Haunted Taverns of Nashville

The milligauss reader

Text and photos by Jason McKenney

Thomas spoke with a calm respect. “Is there anyone here with us? Is there anything you would like to say?”

He held the white noise machine out ahead of him as if it were a compass and he was Meriwether Lewis searching for the Pacific.

He turned to me. “Would like to ask any questions?”

My wife had been given the milligauss meter to hold. It detects any changes in the magnetic field surrounding us. Any disturbances in the Force, so to speak.

“If you are here, please make a noise,” I said, enjoying the moment. “Push my beer glass of this foosball table.”

We were in the back room of Buffalo Billiards, one of the large multi-story pool halls along 2nd Street in Nashville’s Entertainment District. My wife and I had signed up for the Haunted Taverns Tour to indulge in our never-ending obsession with the paranormal (and imbibing tasty regional brews).

It was a misty fall evening in the middle of the week. Another couple had signed up for the tour but they were no-shows. So it was just the two of us and our guide Thomas, an experienced ghost hunter who was also very knowledgeable of Nashville history.

I have seen virtually every episode of Ghost Adventures on Travel Channel and was a huge fan of Poltergeist when I was kid so when it comes to dealing with spirits, I certainly know my stuff.

One of Nashville's best

Thomas brought along the equipment most needed for contacting the beyond: white noise machine through which spirits can speak, a digital recorder to capture electronic voice phenomena (or “EVPs” for short), as well as the milligauss meter which told us if there were any major fluxes in the magnetic field as well as sudden temperature drops. Either activity could represent the arrival of a spirit. Or possibly the opening of a nearby refrigerator.

Our second stop of the night was a bit more interesting. The Wildhorse Saloon boasts a downstairs bar that wasn’t being used on this particular night. While country music and earthy blues were thumping on the main level, our merry band of ghost hunters went below ground to a dimly lit bar shrouded in shadows and Budweiser signs.

Thomas informed us of several spectral experiences he had witnessed in this location as well as the history of a woman who had lost her life on this very ground years before the bar was ever built. Or maybe the bar had been built and then the woman had simply gotten sick in the toilet after too many Jäger shots, I can’t quite recall.

Downstairs at the Wildhorse

I took the digital recorder from Thomas and walked all the way to the rear of the room where a stage lay veiled in quiet mystery. I must admit it was more than a little creepy and a bit exhilarating. It’s not often I get to roam around freely in a Nashville bar, walk up on stage where who know how many popular country artists had once stood, and then start demanding the spirits around me to make themselves known. Maybe Johnny Cash had performed here or Waylon Jennings or Muddy Waters! Or none of thee above!

“Do you want to hurt me?” I asked hoping to provoke any sort of response.

I could say here that I heard a knocking in the darkness behind me or saw a floating light pass down the hallway leading to the bathrooms. But I didn’t. I saw nothing unusual nor did I hear any EVPs when playing back the digital recorder. I still enjoyed my pint of Yazoo Sue and assured my trembling wife that those thumps she had heard were just clumsy boot clonks upstairs. Or were they?

Our final stop was a place called The Stillery. It was a quiet night at the bar. I ordered a Jackalope Red Eye Ale and we headed upstairs to an empty room usually reserved for DJ dances. Again, the room was dark. The only light was that of the street lamps outside the fogged up window.

Upstairs at The Stillery

“There’s a small bathroom down that hall across from the kitchen,” said Thomas. “In that bathroom I’ve been told multiple times that if you turn off the lights, say ‘Mary may I’ three times while looking in the mirror, an apparition will appear standing behind you. We’re not sure who this apparition was during her life. It may have been a bartender or possibly a singer. If you’re brave enough, feel free to try it yourself.”

I was certainly brave enough. I’ll take up your challenge, Thomas! Into the small bathroom I went. It was barely larger than a phone booth. I imagined how wretched it probably got on nights when this floor was filled with dancing and drinking. That was more horrifying to me than any ghostly specter.
I looked into the mirror and turned out the light. I stood in silence for a moment making sure nothing else was in the room with me.

“Mary may I.”

I couldn’t see a thing. The blackness in the confined room was complete.

“Mary may I.”

Did I hear a rustle? Was that the scuff of a shoe across the tile floor behind me?

“Mary . . . may I.”

Third time’s the charm. I stared into where I believed the mirror to be, awaiting a glow to appear or maybe a hand to reach over my shoulder.

But nothing. No rustles. No glowing orbs.

A couple of dorks.
AKA the photo my wife hates

I went outside and reported my findings. I finished my beer, soaking in a wonderful exploration of Nashville from a vantage point much different than what one experiences at the Grand Ole Opry or the Country Music Hall of Fame. So what if I didn’t see any ghosts? The missus and I had fun, sampled a few of Nashville’s best micro-brews and made a new friend in Thomas who we will probably go and see again next time we’re in town.



A few recommended Nashville MicroBrews
Turtle Anarchy
Jackalope
Yazoo
Tennessee Brew Works
Fat Bottom Brewery