Ghost Hunting

As you can see by my posting here this afternoon, Mom and I survived our ghostly adventure.  The tour, Ghosts & Graveyards, is run by the same group that does the Old Town Trolley Tour.  Check in was easy, though we got there a bit too early.  Ended up chatting with some ladies from Virginia and North Carolina.  Small world. At 8 p.m., we boarded our bus. There may have been a hint of unease, but you’d feel a bit iffy if you were riding in a bus driven by an escaped convict.IMG_1384

Though we had ridden through St. Augustine before on the daytime trolley, there was a bit more mystery during the twilight hours, as seen here with the old city gates.

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Our first stop was Potter’s Wax Museum.  Built over part of an old grave yard, it is home to many paranormal entities.  It seems to be a place were a ghost can get a leg up.

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Most of the daytime figures were covered up for safety, we were told, but the sheeted figures provided an air of mystery.

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In the chamber of horrors, we met up with some old friends.

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We were also introduced to the Executioner.  Not that we were made aware that we were going to be joined for part of the tour.  Glad I used the bathroom before hand.  The executioner told the tale of the English pirate who was scheduled to be put to death by garrotte.

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Not exactly the way I want to go.  But luckily for him, the rope broke and the Catholic priest of the parish took him in under the rules of Sanctuary.  He was one of the few who escaped his fate.  This fellow did not.

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The other stop was the Old Jail, that was used up until the 1950’s.

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This is where we met up with Charlie, an inmate who never left.  He told us the stories of several of the other former inmates, leading us up stairs to see some of the cells.

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Talk about claustrophobia.  No thanks!  Next, it was back downstairs to the the gallows that Charlie built.  For himself.  That’s right.  Those on death row had to build their own gallows and look at them for at least a month before going to the noose.

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There was a full moon tonight, lending another sinister element to the rickety, creaking scaffold.  He told us of his own hanging and how the rope broke as he fell.  Then he made a break for it.  Now, I’m not saying that Charlie was a ghost, but…

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We ain’t afraid of no ghosts!  Mommie!

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