Somewhere between the greeting cards and the off-brand aspirin, the Stillwater Bluff Pharmacy hides its claim to fame: the “Haunted Soda Fountain Stool.”
According to the laminated sign taped to the counter with yellowing Scotch tape, this particular red vinyl seat has been “the site of unexplained movements” since 1957.
Unexplained movements, mind you, that apparently had nothing to do with the fact that the floor tilts like a cheap carnival ride.
Naturally, I had to try it.
The soda fountain itself looks like it hasn’t been updated since Eisenhower was in office: chrome fixtures pitted with rust, a menu board advertising malts for a dollar, and a dusty gumball machine by the door that might contain the fossilized remains of 20th-century childhood dreams.
The “haunted stool” was third from the end, right next to a stack of unopened boxes labeled “Nostalgic Candy (Assorted).” Very atmospheric.
I slid onto the seat and waited.
The counter lady, a woman named Doris who looked like she’d been serving cherry phosphates since the Cold War, offered me a milkshake “on the house, for bravery.” I accepted — reluctantly — and settled in to watch for signs of supernatural activity.
Fifteen minutes passed.
Nothing happened. No eerie sway. No ghostly vibrations. No sudden temperature drops.
What I did experience was the gentle but persistent sensation of slowly tipping sideways.
Closer inspection revealed that one of the stool’s bolts had come loose sometime during the Carter administration, and the entire thing wobbled if you breathed too hard.
Doris, bless her heart, regaled me with tales of the stool’s history. Patrons who claimed to feel “a sudden chill.” Shakes that allegedly “jumped” off the counter. One famous story about a man whose cherry pie “flew” into his lap.
I checked the slope of the counter with my phone’s level app. Two degrees off. Just enough for a slick plate to start a slow-motion suicide mission toward the edge.
If you ask me, the Haunted Stool of Milltown Pharmacy isn’t possessed. It’s exhausted. It’s a weary artifact of a time when no one thought to fix a broken bolt if they could turn it into a ghost story instead.
If you visit, bring a spirit of adventure, and possibly a handyman.