Ghosts of St. Augustine

by Tom Lapham

  The father listened to their tale that evening and decided he must get involved and settle whatever the problem was. The next day was Saturday, so, after breakfast, he took his Smith & Wesson .357 and went to the house by himself, a brave thing to do. Wearily, he searched every room, upstairs and down. He found nothing, absolutely nothing.

  Puzzled he thought about what might be causing the thumping noises. He just couldn't figure it out. Then he remembered a friend of the family, a psychic. Surely, she could put an end to this. He called her, and that afternoon she came over. While the husband, his wife, and his daughter stood in the street and waited, the psychic went into the house. She was there more than an hour, walking slowly through each of the rooms. Finally, she came outside.

  “Yes, you have a presence. A spirit has recently taken up residence here,” she said.

  “Well, can you tell us something about it? What is it, or who is it?” the man asked.

  The psychic explained, “It's a man, an older gentleman. He has white hair and a close-cropped, white beard; rather a tall man.”

  Husband and wife looked at each other. “Oh, my gosh,” they said in unison. “That's Chiles,” the wife said with a shudder. Chiles was her sister-in-law's last boyfriend. He had died two years before. Neither of them liked him. They thought he was pompous, lazy, and good for nothing. The feeling was mutual; he hadn't liked them either. With Chiles around, they would have to rethink their plan of moving into the house.

  It was getting late, so the husband went back in, made sure all the lights were off, and they left. The psychic returned home, and the family went to dinner at the Columbia on Hypolita. When they left the restaurant, it was dark, and they walked down Cuna Street on their way home. As they passed the house, they noticed one of the upstairs lights on. Funny, the husband was sure he'd turned them all off. Nevertheless, the light was on. He would just have to go up and turn it off. He unlocked the door and entered the house; the foyer light came on, even before he could reach for the switch. He walked toward the stairs, and the stair lights came on, again before he even reached out for the switch. Then all the lights downstairs illuminated, and, as he walked upstairs, all of the second floor lights came on. That was enough for him. He turned around on the stairs and left.

  Their decision was made. They would sell the house and everything in it. They never went near the place again, even to show the place to prospective buyers. The daughter was unhappy about not getting that wonderful room for her own, but she decided that, perhaps, it would have been a little too exciting.

  Although the presence which occupied the house was not particularly threatening, subsequent owners did have a few experiences with him and finally had the house exorcised. Chiles has apparently found a new home, because no one has had any unusual encounters since.

  KATIE'S GUARDIAN ANGEL

  I don't know the difference between a ghost and an angel; some say that a ghost is the spirit of a human and an angel a heavenly body. I'm not so sure. I have heard many stories of ghosts who acted a lot like angels. This story is about one of them.

  MARGARET MATTHEWS WOKE UP when her bedroom door opened. Rising up on her elbows she saw a small figure in a nightgown glide toward her bed. It was Katie. Katie was her granddaughter, who was visiting for a week while her parents, Margaret's daughter, Bev, and her husband, Jim, had a week to themselves up in the North Carolina mountains.

  Margaret lived for her two daughters and their children, and she loved to have company, especially her grandchildren. Both of Susan's girls were grown and living out of state, but Bev still had little Katie, and Margaret loved to have her around. Since her husband Harold had died, this old house on Charlotte Street was lonely—lonely and sad. Katie was a dear. She was such a bright and cheerful child. And as the youngest of all the grandchildren, she was Margaret's favorite, not that she didn't love them all, but Katie was the last, and she was special.

  Katie padded next to her grandmother's bed. “Gramma, I don't feel so well. Can I sleep with you?”

  “Of course, you can, darling,” Margaret cooed as she lifted up the covers and helped the child into bed. “Do you feel sick, sweetheart?” Margaret asked, and she felt Katie's forehead. “Oh, my goodness. You have a little fever. Let me take your temperature.” Margaret got out of bed and went to the bathroom for a thermometer while Katie talked in her forlorn little voice.

  “I have a headache, Gramma, and I ache. I won't throw up, though.”

  Margaret returned, switched on the light, and placed the thermometer into the little girl's mouth. She waited a couple of minutes, then took it out and looked at it. It registered one hundred and one. “Oh, for mercy's sake, you do have a fever. Well, I'll just get you an aspirin and some water, and you'll feel fine in the morning.”

  She got the water and the aspirin, gave it to Katie, and tucked her in. Katie snuggled down and smiled up at her grandmother. “Thank you, Gramma. I love you.”

  Margaret smiled back and turned out the light. “I love you, too, Katie.”

  Sometime later Margaret woke again. She was a little worried about Katie who now slept soundly beside her. As she turned toward the child to feel her forehead she saw something at the end of the bed. There was the shadowy figure of a man dressed all in white sitting cross-legged on the floor. Even though it was pitch black in the room, she could see him clearly as though he were covered by a soft, white light. He was just sitting there, facing the bed, not looking at anything.

  Amazingly, his presence did not disturb her. Instead, she felt perfectly comfortable with him in the room. She knew somehow that the presence was a spirit and not a living human being, and yet, she wasn't frightened by it. She had never believed in ghosts. She'd certainly never had any experiences with them, but she knew absolutely that this was a spiritual being. She supposed that she should have been frightened, but she wasn't. Then a strange thought came to her. Could this be Katie's guardian angel? She lay back down, peaceful, and went to sleep.

  In the morning, not long before daylight, she woke, roused herself, and got out of bed. She felt rested and thought of the spirit, or angel, or whatever it was. “Did that really happen?” she thought to herself. But she knew the answer; she knew it had. She couldn't see anything in the room, but she felt a warmth, a presence that comforted her.

  She looked down at Katie, who slept soundly. Poor child must be exhausted, Margaret thought. She went quietly downstairs to make coffee.

  As she sat in her kitchen drinking her first cup of coffee and enjoying the tranquillity of the early morning, she heard Katie cry out. Rushing upstairs, she went into the bedroom to comfort the child.

  “Here, sweetheart, let's take that temperature again,” she said as she turned on the light and put the thermometer in the girl's mouth. Her temperature had risen to one hundred and four. Margaret was alarmed. Too high, she thought, we've got to get her temperature down. “Will you be all right, Katie? I'm going down to get you some juice. I'll be back in a minute.”

  “I'll be okay, Gramma,” Katie whimpered.

  Margaret turned to go out the door and there, only faintly visible, was the angel, now standing at the foot of the bed looking at Katie. Margaret could barely see him. He was like a hologram at Disney, but there he was. Intuitively, she knew that he was watching over the little girl. She looked at the spirit, then at her granddaughter. Apparently, Katie had no idea he was there.

  Margaret was worried about Katie's temperature. At first, she thought about calling Bev but decided against it. Calling would only upset her daughter, and there was nothing she could do about it. No, best to call her doctor, John Craig, and she picked up the phone.

  Such a wonderful man, she thought. He hadn't even had his breakfast yet, but he came right over. Fortunately, he lived only two blocks away on Marine Street.

  Margaret answered Dr. Craig's knock at the door. “Thank you so much for coming over, John,” she said.

  “No problem, Margaret. Where's Katie?”

&
nbsp; “Upstairs. She's sleeping for the moment. It's probably nothing to worry about, but she does have a temperature of one hundred and four.”

  “No. No. You're right, Margaret. Best not to take any chances. Let's go have a look at her.”

  Softly, they opened the door and walked into the room. Margaret switched on the light next to Katie's side of the bed. She could see the spirit on the opposite side, even fainter than he was before. She looked at Dr. Craig. Could he see the angel? she wondered. The doctor showed no reaction, and the spirit just stood there.

  Katie was awake and said hello to Dr. Craig. Apparently, she didn't seem to be aware of the presence either. The doctor took her temperature again, checked her with a stethoscope, and looked her over.

  “I don't think there's anything to worry about,” he said, giving Katie a gentle pat on the head. “Here, I'll give you some of these,” and he rummaged through his bag. “They're a little stronger than aspirin. Make sure she gets plenty of rest, and make her drink a lot—water, juice, whatever she likes. She should be fine in a day or two.”

  Margaret walked the doctor downstairs and to the door.

  “Thanks so much, John.”

  “My pleasure, Margaret. Don't worry. She'll be fine. Call me if anything changes.” And he walked out the door and down the steps. Margaret closed the door softly behind him and hurried back up to Katie.

  Margaret opened the blinds. She helped Katie sit up in bed and fluffed the pillows behind her. The angel moved to the foot of the bed and stood still. Margaret looked at the spirit, then at Katie. She was astounded that she herself was not frightened or that Katie did not acknowledge the presence. This is crazy, she thought.

  “I'll go down and get you some breakfast, dear. What would you like?”

  “I'm not real hungry, Gramma, but I would like some juice.”

  “How about some orange juice, a cup of hot tea with honey in it, and some toast with marmalade?”

  “Okay, Gramma. I'd like that.”

  Margaret returned a short time later with Katie's breakfast. She had also gone to the spare room where Katie had been sleeping and retrieved several of the child's books and dolls. “Here, darling. I also brought you this little bell. I've got some things to do downstairs. If you need me, just ring the bell.”

  “Thank you, Gramma,” she said as she began nibbling at her breakfast.

  Margaret left the room to tend to her chores. The angel remained at the foot of the little girl's bed.

  Margaret got involved writing letters and doing some cleaning. She was cleaning in the kitchen when she happened to look up at the clock. Oh, for mercy's sake” she said aloud. It was ten o'clock already, and Katie hadn't rung once. She poured another glass of juice and went upstairs to check on her granddaughter. Katie was sitting up talking to one of her dolls. The angel was still at the foot of the bed.

  “How are you doing, dear? Feeling any better?”

  Katie looked up. “Hi, Gramma. We're playing.”

  “Yes, I can see that,” Margaret smiled. “Here. I've brought you some more juice. Need anything else?”

  “No. Thanks, Gramma.”

  Margaret gave her granddaughter a little hug and walked out of the room.

  Several times during the day, she went up to check on Katie, taking her lunch and juice. Each time she went into the room, the spirit was there. Most often he just stood at the end of the bed, but once he was sitting cross-legged on the floor by Katie and another time he was actually sitting on the bed. Oddly, Margaret was quite comfortable with him there, and Katie seemed to be oblivious to his presence.

  Katie stayed in bed two more days, slowly recovering. The angel was constantly nearby. Then, the third morning when Margaret woke up and went to check on Katie. The spirit was gone. Katie was still sleeping soundly. At first, Margaret was alarmed because the angel wasn't there. Then she thought that might be a good sign. Sure enough, when Katie awoke later, she was fine and apparently had had no idea that an angel had kept a vigil over her.

  At the end of the week her parents returned to pick her up, and as Margaret was relating the events of the past few days without mentioning the spirit, the little girl nonchalantly looked at her mother and said, “Mommy, did you know I have a guardian angel?” Margaret was astounded; Katie had seen the spirit.

  Bev smiled down at Katie. “Of course, you do, darling. We all do.” Margaret laughed to herself and thought, “Beverly, you have no idea.”

  HAROLD'S STORIES

  HAROLD'S FAMILY USED TO OWN A home on Spring Street. Not long after his grandfather's family moved into the house around the time of the First World War, they began hearing strange, unaccountable noises and feeling the presence of something no one could explain. Most of the activity centered around one room, a bedroom where the girls slept.

  According to the young daughters, something would lift them out of their beds and throw them to the floor. Harold's grandfather thought they were silly, and after two or three occurrences when the girls came crying to his room in the middle of the night, he decided to sleep in the room himself. He was a very heavy sleeper, and he didn't wake up all night. But in the morning, he found himself on the floor underneath the bed.

  When Harold's mother was about three years old, his grandmother miscarried twins and became deathly ill with toxemia. Late one winter evening after it was already dark and before her husband returned home, she took a turn for the worse. She was a very religious woman, and she began praying. As she prayed she heard singing far off in the distance. The music came from a window. Dragging herself to the window, she looked out and saw a figure floating down and singing an eerie little tune. The words to the song were, “Good for you, ha, ha, ha, good for you.” Even though it was in a minor chord, it was very comforting to her. Soon, her husband arrived and took her to the hospital, where she recovered. Harold's mother grew up with this little song, for his grandmother sang it often after that, this little song given to her by what she referred to as “her angel.”

  Almost twenty years later, around Christmas, Harold's grandfather had a serious stroke and was taken to the hospital. The Florida East Coast Hospital used to be next to the present police station, and he was taken there. It was a very bad stroke, and he was in critical condition. Harold's grandmother rode in the ambulance, and his mother followed in a separate car. They stayed with him for a while but finally were asked to leave by the hospital staff. He was sleeping, and there was nothing more they could do.

  When they left it was dark, foggy, and cold outside. As the two women walked down the steps of the hospital they heard a soft voice singing. It was the same simple little song Harold's grandmother had heard those many years before. They looked at each other and raced back inside. They got to the room just as Harold's grandfather drew his last breath. To this day, both Harold's mother and his grandmother are convinced that “her angel” had come down to take their father and husband away.

  On nearby Arenta Street there is another house where Harold has encountered ghostly activity. A young man named David had a room in the house. One evening David, Harold, and a couple of others stopped by on their way to a party. They had been at the beach, and David wanted to change before going on. David got out of the car, while Harold and the others waited.

  Harold and his friends sat in the car talking. A few moments later they saw David's light come on. After several minutes the lights in David's room started flashing on and off, and his friends thought he was trying to be funny. Shortly after, David came rushing out, breathless and a little distraught.

  He related that he'd taken a quick shower and changed his clothes. As he was walking across the room, the lights went out, and something grabbed him. It wouldn't let go. He struggled for several seconds and pushed toward the door. Finally he broke loose and ran out into the hall. As he was going down the hall, the lights there went out, and something touched his back. That's when he raced out. David later learned that a man had been shot and killed in the hallway many
years before.

  Harold and another friend, Gary, also had an experience in the house. The two and several others had spent the evening with David in the house, just “hanging out,” as young people will do. The hour grew late, so, instead of going home, they decided to stay. There were enough couches and empty beds. Harold and Gary found themselves on couches in the living room.

  The next morning, groggy with sleep, Harold and Gary looked at each other. “Did you notice anything last night?” Harold asked.

  “Yes, I did. I woke up in the middle of the night, and it sounded like there was a party going on in here. I heard people talking and laughing, glasses tinkling. It sounded like the room was full of people. But when I looked around, of course, it was dark, and you and I were the only ones here.”

  “Hmmm, I woke up, too. I heard sounds like furniture being moved around or slid across the floor. It was really spooky.”

  GATEWAY TO HELL

  Almost without exception the ghosts and spirits dwelling in St. Augustine are as benign as Casper. Like the living inhabitants, they seem to be tempered by the strife and struggles of the city's long history. However, there are exceptions, and this story about a passage to hell, which was related to me by a nervous young woman, is one of them.

  I RECEIVED A CALL FROM A YOUNG woman who had heard that I was writing about the ghosts of St. Augustine. She said she had something interesting to tell me. We met for coffee on Aviles Street. After we introduced ourselves, we sat down and ordered coffee and sandwiches.

  We talked for a few minutes about trivial things. She asked what I thought of St. Augustine and told me that she was a native. Then I asked what she had to tell me. At first, she was silent. I waited. Finally, she took a deep breath and began talking very softly, as if she were afraid someone might hear. “My friend, Carol, in the studio just down the street, told me you were writing a book about the ghosts here.”