At half past eleven, we left Punkin sleeping on the living room sofa and piled into the Bronco. As we headed downtown to meet up with Benny and Lulu, all of us were on edge. Personally, I was experiencing a nervous sort of eustress at a level I’d only previously felt on the Shivering Timbers wooden roller coaster when my car was climbing the track of the first hill.
An intoxicating mix of joyful anticipation and extreme dread.
We passed Bean’s, which wasn’t busy anymore. On a weekday at the beginning of summer, crowds dwindled by this time of night. So it was no surprise when we pulled up to High Spirits Brewing and found only a handful of people inside the taproom right before closing. That was probably a good thing. Fewer eyes on us.
“We’re just going to take a little tour,” Seb said under his breath as he hunted a parking space. “Just a little tour . . .”
We spotted Benny and Lulu waiting on the sidewalk as we pulled into a nearby spot. None of the Wags were legal yet, drinking-wise, so I doubted any of us had been inside the brewery much. A couple years ago, I picked up some donations for a school fundraiser from the bar. But I did have one dramatic visit here, when I was thirteen. Nana took me inside to protest the brewery’s ghost tours. They claimed to be able to show patrons Mabel’s wandering spirit. Nana said they were disrespecting our ancestors and went full-on righteous fury on the manager, threatening to sue the brewery.
They never hosted another ghost tour.
“Back in the day,” Seb said as we exited the Bronco, “if you knocked on the service door around back after midnight and asked for Alex, they’d sell you growlers of their THC mocktails under the table. But Alex got fired, and the good times ended.” He thumped his heart. “RIP to a real one.”
“Maybe,” Jazmine said, “you could’ve called up Alex and asked if he’s seen anything weird in the deep corners of this place. How are we actually going to do this?”
With Lulu trailing behind him, Benny strolled up to us, hands deep in the pockets of his hoodie. He lifted his chin in greeting and said, “Got it all covered. Just follow my lead inside. Ready?”
“No time like the present,” Seb said cheerfully, clapping Benny on the back good-naturedly, and we headed toward the entrance.
Big windows on either side of the front door glowed with warm light. We stepped beneath the sculptural frieze crowning the door—the detail in the secret photo that pointed us here in the first place. Once inside, we were greeted by muted indie music and the low din of the taproom. Steel columns, wood walls, and copper brewing vats dominated the space—sort of “industrialbrewpub” meets “upcycled contemporary.” A few college students and a smattering of tourists were placing orders for last call.
Two waiters casually leaned against the hostess podium, chatting aimlessly as they waited for the dregs of the night to tally their tips and leave. They didn’t look eager to serve us when we approached and acted relieved when Benny asked for his friend’s brother. A minute later, a young South Asian man appeared, dressed in chino shorts and Top-Siders, and sporting the most perfect pompadour I’d ever seen. He shook our hands enthusiastically.
“Hey, Amal said you’d be coming. I’m Dinesh,” he said by way of introduction, looking us over with curiosity. “Which one of you is the Harvard student?”
Uhh... I glanced at Benny, whose eyes widened dramatically, as if to say,Go on. . .
“That would be me,” I said.
He brightened and shot me double finger guns. “Terrific. Benny tells me you’re doing research for a school project—local folklore? And that you’re actually related to the building’s original mistress, the Medium of Haven Beach.” He waggled his brows and made spooky noises.
“Uh, yeah,” I said, flicking a dirty look at Benny.He could’ve at least prepared me, for the love of God. “Mabel Malone is my ancestor.”
“Wild! So cool to be a part of history, I really dig it,” Dinesh said, nodding appreciatively. “Yeah, so, you’re just wanting to take a look around? There’s some pretty interesting old things in the brewhouse downstairs. Usually, when we give tours, to corporate groups or YouTubers with travel shows, or whatever, we take them downstairs. There’s also Mabel’s office upstairs—where they used to take people on the ghost tours a few years ago.”
“I definitely want to see that,” I said.
“No problem. It’s basically just an empty room with a couple pieces of furniture, so fair warning not to get your hopes up. And, of course, you can’t leave without taking a photo at ‘Mabel’s Table’...” He gestured with one arm, pointing toward a booth beneath one of the front windows, and a round table there. A brass plaque attached to the wall announced its history:
Original séance table, 1901–1929
Owned and used by
Mabel Malone, spirit medium and wife of Wyrd Jack
I’d seen this same table when Nana brought me in here to yell at the manager. There wasn’t anything remarkable about it, other than its presence being documented in several framed black-and-white photos hanging nearby on a wall. The photographs showed Mabel sitting at the table, intensely staring at the camera with raccoon eyes while holding a crystal ball in her hands, tarot cards fanned out around her. Currently, a server was bent over Mabel’s Table, wiping up ketchup and a basket of spilled fries.
Dinesh turned his head to one side and quietly spoke into an earpiece. Then he gave us an apologetic look. “Gotta step away for a moment. We’re closing soon, so you can get started alone. I can’t really let you roam through here after we’re closed, so you’ll need to make it quick.”
Benny raised both hands. “Not a problem. We appreciate you accommodating us.”
“Sure, man. A friend of my brother’s is a friend of mine,” he said, smiling. “Feel free to look and take pics for research. There’s nothing much else to see in the taproom besides the table, and it’sbest to stay out of the kitchen at this time of night. Gets a little hectic, you know?”
“That’s fine,” Benny said.
“But you can go through that door back there and head to the brewhouse. Jeff’s down there, so just tell him you’re part of the Harvard tour group. Also, if you want to poke around upstairs, feel free. It’s mostly just a couple banquet rooms, but Mabel’s old office is up there, like I said. I’ll have to get the key from the manager. So I’ll meet back up with you in five.”
He flashed us another pair of finger guns and dashed away, leaving us all feeling a little awkward as we stood around with patrons staring at us.
