Scary stories never affected me as a child. The shadows in the room or the monster under my bed, was never something that I, as a kid, allowed myself to get spooked over. I learned the hard way that maybe childhood nightmares and scary thoughts were not necessarily in contained within the easily-affected, innocent mind of a little child. Maybe there could be things that lurked in the corners. Maybe, just maybe there are things out there that are aptly dubbed paranormal and I was soon caught in the midnight frolic of translucent beings as they moved through the streets of America’s oldest city.
It began with an innocent walk down Spanish street. With my hands in my pockets I dared to walk alone down the narrow brick roads of St. Augustine. I must have passed three ghost tours on the street and I remember laughing to myself and thinking that these poor-gullible people just got duped out of $20 bucks. I have walked these streets numerous times, many of the times alone and have never been bothered by beings, alive or dead. Oh, I’ve heard the stories, of course. But, in the end, they are just stories, right?
I made my way down Aviles Street, the oldest street in America, when I felt a sudden change in the air temperature. It was the middle of August in Florida and the wind on my back turned cold. It wasn’t as cold as ice but it was definitely a noticeable difference. I was alone on the street yet had the eerie feeling that I was being watched. I turned to look into the dark alley way behind me, seeing nothing but the dark shadows of the buildings under the light of the moon. I squinted my eyes trying to see through the darkness as the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end…someone was staring back at me, or some thing.
The wind began to howl through the alley, causing the limbs of a crape myrtle tree to scrap against the coquina wall of one of the buildings.
I laughed allowed. My mind was playing tricks on me.
Again, I started down the brick road; my every sense seemed to be heightened. Now I wasn’t just being watched, I was being followed. Behind me was a definite thud, one after another, the indistinguishable sound that boots make when a footstep connects with stone.
Thud, thud, thud…
My heart beats following suit with whatever seemed to be pursuing me.
As I come underneath the orange glow of a street light, I finally get the nerve to stop. I inhaled sharply as I gathered the courage to turn. When I stopped, so did the footsteps. I turned quickly, hoping to catch someone who might be playing a joke and, of course, I was frightened that I was being followed by someone with less honorable intentions. But, again, there was nothing.
I started walking again, this time more briskly, listening… aware that I still was being followed.
Thud, thud, thud…faster, faster it went. I began to run back towards my mother’s house where I was staying all the while, fumbling with the house keys as I ran.
“Leave me alone!” I called out.
Then I knew I must be crazy. I was speaking to the wind, to the shadows in the night…the unseen monster under my bed…this wasn’t real. There was no one there.
I made it to the house, unlocked the door and almost flung it off the hinges as I turned quickly and bolted the door shut behind me. My breath was caught in my throat, heart pounding and through the window on the door, I knew I was being watched. This time, as I peered through the glass, I saw the something. There, standing underneath a tree across the street, stood a man. He was standing in the darkness but not shadowed by it. The figure appeared before me like a white mist, or fog, but the night around me was clear. The mist had the unmistakable appearance of a man, dressed in a civil war uniform, standing with his rifle in his left hand as if he were a sentry guarding the house. The eyes were blue, I could see that much detail, and they locked on me with a gaze so fierce that it chilled me to my very core. But as sudden as it appeared before me, the ghostly mist vanished and I was enveloped in an overwhelming sense of calm, like I had never felt before. Something in my gut told me that this soldier, this ghostly apparition had meant me no harm, that perhaps, he was protecting me from something.
That night I had very little sleep. Every time I closed my eyes I saw the cold stare of the apparitions blue gaze. In the morning paper I read that there had been several muggings of woman, one for every night in the last week…every night that is, expect the last night.
As fierce as the cold stare of the apparition had been, I believe now that he had been protecting me. He was a ghostly vigilante of sorts. My hope that if there truly are ghost serving the afterlife still in this world, maybe they are just watching over us. But my fear and instinct is that they are not and what does it hurt to look under your bed with a flash light before climbing under your covers. If we have visitors lurking in the shadows, who knows what their intentions may be?
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