A Window In Savannah

The Window In Savannah

I never did believe in ghosts but that changed in August, 2006 when I traveled to Savannah, Georgia. I’d done a little research prior to my visit and was surprised to learn that Savannah is listed as “America’s Most Haunted City”. I didn’t give this a second thought given my “non-believer” status and the fact that I’d never seen anything close to a ghostly apparition.

I decided to spend an afternoon in downtown Savannah walking through the historic district and taking in the beauty of the old south. The houses were magnificent, built in a different time when craftsmanship was an art and attention to detail a signature of the builder. The Spanish moss trees were abundant and surrounded the beautiful parks overflowing with fountains, flowers and memorials to Civil War hero’s who had long since passed from this world.

As I strolled along the cobblestone streets I passed by an old house sitting on a corner that drew me to it for some unknown reason. It was called the Hampton-Lillibridge house and in Civil War times had served as an orphanage for the many homeless children wandering the streets of Savannah. The house was three stories high with lots of windows and a wide porch that wrapped around it like a warm muffler on your neck in the dead of winter. I decided to take some pictures and as I was framing the house in my view finder, I noticed something appear in the top corner window. I refocused my eyes and looked again at the window trying to see what I thought I’d just seen, but nothing was there. I stepped back a bit to get the house framed perfectly and there it was again, something like a hand waving in the upper window.

I decided to sit down on a nearby bench and focus on the entire house, looking at each window for any sign of movement. As I sat there alone, I slowly closed my eyes and tried to imagine the house and the surrounding area as it was in the 1800’s. I took in a deep breath and moments later noticed the distinct smell of smoke wafting through the air, disturbing the floral smells that had previously surrounded me. I kept my eyes closed and focused on the sound that had started at a window, like someone pounding on it for attention. Then I began to hear the faint cries for help, the voices of children calling out to me from somewhere in the past. I didn’t move and dared not even breathe for fear of disturbing whatever was happening around me. The smell of smoke grew stronger and I could hear the blistering sound of paint rolling up from the wood as it disintegrated from the heat. The pounding at the windows became louder and the voices whispered through the smoke, “help us . . . please help us!” Moments later I opened my eyes to see the house just as it was before closing them. I suppose all the stories I’d been hearing about ghosts had gotten to me and I wrote off my experience as an overactive imagination, that is, until I returned home and looked closely at the photos I’d taken.

There was the Hampton-Lillibridge house in all its southern charm and beauty. I scanned through all the pictures, coming to the last one and sucking in my breath. I felt the hair begin to rise on the back of my neck as I viewed the close up I had taken of the mysterious upper window. There in black and white were the hands of a young child pressed against the window, with only the top of a small head visible. I later learned that the old house had been almost consumed in a fire in the early 1800’s. At the time of the fire, it was full of young, indigent orphan’s most of who perished in the fire. I thought about that day back in Savannah and pondered my earlier beliefs about psychic phenomena and the spirit of the dead moving silently among us. My experience had changed my beliefs as I could still hear the young voices in my head crying for help.