Ghosthunting Michigan. Helen Pattskyn

      WHEN YOU MENTION THE DOWNRIVER AREA, most Detroiters think of the Gibraltar Trade Center, Flat Rock Speedway, Trenton Scarecrow Festival, or Cruisin’ Downriver, an antique car event that rivals the northern suburb’s Woodward Dream Cruise. Crusin’ Downriver, which draws thousands of spectators each summer, stretches through Lincoln Park, Wyandotte, Southgate, and Riverview.

      Most people don’t think about ghosts when you mention the downriver area, especially if you happen to be talking about the township of Brownstown. But that’s exactly where I ended up one Monday afternoon in late November, on the trail of a promising lead I found on the Motor City Ghost Hunters’ website. I took my husband along for the ride, telling him it would make for a fun date. We hadn’t been out to eat in a while, and even though a sports bar wouldn’t normally be our first choice for a date night, we both love a good burger. He was a little dubious at first, not because he knew I was going on another one of my “ghosthunting adventures,” but because, unlike me, he is simply not a very adventurous soul. The idea of a 45-minute trek downriver for a burger wasn’t exactly the highlight of his day. He came anyway.

      Marlow’s is located on a rural stretch of Telegraph Road, just a short way down from the Oak Ridge Cemetery, which rumor has it is also haunted. According to an urban legend, the ghosts of a little boy and a tall man can be spotted in the cemetery between the hours of 9 p.m. and 3 a.m.—however, it is worth noting that like most cemeteries, Oak Ridge is closed after dark, and trespassers will be prosecuted. Visiting the cemetery during the day is perfectly legal, of course.

      Other specters are said to roam the streets of the nearly 200-year-old town. Rumors abound of “strange apparitions” that supposedly wander the streets of the Tele Valley mobile home park and of a “ghostly man” who has allegedly been seen roaming the woods in Dawnshire Park near the Civic Center. Again, I don’t recommend visiting either location after dark, but it’s perfectly legal to walk around the Civic Center during the day. Just remember, you can’t believe everything you read on the Internet, especially when it comes to ghostly hauntings. I learned that when I visited Calumet and Eagle Harbor earlier in the year.

      It was early evening when my husband and I arrived in Brownstown. We found ourselves before a large, beige brick-and-wood paneled building bearing a sign that read MARLOW’S CHILL & GRILL. I have to admit, I wasn’t expecting the drive to be worth it; Marlow’s does not look like a hundred-year-old haunted tavern, even if it does have a rather colorful history. The building has served many functions, under many different owners, over the last century. In addition to being the home of numerous pubs and taverns, the building at one time housed a brothel in the upstairs apartment, and at another point in history, it served as a station house for the Brownstown mounted police. When we got there, the parking lot was mostly empty. For a moment I wondered if the place was open. As usual, I hadn’t called ahead.

      We parked anyway and headed up to the door to discover that yes, they were open, just not very busy yet. (At this point, my husband really wanted to know what I’d dragged him into!) Inside, Marlow’s was everything you would expect from a friendly blue-collar neighborhood sports bar. Several televisions hung over the bar, sports memorabilia dotted the walls, and there was even a dance floor. In addition to bar seating, we found booths along one wall and had a seat. We didn’t have long to wait before a friendly server came over to greet us with a smile and a couple of menus. Our server’s name was Ashley. As we were talking, I learned that she had worked at Marlow’s for awhile. But before asking about the bar’s resident specters, I decided what I really wanted was dinner. Ashley took our orders and put them into the kitchen. When she returned to check on us, I told her the real reason for my visit.

      “This place is totally freaky!” she exclaimed. It took no prompting at all to get Ashley to tell me about some of the things she and other staff members had experienced at the bar. “We think one of the ghosts is a waitress who was murdered at the bar. The story I heard was that it was a customer who killed her. She was sitting on one of the bar stools, and he came up behind her and slit her throat.”

      No one has ever been able to dig up enough hard evidence to prove that someone was really murdered on the property, but it seems to be a widely held belief. Ashley told me that sometimes glasses fall off the shelves for no apparent reason, usually by the ice maker. “One night, I was standing right there,” she went on, pointing over to the bar. “I think I’d been here for a couple of months, so I guess it was maybe last August. Anyway, I swear, I felt someone touching my face, like this,” she demonstrated, sliding one finger down the side of her face, from her hairline all the way to her chin. “It freaked me right out.”

      Marlow’s other resident specter is a much more negative entity, according to paranormal investigators and bar staff alike. He can be felt most strongly around the ladies’ restroom and in the upstairs apartment, which is no longer used for anything except storage. Ashley said that most of the staff avoids the apartment and hardly anyone will go up there alone. “No one would live there,” she added.

      “One night, after closing,” she continued, “the night bartender literally came running out of the bathroom, screaming. She said she’d been in the stall and felt somebody running their fingers through her hair, like they were standing behind her.”

      Okay, that would be enough to shake me up, too, and I don’t rattle that easily. Ashley told me that a number of staff members and even some customers have felt as if they were being watched in and around the restrooms (even when there was no one else around), and a few have also reported being touched, although the night bartender’s experience was by far the most extreme. Most of what the staff experiences seems to happen when they’re cleaning up, after closing.

      But what I wanted to know more about was the apartment upstairs. Being the brave soul that I am, I asked if it would be all right to go up and take pictures. Ashley said she didn’t think it would be a problem, but she put in a call to the owner, Robert Marlow, just to double-check.

      About then, our food was ready, so while Ashley called her boss, I scribbled down a few notes and my husband dug into his burger. “Well?” I asked him.

      He wasn’t sure if I was asking about the burger or the ghosts, so he just shrugged. As far as I was concerned, the ghost stories were more than worth the drive downriver. (But I enjoyed my dinner too.)

      When Ashley returned, she let me know that Marlow didn’t mind me going upstairs. The only catch was that nobody had a key, so would I mind coming back tomorrow? Not at all!

      While I munched on my fries, Ashley told us about the Motor City Ghost Hunters’ visit in 2010. “They were here most of the night with all their equipment. They’re the ones who told us that there were two different spirits, the woman at the bar and the other one upstairs. They got a bunch of stuff on tape.” If you visit the Motor City Ghost Hunters website, you can see for yourself the picture of an orb that they caught downstairs in the bar area and hear clips of the EVP (electronic voice phenomena) that was recorded during their visit.

      By then other customers were drifting in, so Ashley left me and my husband to finish our food. I did visit the ladies’ room before we left, but, alas, if the ghost was about, he wasn’t in the mood to play with any customers that night.

      I returned the next afternoon and was shown around back by the bar’s manager. He unlocked the door to the upstairs storage area, flipped on the light, and with hardly a word, retreated hastily back into the bar. Maybe he was too busy to accompany me upstairs, but I had to admit it was a little odd, being left to wander around on my own like that, even though Ashley was right about there not being much upstairs. The upper floor of Marlow’s was clearly hardly used at all. I took a number of photographs and