Page 9 of Ghost in the Night

These adults are mad wack for trying to play Asher like he’s a clown. If I were him, I’d tell these cornballs to kick rocks.

But Asher seems to take it in stride.

“I left with a film degree. I’ve actually been working on a TV project that’s soon to be greenlit. I can’t talk about it yet, but it has everything to do with the paranormal, of course.”

“Is it a ghost hunters’ show?” another woman asks. “I love those!”

Asher waves a hand. “Those shows are all smoke and mirrors. I‘m into authenticity. You’ll see. Now,” he goes on, “before we start, I want to warn you about potentialactivityyou may encounter as we walk past the city’s most haunted spots.”

“What kind of activity?” one of the adults asks.

“Strange noises, pushes. There have even been bites or marks on people’s skin because of attacks from ghosts.”

A wave of nervous energy fills my limbs. In all the tours I’ve taken, no one has ever given a warning like this before.

“Yeah, right,” another adult says, chuckling. “I got a bridge I can sell you too.”

Asher pulls out his phone and flips to a photo of a large red welt on the back of an arm, the flash bright, lighting up the whole picture. He flips to another photo, of three deep scratches on the back of a man’s neck, as if they were made with an animal claw.

“This happened to a guest on our tour two weeks ago,” Asher says, his tone low and serious. “Note the date.”

Murmurs take over the crowd. Robby peers at the photos, gripping my arm, then catches and rights himself, pretending to be cool.

“So, if you see or feel anything, let me know and we’ll move along right away.”

I shoulder my camera bag with a grin, feeling both queasy and excited. Asher must really be legit. This is going to be the best tour I’ve ever gone on!

“All right! Let’s make our way, shall we?”

Asher jumps off the bench and starts walking, the group following him down the shadowy streets. Soon we stop on the corner in front of a tall cement archway leading to a cemetery, the gate locked for the night.

“Welcome to Colonial Park, the oldest cemetery in Savannah,” Asher announces.

I feel a chill, remembering that on the news, they said Lena’s friend, Mr. Truman, was found not far from here.

A black iron fence surrounds the entire perimeter of the cemetery, which has gotta be two or three blocks long. I can see the headstones inside and most of them look blank, as if worn down from time. The tall live oak trees and dangling moss scattered around the ancient graves make everything look even spookier.

Asher points out a plaque inside that marks a mass grave where nearly seven hundred people were buried.

“It was a darkkkk and hectic time during the yellow fever epidemic of 1820,” Asher explains. “Whole families were wiped out, hospitals overrun. Because so many people were dying, bodies were thrown in graves without full confirmation of their death. So, they started putting these bells aboveground, with a string attached to a person’s finger below, just in case.”

“In case of what?” a woman asks, confused.

“Ah! Well, if the person was alive, they would wiggle their finger, the bell would ring, and they would be rescued.” Asher smirks. “It’s where the sayingsaved by the bellcomes from.”

The crowd of adults chuckle and murmur.

Asher lowers his voice. “The problem was that a lot of bells were ringing during the night. But no one was ever found alive. Even now, there’ve been reports of people walking by here at one or two in the morning, hearing a bell ring.” Asher pauses. “And no one has been buried in here since 1853.”

I gulp and slowly take out my camera, snapping a few pictures. I glance at Robby to see if he’s scared, but he seems fine.

“There’ve been other reports of strange occurrences,” Asher goes on. “Men and women taking cabs from River Street, giving the address of this corner, and disappearing from the back seat once the cab pulled up.”

I shiver.

On the opposite side of the street is another tour group.A balding guy who looks more the ghost tour guide part is swinging his lantern with two dozen people following. Asher spots him and quickly leads us away.

“Why are there so many ghost tours in Savannah?” I ask as we walk off.