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entrepreneurs like you. Sign up for your $1 a month trial at Shopify.com slash setup. Hometown Ghost Stories contains serious and often distressing events and is not intended for all audiences.

Viewer discretion is advised.

Block Island, 2022. It was our second night on the island.

Late September. Off-season. The place was essentially a ghost town.

Less than a thousand people would tough out the winter, while the majority of the shops and restaurants closed for the season.

The bare essentials would remain open, the small grocery store,

the coffee shop by the port, the ferry, and a couple restaurants and bars. Club soda was the

local dive that all the locals would hang out at during the off-season, so that's where we

decided to go after dinner. The place was surprisingly busy.

I remember thinking half the population of the island must have been crammed in that little building.

Well, the building wasn't that small. The bar was on the ground level, and the upper level served as a hotel.

Music blared loudly from the jukebox, and the locals talked

loudly over it. Overworked bartenders masterfully sent drinks out like it was their job. I suppose it

was their job. But we made our way through the crowd to the bar, and I squeezed in between a

biker yelling into his phone and a magician

performing card tricks to a group of uninterested women. I ordered a round of beers and

passed them back to my two friends who pointed to an empty table at the back of the room.

I told them to go on ahead and that I'd be right there. I paid the bartender and asked her to point me in the

direction of the restroom. She nodded towards a door that had a line of people that stretched

halfway across the room. She must have noticed my disappointment because she leaned in and told me

that there were common bathrooms upstairs. The hotel rooms were very small and didn't have

...