• Morgan Fagg

Do you believe in ghosts?

Updated: Jan 4


If you are neither open-minded nor a believer in ghosts than this entry will do nothing to change your mind but all I can do is describe what I heard, saw and felt in this strange Spanish bar.


After meeting up with Anna's old neighbour in Calle Espirito Santo, I suggested going to a little chic hipster bar that I knew. It was closed so we went to another bar and after some tea and cake in a local corner bar, I saw that the other bar had opened and I suggested a celebratory drink in the new bar as Anna's old neighbour had brought along a friend whose birthday it was going to be, the next day.


As I arrived, I quickly got talking with the barmaid and I explained that I had been in the bar a few times before and knew what I wanted to order and then told her about the first time I was in the bar.

I ordered a Vesper cocktail which was served in an unusual Champagne class. The ingredients I believe are mostly Gin but include Vodka and Lillet Blonde.


The James Bond drink from the original Casino Royale novel is a strong drink served straight up without ice but is shaken over ice until it is well chilled and then garnished with a thin slice of lemon peel.


As the owner mixed the cocktail, I told the barmaid about my first time there.


Anna and I sat on the couch by the fireplace under a giant painting of a king that had a cut slashed through the picture. The cut looked like it was done with a sword and was slashed from head to heart. Well bisecting the body in half from the groin up. Ouch!


While I don’t think the painting was an original, Anna and I had an interesting reaction that night with both of us suffering. Anna had a pain in her heart and I developed a terrible headache that night.


There was something definitely strange about the bar and Anna’s old neighbour told us when we arrived that someone had died there.

Not very forthcoming with the details, the only thing she told us was that a painter died there a long time ago. I wondered if he was an artist or a decorator or maybe it was a mafia reference, “He paints houses.”


I got the impression it might have been a suicide and my girlfriend asked the owner, “Who died here?”


He said that no-one died there but seamed very standoffish about the topic.


My girlfriend was annoyed that I wouldn’t ask the owner who died there but I didn’t think asking him directly was going to achieve any more answers than she had already received and I knew I needed a very different approach if I was going to get any answers.

Four of us sat around the unlit fireplace where a bunch of melted red candles had been placed but not yet replaced with newer candles. The room was cold and in the middle of the couch and two chairs, where we sat, stood a box with some magazines on top of it. It was a classical travelling box with straps and at one point, it started to rattle unexpectedly which we weren’t able to explain why.


Had Anna’s old friend accidentally kicked the box and we didn’t realise it?


We all looked at the box and tried rattling the straps to recreate this unexpected sound that we all heard and now wanted to know what had caused it.


They unclasped the latches and straps but still, the box wouldn’t open. We abandoned our efforts

to open the box and my girlfriend asked the waitress, “Do you believe in ghosts?”

“I do here”, she said or words to that effect and I thought her answer was very strange considering it was neither a yes or no answer but a place-specific yes.


We continued our talk but our friend refused to give any further details about the dead painter or even what year he died.


She had lived in the area since Franco’s rule and the painter could have died in the late 60’s, 70’s or 80´s


I talked again with the waitress who confessed that she and her friend cast spells behind the bar and I invited myself along to their next Tarot card session behind the bar.


Let's see what lies behind this mysterious bar and what the cards can tell me when I next order a James Bond cocktail or some other strong spirits.




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© 2018 by Morgan Fagg.