Sleepless in Savannah, Part Two

We continue with Part Two of my multi-part series on the haunting beauty, enduring mystery and undeniable creepiness of Savannah, Georgia.

Sleepless in Savannah, Part Two

Tre and I arrived in Savannah a few hours later, crossing over a bridge reminiscent of the Sunshine Skyway in Tampa (though not quite as high). As we entered the charming riverside city, we were immediately smitten with its hanging Spanish moss, stunning architecture (featuring wrought-iron balconies, large verandas and plentiful flower boxes) and beautiful gardens.

Making our way down Gaston Street in the historic district, I began to think the ghost stories were concocted marketing fantasies designed to enhance the city's old-world elegance. Such reassurances went out the window, however, upon meeting Tom, the afternoon Manager of Dresser Palmer House.

The place itself was a marvel. It had recently undergone extensive renovations, thanks to new management, with freshly-painted walls and new bathroom fixtures. Its decor retained the aura of the 1700's however, with candelabras, chandeliers and other accoutrements gracing the parlor, dining and living areas.

In an effort to reassure myself, I queried Tom about the ghosts as he processed our credit cards. "Who told you it wasn't haunted?" he asked. My heart began to beat wildly in my chest.

Did David lie to me just to sell a room???

Tre noticed the terror-stricken look on my color-drained face. As if reading her mind, Tom tried to calm me by stating that ghosts only appear to those who believe; if you don't believe in them, you won't see them. Nice try, I thought, thinking of a haunted house in my former neighborhood in PA, whose owners had not desired to see or experience poltergeist, but nonetheless ended up fleeing their homestead because of repeated "disturbances." (for more on that read the book, Night Stalks The Mansion).

Regardless, we were now officially checked in to the Lady Astor, a pleasant-enough looking room in the daylight, anyway. Tom carried our heavily-laden suitcases up the back wrought-iron staircase and left with a promise to call Vic's on the River for dinner reservations. Partly because of the intense heat and partly because I didn't want to do it at night, I decided to take a shower.

Feeling refreshed, I had to admit I was taken with the true Southern hospitality offered by the Inn's gracious staff. Tre informed me that Tom was calling a pedicab for us to ensure our arrival in time for a 7 p.m. reservation at Vic's, and was also working diligently to reserve us a spot in the 9:30 pm. walking ghost tour. She was truly excited about touring haunted Savannah; unwilling to dampen her enthusiasm, I nervously agreed to "overcome my fears." Besides, what could happen standing outside of a haunted building??

More in my next post.

Sleepless in Savannah, Part One

Note: Since Halloween is just around the corner, I thought I'd repost a multi-part series I'd written four years ago after visiting Savannah, Georgia with a good friend. While I didn't actually see any ghosts or walk through any "cold spots", I experienced a relentless, palpable discomfort during my brief but memorable 24-hour stay in this simultaneously charming, historic and eerie southern city. And while I'd definitely visit again, this time I'd be sure to stay in a hotel somewhere on the outskirts of town -- far from any paranormal activity. A girl needs her beauty sleep, you know! ;)

Sleepless in Savannah, Part One

For as long as I can remember, I have always wanted to visit Savannah -- a city rich in history, tradition and Southern charm and hospitality. Several close friends who've spent time in the Garden of Good and Evil have had nothing but praise for its wealth of culture, cuisine and myriad attractions. None of their glowing reviews, however, ever mentioned the fact that Savannah is also well-known as "the most haunted city in North America."

Had I been aware of this well-deserved title, I may never have agreed to accompany Theresa on an overnight stay in the historic district, on our way back to South Florida from Pennsylvania. To be honest, I did have an inkling about the city's supernatural tendencies, mainly because Theresa excitedly talked of staying in a haunted Bed and Breakfast, until I begged her to compromise on our lodging arrangements, to which she graciously agreed.

In return, I nervously conceded to participating in a walking ghost tour, like those offered in St. Augustine (based on her experience in America's oldest city, Tre was positive we wouldn't actually enter any haunted buildings, but merely stay outside while the guides regaled us with tales of horror and history). We'd soon find out that Savannah does things a little differently when it comes to giving their guests an authentic, spine-tingling experience (more on that later).

Thanks to the marvels of modern technology, we were able to call ahead to several places, using the GPS (whose female satellite voice we dubbed "Sally"), while cruising south on I-95 somewhere in South Carolina. After many fruitless calls ("Sorry ma'am, but we're booked solid") I finally called what I thought was a Hampton Inn safely on the outskirts of town.

A friendly voice answered, "Good afternoon, Dresser Palmer House!" and I knew right away I was in trouble: I had to at least ask if rooms were available, in fairness to my friend, though I dreaded a positive answer. Unbelievably, they had one room left -- The Lady Astor -- which came with a Queen-sized bed and a fireplace. As if to eliminate any possibility that this was a trap set up by phantoms of the underworld, I asked if the place was haunted. "Do you want it to be?" the nice gentleman on the line queried, to which I firmly responded with a resounding NO!

He then assured me that while many B & B's in Savannah were indeed inhabited by earthbound spirits, Dresser Palmer House had never had any problems. Feeling somewhat better, though still a bit apprehensive, I made the reservation (much to Theresa's delight). That's just the beginning of the story. More to come in my next post.