I own a coffee shop in Southern Indiana. I have a room in the back where I spend most of my week. I had just bought this place, and after a few weeks, I realized how strange it really was.
The first strange occurrence happened about a week after opening. Late one night, while closing up, I heard a noise from the back room. I thought it was my cat playing with a feather pen until I heard a distinct pop, like a champagne cork. I cautiously approached the door, heard it again, grabbed a metal ruler, and swung the door open. My cat darted between my feet, startling me.
I stepped into the bedroom. Nothing seemed amiss. But in the bathroom, I found the medicine cabinet open. Peroxide was spilled on the floor, aspirin was scattered in the sink, and shampoo had seeped into the mat. After cleaning up, I couldn't sleep, feeling I wasn't alone.
A few days later, during the busy afternoon rush, I heard a commotion in the front. Fearing a robbery, I rushed out to find customers covered head-to-toe in coffee foam and soda. The machines were spraying everywhere! I unplugged them, apologized, and offered free breakfasts. A repairman later found nothing wrong with the equipment.
That evening, after cleaning up and eating supper, I was at the bar when I saw a man sitting at a corner table. "We're closed. How did you get in?" I asked. He stood and walked toward me. I reached for a kitchen knife, but when I looked back, he was no longer solid—just a wisp of shadow. The closer he got, the more he faded, vanishing completely as he reached me.
Since then, my coffee shop has become a 24-hour "haunted" attraction, with people dropping by hoping to see the ghost.