Page 10 of Ghost in the Night

Asher stops on the next corner.

“Now that’s a good question. Savannah was crowned the most haunted city in the United States by the National Society of Paranormal Investigation and Research.”

“Not New Orleans?”

He shakes his head. “Nope. They’re a close second. When the society conducted their survey, they considered the amount of activity reported here as well as the city’s age and dark history, from slavery to bloody battles to multiple plagues—more than any other city. But the biggest reason why they declared this the most haunted city is because of what we’re standing on.”

I look down at the redbrick sidewalk. Each brick has two black spiral swirls, carved next to each other.

“When the Civil War hit, there was far too much goingon to bother with individual graves and headstones. So, the city came up with a system. Notice those swirl symbols? Each swirl represents a body buried beneath it.”

My stomach drops to my feet. “But these bricks are all over the place!”

“Correct. Most of this city was built over mass graves.”

The hair stands up on the back of my neck. We’ve literally been strolling over a graveyard this entire time? Robby’s face is unreadable, but the way he grips his little backpack straps is telling.

We continue on with the tour, and, at every stop, Asher grows more dramatic. I sometimes have to hold in a giggle. He’s wild animated. The way he tells the stories, you’d think he was a Broadway actor. I expect him to break out in song and dance at some spots.

As we walk farther from the downtown area, the streets are empty and quiet in an eerie way. It feels as if someone is watching, peering out from one of the old windows. The big trees cast long shadows, blocking streetlights, and we’re just about walking through pitch blackness. I rub my arms, even though it’s still warm out.

The adults ask their silly questions, cracking jokes and rolling their eyes at Asher’s stories, which is mad annoying. If they didn’t believe in ghosts, why come on this tour?

I guess I could ask myself the same question.

“AH!” a woman screams, and everyone whips in her direction.

Behind us, a blonde-haired young woman is on her knees, hands out as if she just caught herself before face-planting onto the ground.

“Are you okay?” Asher asks, rushing over to help her to her feet.

“Someone just pushed me!” the woman cries, her cheeks red and blotchy.

A silence comes over the crowd. The woman was in the back of the group. No one was behind her. The entire street is empty. Not a car or a person in sight. I hold my breath until my lungs burn.

Asher looks around the street, his mouth in a hard line, suddenly seeming anxious.

“Um, okay … everyone. Let’s keep moving. Quickly please.”

The woman still seems shaken, smoothing back her long hair as the color drains from her face.

Robby throws me a skeptical look. “She probably tripped over a crack in the sidewalk,” he whispers. “You see how old these streets are.”

“Yeah,” I agree absentmindedly. But the way Asher keeps glancing over his shoulder makes me think otherwise.

Our next stop is Calhoun Square. A redbrick walkway cuts through the lawn, and backless wooden benches are scattered around. Spanish moss dangling off branches makes the whole spot seem darker somehow, like the trees are leaning in, trying to hear better.

Asher stops in the middle of the square and faces us.

“Friends,” he says in a dramatic whisper. “You are standing on what was once a burial ground. But it’s located outside the original city limits. Now, who do you suppose they’d want to bury on the outskirts of town? Who wouldn’t they want to mingle with their kind?”

An uneasy silence comes over the crowd.

Robby timidly raises his hand. “Uh … Black people?”

The group’s eyes shift to us, then away. The guilty look all people have when they don’t want to talk about slavery. As if the evidence isn’t right in our face all day long?

“Correct. Savannah was a major central port in the transatlantic slave trade. Thousands of Africans were brought here and sold into labor, and this spot was a mass African burial ground. No headstones or formalities.”