Speaker 1: Calorouga Shark Media, Hello, and welcome to Ghost Scary Stories.
This episode is titled Spirits of the Speakeasy, a New
York Ghost Story, Part one. The Whisper in the Glass.
Speaker 2: In the heart of Lower Manhattan, where the shadows of
towering skyscrapers mingle with the ghosts of the past, stands
a bar called the Broken Bottle. It's a place where
the present day collides with history, where the echoes of
Prohibition era secrets still linger in the air. And it's here,
in this dimly lit establishment that our story begins. Eddie Hernandez,
a bartender with a quick wit and an easy smile,
had been slinging drinks at the Broken Bottle for five years.
At thirty two, he thought he'd heard every story New
York City had to offer. But on a chilly autumn night,
as the city outside hummed with its usual frantic energy,
Eddie would discover that some stories refused to stay buried.
The night started like any other. The usual crowd of
afterwork professionals and trendy twenty somethings filled the bar, their
laughter and chatter creating a warm atmosphere that contrasted sharply
with the cold wind whistling down the street outside, Eddie
moved with practiced ease behind the bar, mixing drinks and
trading quips with the regulars. As the night wore on
and the crowd began to thin, Eddie noticed something odd,
a chill that seemed to come from nowhere, sending goosebumps
racing up his arms. He shrugged it off, blaming a
draft from the ancient building's many cracks and crevices. But
then it happened again and again. Each time the temperature
would plummet for just a moment, as if someone had
opened a door to a freezer and quickly shut it again,
just the ac acting up. Eddie muttered to himself, trying
to shake off the uneasy feeling that had settled in
the pit of his stomach. But it wasn't just the
cold spots. Glasses began to move on their own, sliding
across the bar when no one was near them. At first,
Eddie blamed it on spilled water or his own tired
eyes playing tricks on him, but as the occurrences became
more frequent, he found it harder to explain away. The
breaking point came just before closing time, Eddie was wiping
down the bar, lost in thought about the strange events
of the evening, when a glass suddenly shattered. He hadn't
touched it. It had been sitting peacefully on the shelf
one moment, and the next it was in pieces on
the floor. What the hell, Eddie exclaimed, his voice echoing
in the now empty bar. As he bent to clean
up the mess. A whisper reached his ears, soft, almost inaudible,
but unmistakably there, Eddie, it seemed to say, the sound
sending a shiver down his spine. Eddie whirled around, his
heart pounding Hello, is someone there? We're closed, you know.
Silence was his only answer. The bar stood empty, the
chairs neatly tucked under the tables. The only movement the
gentle sway of the vintage chandelier overhead. Shaking his head,
Eddie turned back to his task, but as he did,
his eyes fell on the door to the basement. It
stood slightly ajar, a sliver of darkness visible through the gap.
Eddie frowned. He could have sworn he'd locked it earlier.
Against his better judgment, Eddie found himself drawn to the door.
He grabbed a flashlight from behind the bar and slowly
made his way down the creaky wooden stairs, each step
seeming to groan in protest. The basement of the Broken
Bottle was a relic of its speakeasy days, a maze
of old crates and dusty bottles. The air was thick
with the musty smell of age and secrets. Eddie's flashlight
beam cut through the gloom, casting long shadows that seemed
to move and dance at the edge of his vision.
As he reached the bottom of the stairs, that whisper
came again, Eddie. It seemed to come from everywhere and
nowhere at once, sending Eddie's heart racing. This isn't funny,
he called out, his voice trembling slightly. Kyle, if that's
you messing around, I swear I'll fire your ass. But
deep down, Eddie knew it wasn't Kyle, his young and
often irresponsible co worker. This was something else Entirely. As
Eddie's flashlight beam swept across the room, it caught something
that made him freeze. There In a far corner of
the basement stood an ancient mirror. Its ornate frame was
tarnished with age. The silver backing of the glass, mottled
and dark. But it wasn't the mirror itself that made
Eddie's blood run cold. It was what he saw reflected
in it. At first, it was just his own face,
pale and wide eyed in the dim light. But then
as he watched in horror, his reflection began to change.
The features shifted, melted, re formed, and suddenly he was
looking at the face of a woman. She was beautiful,
with dark hair styled in the fashion of the nineteen twenties,
and eyes that seemed to hold a lifetime of sorrow.
Her mouth opened as if to speak, but no sound
came out. Instead, her expression twisted into one of pure terror,
a silent scream that seemed to echo in Eddie's very soul.
Eddie stumbled backward, his heart pounding so hard he thought
it might burst from his chest. The flashlight slipped from
his grasp, clattering to the floor and plunging the basement
into darkness. In that moment of blackness, Eddie could have
sworn he felt a cold hand brush against his cheek.
With a strangled cry, Eddie turned and ran, taking the
stairs two at a time. He burst out of the basement,
slamming the door behind him and leaning against it, gasping
for breath. The bar was as he'd left it, quiet
and normal, but now it felt different, charged, as if
the very air was alive with unseen presences. As Eddie
struggled to calm his racing heart, his eyes fell on
something he'd seen a thousand times before but never truly noticed.
An old photograph hanging on the wall behind the bar.
It showed the Broken Bottle in its heyday, flappers and
gangsters raising their glasses in a frozen toast to the camera,
and there in the center of the image was a face.
He recognized the woman from the mirror. She was smiling
in the photograph, her eyes bright with life and promise.
But Eddie couldn't shake the image of her terrified face
in the mirror, couldn't forget the silent scream that seemed
to echo across the decades. Who are you, Eddie whispered,
reaching out to touch the photograph. As his fingers brushed
the glass, he felt that same chill run through him,
and in that moment, he knew that his life would
never be the same. The Broken Bottle held secrets darker
than Eddie could have imagined, and the spirits of the
past were determined to make themselves heard. As he stood there,
staring at the face of a woman long dead, Eddie
realized that he was now part of a story that
had been unfolding for nearly a century. In the days
that followed, Eddie found himself unable to shake the memory
of that night. He threw himself into researching the history
of the Broken Bottle. Pouring over old newspapers and city records,
he learned that the bar had indeed been a speakeasy
during Prohibition, a haven for jazz musicians, flappers, and gangsters alike.
But it was the woman who consumed his thoughts. Her name,
he discovered, was Sophia Bellamy. She had been a rising
star in the New York jazz scene of the nineteen twenties.
Her voice said to be able to break hearts and
mend them in the same breath. Sofia had been a
regular performer at the Broken Bottle, captivating audiences night after
night until one night in nineteen twenty five, when she
vanished without a trace. The official story was that Sofia
had run off with a lover, leaving behind her promising
career and all who knew her, But as Eddie dug deeper,
he began to suspect that the truth was far more sinister.
Strange things continued to happen at the bar. Glasses would
shatter inexplicably, cold spots would appear and disappear in the
blink of an eye. And sometimes late at night, when
the bar was empty, Eddie would hear the faint strains
of nineteen twenty s jazz floating up from the basement.
And always, always there was the whisper, Eddie, it would call,
a plaintive cry that seemed to come from the very
walls themselves. Eddie knew he should be terrified. He knew
he should run, leave the broken bottle and its ghosts behind,
but something kept him there, a need to uncover the truth,
to understand what had happened to Sophia Bellamy all those
years ago. As he closed up the bar one night,
a week after his encounter in the basement, Eddie found
himself standing before the old photograph once again. He stared
into Sophia's eyes, so full of life and promise, and
made a silent vow. I'll find out what happened to you.
He whispered, I promise, and as the words left his lips,
Eddie felt the air around him grow cold. In the
mirror behind the bar, just for a moment, he saw
Sophia's face. She smiled a sad, grateful expression that tugged
at Eddie's heart. Then she was gone, leaving Eddie alone
with the weight of a decade's old mystery on his shoulders.
Little did Eddie know this was only the beginning. The
broken bottles passed was a tangled web of love, betrayal,
and murder, And as he would discover, some secrets refuse
to stay buried, no matter how deep you try to
hide them. The ghosts of New York's past were restless,
and Eddie Hernandez was about to be pulled into a
story that would change his life forever.
Speaker 1: Ghost is a Caloroga Shark Media production written and hosted
by Alexander Ian McIntyre, produced by Mark Francis. Executive producers
Mark Francis and John McDermott. Portions of this podcast may
have been created with the assistance of AI.
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