a ghost is a memory is a walk is a story is a poem is a ghost
Blackbeard's House (aka The White House/Hammock House). By Candace Jane Gillis
∼Beaufort∼
Gather round. Gather round.
the pirate said (red shirt, black sash, and cutlass at his hip).
twenty in the group—including four of us—
in front of the building.
ATTENTION in bold on the window to the left of the door
and Escape Room on the window to the right.
Is he a real pirate? the eight-year-old boy asked.
his father shrugged.
a cemetery. a church. a cemetery. a history lesson.
an old house. an older house. an even older house.
another pirate (though not as well dressed) and another group (though not as well informed).
Get back here.
But Dad—
And if you look just over that tomb, people claim they often see a light bounce and dance and—
both children grabbed a hand.
Now we’ve come to what many of you came to see. This is Blackbeard’s house.
the children’s eyes widened.
I should also point out this is a private residence, and you will also notice the no trespassing signs. The reason is—
the boy tapped the guide on his elbow.
You think there is buried treasure in that yard?
the recently filled-in holes in the yard told the story of children who sought to answer that question.
Which brings us back to where we started and where we now end our tale. I leave you to the night as I attend to further pirate business…and a drink!
∼Asheville∼
A ghost tour? On a trolley?
plastic spiders and cotton cobwebs and an armless skeleton
and a sheet with blinking red eyes lined the aisle of the trolley.
up Spruce Street and down and around the narrow mountain roads
with detours across College Street.
the tall buildings…
and the target on the ground etched in concrete.
the story of a priest, a nun, a child, and a shallow grave between the corner of the church and a tree.
the story of the asylum and the fire.
and Zelda—caught in the fire—just because she was not quite ready.
and F. Scott at the Omni Grove Park Inn
waiting for her (while the Pink Lady wanders the halls comforting the children)
but he waited too long.
One day, maybe we’ll be able to afford to stay there.
Nah. I’m good.
the Pink Lady agreed
and Zelda lives still.
∼Colonial Williamsburg∼
the odds were even but not even enough—
four adults and four children.
You watch her. Hey. Grab him. Get over here. You! Yes you!
The ghosts will get you.
they turned to face their parents—eyes wide and brains paused.
Why don’t all of you try to get your ghost meters to work?
the children turned their attention to the white devices in their hands.
Do these really work? The man said they did. What if I turn—
bleepbloopblipclickbleepbleepbloop
We found one!
bleepbloopblipclickbleepbleepbloop
We found another one!
then it all stopped. the crowds. the sounds. the air. life.
the two-story brownish-red house, The Peyton Randolph House, stared back at the group.
just standing near the porch…
You want a picture in front of it before we—
No.
Well I do. Dad can we—
No.
At least let me take one picture of the two of you to prove you were on the trip.
Over here. NOT over there
the children screamed.
We saw it! We saw it!
still not as terrifying as the Colonial Williamsburg art museum attendant—
Please watch your children and NO emotional touching of the displays.
but she didn’t scare the children.
∼Staunton∼
the couple arrived, small dog in tow, to the house with the gray stone path leading them down the hill and around the corner to the side door where they rented the bottom floor for the weekend across from the two story white house.
dusk told them they were running short on time to catch the tour.
the usual loop around the city—
a church, a graveyard, a feeling, and disregard bodies that used to float down the river
with ghosts of ghosts on every corner
The Blackburn Inn.
an asylum that became a prison that turned into…
a wedding venue and hotel?
No thank you.
before the long walk up the hill (it looked vaguely familiar)
And a recent piece of horror occurred a few years ago in that house where an entire family…
Anyway, love the accent. Where are you from?
Roxboro but—
they turned and pointed next door to the house with the gray stone path leading them down the hill and around the corner to the side door where they rented the bottom floor for the weekend across from the two story white house where the entire family…
We are staying there for…the weekend.
Oh.
silence as the tour finished at American Hotel—repurposed as a hospital during the Civil War across from the train station
where numerous people…
∼Edinburgh∼
“Nightly from the ‘Tree of the Dead’ by the roadside wall of St Giles’ Cathedral on Edinburgh’s Royal Mile.”
I’d like to thank all of you for joining me tonight. When we finish up and you want to leave a good review, my name is Alistair. If you did not enjoy the tour, remember that my name is Bernard. Is everyone good? Brilliant!
the tunnels ran for miles and miles—the width and breadth of the city
it made a city under the city.
vaults connected by tunnels that occasionally surface to an alley or a gate.
Shut The Gate
The Penalty Is
Forty Schillings
For Leaving This
Gate Unlocked
don’t move fast enough and get claimed by the undercity.
narrow escapes and dimly lit corners.
Wait! What was that?
Nothing but if you reach this way you will feel a distinct drop in the temperature.
and it was.
a shiver but not from the cold.
And now we arrive at the most famous graveyard in all of Scotland—Greyfriars Kirkyard.
Bloody Mackenzie—teenagers once broke in to play football with his head.
Greyfriars Bobby—a pile of sticks by the grave.
bars on Graves to stop “the repulsive trade” of Burke and Hare
and a Riddell (not to be confused with a Riddle)
and where Frankenstein started…
or was it Mary Shelley?
or was it Elizabeth Paton?
∼
buy the ticket. take the tour.
