One night on Center Street. One invitation to the dead.
If dinner or pictures near the Folly Beach Pier are already on the itinerary, give the bride two actual evenings to choose from. Go out with her friends, or cook at the rental and clear the table for Timothy Starnes & His Many Night Visitors. Trying to squeeze a séance between the beach, six showers, and a reservation usually results in the most sinister sound in theater: a rideshare notification.
For the night in, give me two uninterrupted hours. Ten to fifteen adults is a good fit when they can all sit and see the middle of the table. The bride can inspect a strange object herself or nominate the friend who insisted there was a perfectly reasonable explanation. This is theatrical spirit magic and dark comedy, not a mediumship reading.
Let the bride keep one thing to herself.
If she’d rather have tarot before a night out, choose a seat apart from the kitchen so a personal question doesn’t become a group activity. Her friends can take individual turns or gather for traditional close-up magic. Ask the rental host about outside entertainment, and text me the house address and night you’re staying on Folly. A pin at the pier makes a fine meeting spot for photographs. It tells me very little about whose dining room I’m haunting.