Was Butterworth’s Really Haunted?

Before I went to sleep last night, I was thinking about all of the hats that I have worn in my life and all of the jobs that I have held. Some are forgettable, while others stand out like a beacon in the night. 

My first job was at a restaurant called Butterworth’s in Auburn, California. I was 15 years old, and started out as a bus girl. My sister Deni was the strolling guitar playing singer on Friday and Saturday nights, and actually got me the job. 

My parents were a bit reluctant to allow me to work, but I begged, and begged. They were sure that it would affect my schoolwork, and my activities. They finally gave in, and allowed me to work Saturday lunches, and Sunday brunches. During the summer months I worked a few lunches and dinners, and quickly graduated to waitress. 

Butterworth’s was a huge old house that was perched on top of a hill in lower town. Built in 1884, and haunted, it had quite a history. Mr. and Mrs. Butterworth were the proprietors, and actually lived upstairs. 

Most of us who worked there had at least one encounter with the spirits that roamed the restaurant. My sister used to see the clock face open and close every night at 7:30, and there was always something going on in the wine cellar. I was always a bit apprehensive if I had to run down to get a bottle of wine. It was freezing, and it wasn’t unusual to hear whispering. 

I remember setting up for dinner after we had closed for lunch one hot summer day. I was putting silverware on the tables and heard someone calling my name. I thought it was the cook, or Mr. and Mrs. B, but when I went in the kitchen, nobody was there…I thought it was strange and didn’t give it a second thought until someone, or something, decided to pull on my skirt. It was a definite tug, and not the air conditioner as Mrs. B had suggested. 

Mr. and Mrs. B were going out of town one weekend, and asked me if I wanted to watch the house while they were gone. Of course, I didn’t want to house sit alone, so I asked one of the other servers to join me. Robyn and I were thrilled. Thoughts of raiding the refrigerator and gorging on chocolate mousse and key lime pie filled our heads, but there was some apprehension. I had already had a few ghostly encounters, and wondered if they would make their presence known that weekend. 

Robyn and I had a great time until about 3:00 AM when we both discovered the witching hour. We were sleeping in the spare room and woke up to a strange smell and a very cold draft. We were scared, but even more so when we felt a heavy weight at the end of the bed. We both prayed and begged whatever was in the room to go away. We woke up the next morning to a puddle of water in the set up room. Apparently, we had pissed off the presence because the water pitcher had been shoved under the tap, and was still flowing when we went downstairs. We both know we had turned everything off the night before. 

That was my last summer at Butterworth’s, and the restaurant was eventually sold after Mr. B passed away. I heard an interesting story a few years later from a friend who had called to make a reservation. She told me that a man with an English accent had answered the phone. She arrived at 7:00 that night, but was told her name wasn’t on the reservation list. She told the hostess that a man with an English accent took her reservation. The hostess had an odd look on her face and said that the only men who worked there were the cooks and the dishwasher, and neither one of them had an English accent. She also said that this wasn’t the first time that this had happened.  Although by that time Mr. B. had been gone for a couple of years, I can’t help but wonder if he could have been the one on the line taking my friends reservations.