said.
“She was well loved?” he said.
“Haha, that’s a good one. Nope. Well hated is more like it. That’s why she still haunts this place, and that’s why nobody is fool enough to sit in her stool,” Andrea looked back toward the kitchen, “I’ll come back to you guys in a few minutes, I’ve got some food to bring out. Be right back.”
Cathy looked back at Derek. “You ready for another angry ghost?”
“Do you want to sit in the stool first or should I?”
“We’ll flip for it,” grinned Cathy, “But first, I’m getting some of those fish and chips. And a beer.”