On a balmy Friday the 13th, the historic streets of Savannah, Georgia take on an extra layer of mystery. As dusk falls, Spanish moss sways gently from ancient oak branches, and cobblestone lanes glisten under gaslight. The city’s famously haunted atmosphere seems even more pronounced on this superstitious date. In the shadows of antebellum mansions and around the edges of old town squares, stories whisper of restless spirits. Visitors seeking Savannah Ghost Tours on this eerie evening find themselves immersed in a unique blend of history and folklore. It’s an experience at once atmospheric and educational – an adventure through Savannah’s haunted history that feels perfectly suited to the unluckiest day on the calendar.
The Unluckiest Day: Friday the 13th Superstitions and History
Friday the 13th has long been labeled the unluckiest of days, a date that sends a shiver down the spine of even the mildly superstitious. Around the world, people alter plans or carry charms to ward off bad luck when the 13th of the month falls on a Friday. But why does this particular date inspire such dread? The answer lies in an age-old tapestry of myth, religion, and cultural fear.
Fear of the Number 13: Western culture has a longstanding unease with the number 13, known formally as triskaidekaphobia. While the number 12 is seen as a symbol of completeness – think 12 months in a year, 12 hours on a clock face, 12 apostles, or 12 Olympian gods – its successor 13 has been deemed disruptively odd. One early anecdote often cited: the ancient Code of Hammurabi supposedly omitted a 13th law, an omission that later generations interpreted as a sign of 13’s negative aura. Even in more modern times, many buildings and hotels around the world skip labeling a 13th floor, jumping from 12 to 14 in their elevators. In Savannah’s historic district, with its old hotels and retrofitted inns, you might notice this quirk – a subtle architectural nod to superstition.
Why Friday? The weekday Friday carries its own ominous baggage in folklore. In Christianity, Friday was traditionally viewed as a day of penance and misfortune. After all, Jesus Christ was crucified on a Friday (now commemorated as Good Friday). Some legends add that Friday was the day Eve offered Adam the forbidden fruit, and the day Cain slew Abel – stacking biblical catastrophe upon catastrophe on this fifth day of the week. In later centuries, especially in maritime lore, sailors considered Fridays unlucky days to embark on voyages. There’s a persistent (though likely apocryphal) tale of a British ship named Friday that set sail on a Friday, the 13th – only to vanish without a trace. True or not, such stories reinforced the Friday fear. In the American South, steeped in Christian tradition, Fridays were once called “hangman’s day” because public executions often took place at week’s end. It’s chilling to imagine the added dread if the appointed gallows date happened to be Friday the 13th.
Bringing Friday and 13 Together: Separately, Friday and the number 13 each had dark reputations. Together, they became a kind of super-superstition by the late 19th century. One famous origin theory points to Friday, October 13, 1307 – the day King Philip IV of France arrested and later executed scores of the Knights Templar, a powerful medieval order. That mass persecution on that specific Friday has been linked (though loosely) to the birth of the Friday the 13th lore. Whether or not that was truly the first unlucky Friday the 13th, by the 1800s the notion had seeped into popular consciousness. In fact, a club of cheeky New Yorkers formed The Thirteen Club in 1882 to flout the superstition: they met in groups of 13 on the 13th day, dined under banners reading “those of us about to die salute you,” and deliberately walked under ladders at their gatherings. Even a few U.S. Presidents joined this tongue-in-cheek society, trying to prove that 13 could be harmless.
Modern Legends and Fears: The 20th century cemented Friday the 13th as a pop culture phenomenon. A 1907 novel titled Friday, the Thirteenth spun a thriller around the stock market crashing on that day. Later, a certain hockey-masked slasher from the Friday the 13th horror films (debuting in 1980) ensured the date would forever be linked with spooky thrills. Beyond fiction, people can’t help noting when real tragedies align with Friday the 13th. History records a few eerie examples: a devastating bombing of London’s Buckingham Palace happened on a Friday the 13th in 1940; New York’s infamous Kitty Genovese murder took place on Friday, March 13, 1964; a huge cyclone in Bangladesh killed hundreds of thousands on Friday, November 13, 1970; even modern events like the Costa Concordia cruise ship wreck in Italy occurred on Friday, January 13, 2012. While statistically those dates are coincidental, they fuel the public notion that Friday the 13th attracts misfortune like a magnet.
Paraskevidekatriaphobia: For some, the fear is so acute it has its own diagnosis – paraskevidekatriaphobia, meaning an irrational fear of Friday the 13th. Throughout the country and indeed the world, many people refuse to travel on this date, postpone weddings or surgeries, and avoid important business. Airlines notice a dip in bookings, and a few skyscrapers and hospitals quietly enact extra precautions, just in case. Of course, skeptics will say Friday the 13th is just another day – that misfortunes on it are no more common than any other date. But try telling that to someone who just broke a mirror or had a black cat cross their path under a ladder on this day. Superstition has its own truth: if people believe a day is cursed, they will see curses everywhere.
On Friday the 13th in Savannah, these global fears take on a local flavor. Savannah is a city with one foot in the past and a keen sense of the supernatural in everyday life. Here, folks have historically been both God-fearing and ghost-fearing. It’s said that even skeptics get a little more cautious when this date rolls around. A dry joke among tour guides is that on Friday the 13th, you’ll never find 13 guests at a dinner table or on a tour bus – someone will insist on being the 14th or 12th just to play it safe. And if you do happen to find yourself with a ticket to a Haunted Savannah Tours excursion on this very date, you might notice your group eyeing the dark corners a bit more warily. After all, in a city known as one of America’s most haunted, who knows what might happen when bad-luck Friday coincides with a night out among the restless dead?
Savannah’s Haunted Legacy: Why the Hostess City Holds So Many Ghosts
Savannah did not earn the nickname “America’s Most Haunted City” by accident. By day, this charming Southern city is known for its graceful squares, historic architecture, and hearty hospitality – it’s often called the Hostess City of the South. But by night, especially on moonlit nights, Savannah’s ghostly side becomes impossible to ignore. Savannah haunted history is rich and deeply rooted, stretching back nearly three centuries. To understand what makes a Savannah ghost tour so compelling (particularly on an infamous date like Friday the 13th), one must appreciate the turbulent, tragic, and sometimes macabre history beneath the city’s picturesque veneer.
City Built Upon Its Dead: One striking fact about Savannah is how literally it is built on its past. Established in 1733, the city is old by American standards – and in those early decades, record-keeping and town planning were often more haphazard than today. Numerous earlier burial grounds from the colonial era have been built over or forgotten as the city expanded. It’s said that everywhere you step in the historic district, you’re not far from someone’s grave. In fact, one of Savannah’s popular sobriquets is “a city built upon its dead.” This isn’t just metaphorical flourish: for example, the site of Wright Square (one of the original public squares) was once a burial ground for the native Yamacraw chief Tomochichi and his people. Later, during Savannah’s development, Tomochichi’s grave was unceremoniously built over (though a boulder monument now honors him there). The remains of others interred around the square were likewise disturbed or paved beneath. Such disturbances of the dead are often cited by spiritualists as a recipe for hauntings. If restless souls resent having their eternal rest disrupted, Savannah gave them plenty of reasons.
Wars, Fires, and Epidemics: Savannah’s history has seen more than its share of violent and tragic events. During the American Revolution, the Siege of Savannah in 1779 turned parts of the city into bloody battlegrounds. Hundreds of soldiers – American colonists, enslaved African-Americans fighting for promises of freedom, French allies, and British defenders – were cut down in a futile assault. Legend holds that many of these fallen men were buried in mass graves right where they fell. Madison Square, now a peaceful park with a statue of Sergeant William Jasper, is rumored to conceal one such grave. Some even whisper that not all those soldiers were fully dead when interred, adding a particularly grim layer to the tale. Fast forward to the Civil War: in December 1864, Union General Sherman’s troops occupied Savannah. Though the city was spared the torch (offered by Sherman to President Lincoln as a “Christmas gift”), its hospitals were overflowing and its cemeteries once again struggled to handle the toll of war and disease.
And disease did ravage Savannah. Yellow fever, known as the “yellow jack” or “bronze John,” swept through multiple times in the 19th century, notably in 1820, 1854, and 1876. These outbreaks killed thousands, often so swiftly that proper burials were impossible. Entire families perished behind the shuttered windows of those lovely Georgian and Federal-style homes. In the worst epidemics, they dug trenches to receive the dead when coffins ran out – sometimes in churchyards, sometimes just outside cemetery bounds. At Colonial Park Cemetery, one of the city’s oldest burial grounds, it’s believed that a section of the property became a mass grave for fever victims. Even outside the old cemeteries, unmarked graves lie scattered under the streets, the victims of plague, duels, or unsolved murders. Every ghost story from Savannah has its roots in these real historical traumas.
Cultural Stew of Superstition: Savannah’s population over the centuries was diverse and brought myriad beliefs that colored its haunted lore. Enslaved West Africans carried with them traditions of spirits and root magic; from these grew the Gullah Geechee culture in the Lowcountry, where charms and curses were part of life. Stories of hoodoo root doctors and conjurers in Savannah abound, like the legendary figure of “Dr. Buzzard,” a notorious root doctor who plied his trade in the early 1900s coastal region. Meanwhile, Haitian and Caribbean influences came with refugees (such as those fleeing the Haitian Revolution to settle in Savannah in the 1790s) who brought voodoo practices. By the 19th and early 20th centuries, there was indeed a thriving clandestine voodoo scene in Savannah – so much so that early morning visitors to Colonial Park Cemetery sometimes found evidence of rituals: chicken feathers, candle wax, small bundles of grave dirt wrapped in cloth, even the occasional unearthed bone. It got to the point that city authorities eventually locked the cemetery at night to deter these nocturnal ceremonies. But by then, the idea that spells and spirits intermingled under Savannah’s moss-draped oaks was well entrenched.
The white elites of old Savannah, too, had their superstitions. Victorian-era Savannahians were spiritualists and romantics; they held seances in parlors and left room at the table for dearly departed souls. They told frightening tales by the hearth to entertain (and caution) their children. One local custom that still lingers in lore is the painting of porch ceilings haint blue – a soft blue-green – to fool ghosts into thinking a house was surrounded by water (which evil spirits supposedly cannot cross). Stroll the historic district and you’ll see many a veranda ceiling in that hue, a gentle reminder that even in its gentility, Savannah never forgot about ghosts.
Ghosts as Savannah’s Residents: Given this potent mix of history and belief, it’s no wonder that ghost stories sprouted on every corner. By the mid-20th century, as Savannah’s tourism grew, the city began to embrace its haunted reputation. Today, Haunted Savannah Tours and other groups preserve these tales, retelling them nightly. Unlike some places where a single “haunted house” stands out, Savannah offers an entire haunted city. Locals half-joke that it’s harder to find a building without a ghost than one with a ghost. Strolling down Bull Street or Jones Street after dark, you may pass dozens of historic homes – and if walls could talk, nearly all would have some chilling account of a family tragedy, a lost love, or an unexplained sighting passed down through generations.
Savannah’s haunted legacy also owes something to its peoples’ penchant for storytelling. This is a city that loves a good yarn. Ghost stories from Savannah often blend fact and folklore so seamlessly that even historians scratch their heads. The best guides will happily preface a tale with “as legend has it” or “some say…,” inviting listeners to decide what to believe. And indeed, some of Savannah’s ghosts have become as famous as its historic figures. From the sorrowful specter of a heartbroken young woman to the mischievous poltergeist of a pub, these spirits are part of the local identity. They are treated with a mix of reverence, humor, and matter-of-fact acceptance.
So as Friday the 13th descends, Savannah is perhaps the perfect stage for a ghost tour. The city’s dark past is already waiting to be explored, and on this date every tale seems a touch more tantalizing. Visitors wondering what to do in Savannah on an ominous night find that delving into the city’s haunted legacy is both thrilling and enlightening. After all, understanding Savannah’s ghosts means understanding Savannah itself – its triumphs and tribulations, its belles and battles, its life and afterlife. And on a day infamous for bad luck, who could resist walking alongside a knowledgeable storyteller to see just how thin the veil between past and present might be?
Nightfall in the Historic District: Gathering for the Ghost Tour
Midnight blue shadows stretch across the brick sidewalks of Savannah’s Historic District as a small group gathers for their evening ghost tour. The date circled on the calendar is Friday the 13th, and a giddy trepidation electrifies the air. There’s an almost theatrical stillness in the moments before the tour begins – the way the humid breeze barely stirs the oak branches, the way distant laughter from a pub down the street suddenly hushes as if even revelers sense the uncanny significance of the night. This is no ordinary evening stroll; this is the witching-hour prelude to exploring Savannah’s haunted history on the unluckiest night of all.
They meet at one of Savannah’s famous squares (perhaps Johnson Square, the city’s oldest, or Wright Square, steeped in legend). In the gloom, the statue in the center of the square casts a long silhouette. Gas lamps flicker weakly, their flames doing little to push back the darkness under the canopy of Spanish moss. The guide from Haunted Savannah Tours stands waiting, a period-appropriate lantern in hand. He wears a subtle grin – aware that tonight’s crowd is both excited and just a touch nervous. Many are out-of-towners seeking things to do in Savannah at night that offer more than the usual bar crawl or ghost movie marathon. What better than a real-life walk through one of the nation’s most haunted cities on Friday the 13th?
Before setting off, the guide offers a few ground rules with wry humor. No, the ghosts won’t harm anyone, he assures, though they might give a playful scare. Yes, photography is allowed – and who knows, perhaps an eager visitor might capture a mysterious orb or a shadow figure in a digital image. (It has happened before, he notes, on nights far less portentous than this one.) He reminds everyone to mind the uneven paving stones, as a twisted ankle is a more immediate threat than any specter. There’s a chuckle in the group, but it’s a strained one; everyone is scanning the periphery of the square, as if expecting a colonial-era phantom to peek out from behind an azalea bush at any moment.
The Haunted Savannah Tours guide begins with a little background, setting the scene. “Savannah is a beautiful city with an ugly past,” he says softly, letting the paradox sink in. In the lamplight, his features seem to blur slightly, as if he might himself be a figure from another time. He recounts, briefly, how Savannah’s pretty plazas have borne witness to executions, how grand homes have seen untimely deaths, and how nearly every street has a story. On a normal night, this introduction is intriguing; on Friday the 13th, it feels like the prologue to a novel one can’t put down. A fog is creeping in from the nearby riverfront, lending the cobblestones a sheen and softening the edges of reality. It is as if the city itself knows what night it is – and is preparing to reveal its ghosts.
At last, the tour moves out of the square and into the darkened streets. A few pedestrians not part of the tour hurry by, offering curious glances. One older local calls out, “Good luck out there tonight!” with a grin – whether he means luck with the ghosts or just navigating in the dark is unclear. The group of tour-goers, now fully embracing the spooky adventure, follows closely behind the guide. With each step, the sounds of nightlife fade and the echoes of history grow louder. Horse hooves from a distant carriage tour clop somewhere around the corner, sounding for all the world like the approach of an invisible cavalry. The aroma of jasmine and old brick mingles with an occasional inexplicable chill in the air, even in the summertime.
For anyone looking for what to do in Savannah that’s truly memorable, this is it. The city at night has a flavor of its own, and a ghost tour on Friday the 13th is like a rich feast of sensations. Street by street, square by square, the guide will lead them through the layers of time. Already, some on the tour clutch their arms against a sudden gooseflesh – not from the temperature, but from anticipation. Who will be the first to glimpse something unusual? Who might feel a tap on the shoulder when no one is behind them? Dry humor comes easily to Savannah guides, and this one quips that any such taps are “probably just moss dropping… probably.” Nervous laughter ripples through the group.
The first destination looms ahead: Wright Square, site of a tragic tale that perfectly embodies Savannah’s mix of history and haunting. The guide pauses at the threshold of the square and lowers his voice, as if inviting the group into a confidence. This is where they’ll meet one of Savannah’s most famous ghosts, under the canopy of ancient trees and the weight of centuries of sorrow. On any ghost tour, Wright Square is a highlight – but on this date, it feels like the spirits have been especially expecting company. The tour group huddles a little closer, lantern light dancing on their faces, as they step onto the hallowed (and some say accursed) ground. The stage is set, the players assembled, and the first ghost story of the night is about to unfold.
The Hanging of Alice Riley: A Tragic Ghost of Wright Square
Wright Square, one of the original squares laid out by General James Oglethorpe in 1733, looks tranquil by daylight – framed by gracious old buildings and dotted with memorials. But after dark, and especially on a Friday the 13th, its atmosphere shifts. The guide brings the group to a particular spot near the center of the square, beneath a towering live oak whose gnarled limbs twist like sinews in the gloom. Here, he recounts the ghost story of Alice Riley, a tale that blends love, desperation, injustice, and revenge from beyond the grave.
The True History: Alice Riley was a real person, and her sad story is one of Savannah’s earliest and most haunting legends. She arrived in the Georgia colony in the early 1730s, an Irish young woman of about 17 or 18, indentured to work off the cost of passage. Savannah at that time was a raw new settlement – humid, insect-infested, and rife with hardship. Alice and her common-law husband, Richard White (also an Irish indentured servant), found themselves bound to a man named William Wise. Wise was, by all accounts, a notoriously cruel master. He was an older, ill-tempered fellow who owned a small farm and treated Alice and Richard more like slaves than servants. They were overworked, underfed, and abused.
On one fateful day in 1734, something in Alice snapped. The details are lost to time, but what is known is that William Wise was found dead – strangled and held underwater in a livestock trough. The immediate suspects were Alice Riley and Richard White, who had both reached a breaking point with Wise’s mistreatment. They fled into the marshes, attempting to escape punishment, but were soon caught by the fledgling colonial authorities. This was the first recorded murder in Savannah’s history, and the new settlers were eager to set a harsh example. Richard White was executed almost immediately after a hasty trial, but when it came time to hang Alice, a complication emerged: she was pregnant.
Colonial law forbade executing a pregnant woman (a grim mercy intended to spare the unborn child). So Alice was jailed for months until she gave birth. One can imagine her despair: shackled in a rudimentary gaol, carrying the child of her now-dead partner, knowing all the while that she was only prolonging her own walk to the gallows. She gave birth to a baby boy in late 1734. Sadly, the infant – born in the squalor of a jail to a condemned mother – lived only a short time, a few weeks at most. Some say the child died of natural causes or neglect; others whisper he was taken from Alice and quietly done away with to remove any reason to further delay her sentence.
At last, in early 1735, the authorities proceeded with Alice Riley’s execution. They brought the young woman, weak and grieving, to the gallows erected at Wright Square. In those days the square was known as “Percival’s square” or simply the public hanging ground. Contemporary letters describe a sizeable crowd gathered. Alice, the first woman to be executed in Georgia, maintained her innocence to the end, or at least begged for mercy, depending on which version of the account is told. But Savannah’s fledgling justice system was adamant. They hanged Alice Riley from the gallows tree (some insist it was an oak at the very spot where, later, a monument to William Washington Gordon would stand – today’s stone monument in Wright Square). The crowd watched in silence as her body went still. It’s said that before her execution, Alice cursed the city – a dying breath declaration that Savannah would not know a day of peace after what was done to her.
The Ghostly Legend: It didn’t take long for whispers of Alice’s ghost to begin. For nearly 300 years now, locals have claimed that Alice Riley haunts Wright Square. Her spirit is often described as a forlorn young woman in old-fashioned clothes, sometimes cradling an indistinct bundle in her arms. By the 19th century, a persistent legend held that Alice was searching the square for her lost baby. In fact, many reports of her apparition come from mothers with infants and expectant women. They’d be walking through Wright Square and suddenly see a pale figure reaching out to them, or feel a tug on their shawl, only to turn and find no one – just the faint scent of salt water (like an old trough or tears) in the breeze. Some new mothers in Savannah avoided the square entirely, especially on dark evenings, for fear of encountering the “woman in white” who might try to spirit away their child, mistaking it for her own.
Of course, others have experienced Alice’s ghost in less specific ways. Tour guides and passersby have reported eerie photos with what looks like a woman’s face behind the wrought iron fence, or glowing orbs hovering near the oak branches. Some nights, people claim they hear a faint sobbing or lullaby, as if a mother were soothing an infant. On Friday the 13th, believers assert that Alice’s weeping is louder than usual – that her curse on Savannah subtly stirs whenever the date that marked her life’s darkest moments aligns with the unluckiest of Fridays.
As the guide tells Alice Riley’s story, the group falls completely silent. The reality of the tale – a teenage girl unjustly executed in a harsh new world – is upsetting enough. But to stand on the very ground where it happened, on a murky night, brings a visceral weight. One tour member shifts uneasily and asks, “Did… did it happen on a Friday the 13th?” The guide gently replies that Alice’s hanging took place on a cold January day (not a 13th, and not a Friday by modern calendars), but that hardly matters. For Alice Riley, every day thereafter was cursed – at least in legend. He notes with a half-smile that some local mothers-to-be still place flowers by the Gordon monument, a way of saying, “We remember, Alice, please don’t trouble us.” It’s an old, quiet tradition, not advertised in guidebooks of things to do in Savannah, but a touching footnote in the city’s haunted lore.
Before leaving Wright Square, several in the tour group find themselves murmuring words of sympathy under their breath, almost involuntarily, as if addressing Alice’s spirit: I’m sorry for what happened to you. Whether ghostly ears hear it or not, it feels right to pay respect. The moss overhead rustles slightly even though the air is still. One could imagine it as a sign – perhaps a gentle acknowledgment from an unseen presence. The guide raises his lantern, leading the way onward. The group follows, casting one last glance back at the old square where Savannah’s haunted history saw its first true tragedy. Alice’s tale lingers with them, a poignant reminder that behind every ghost story from Savannah stands a human story, often as sorrowful as it is spine-chilling.
Colonial Park Cemetery: Twilight in the City of the Dead
No Savannah ghost tour would be complete without a visit to Colonial Park Cemetery, especially on a fateful night like this. Though the gates are locked after sunset, the group gathers along the iron fence, peering into the darkness of the cemetery grounds. By day, Colonial Park is a tranquil historic site, popular among tourists for its ancient gravestones and sun-dappled pathways. By night, it transforms into something else entirely – a patch of hallowed ground in the center of the city where the dead far outnumber the living. Locals sometimes call it “Paranormal Central” due to the sheer volume of ghostly accounts here. Even on a normal evening, many consider it one of the most haunted places in Savannah. And tonight is anything but a normal evening.
The guide allows a few moments for everyone’s eyes to adjust. The faint moonlight casts long rows of stone vaults and markers in silver relief. Many headstones lean at odd angles, worn illegible by time. Gnarled trees intersperse the graves, draped in Spanish moss that occasionally sways even without a breeze, almost as if unseen figures are brushing past. Some tour members hold their breath, expecting to catch a glimpse of movement among the tombs. It’s easy to imagine silhouettes flitting behind the crypts, or perhaps the figure of a old gravedigger silently patrolling his domain. Ghost stories from Savannah have made Colonial Park their epicenter, and as the guide begins to speak, the group instinctively draws nearer, hanging on every word.
A Cemetery of Ten Thousand Souls: Founded in 1750, Colonial Park Cemetery is one of the oldest surviving burial grounds in Savannah. It closed to new burials in 1853, meaning roughly a century’s worth of Savannah’s dead reside here – from the colonial era up through the Victorian age. It’s often startling for visitors to learn that while only about 600 grave markers are visible today, the ground contains over 10,000 bodies. Layer upon layer of coffins, vaults, and shrouded corpses lie beneath. Why so many unmarked burials? The guide explains that time, vandalism, and necessity all played a role. Union soldiers camping in the cemetery during their occupation in 1864 reportedly knocked over headstones and even changed dates as pranks (one gravestone comically suggests the person lived to be 544 years old, thanks to a Union soldier’s facetious re-carving). Additionally, age and weather have eroded many wooden markers or simple crosses that once stood. But the bigger reason is mass interments. Yellow fever epidemics in particular forced the city to bury people in pits and trenches. Colonial Park’s records from 1820 show a massive spike in burials that year (a fever year); many victims were likely interred together to manage the overwhelming death toll.
All of this lends an uneasy sense that not every spirit here was properly laid to rest. And indeed, the tales of ghostly encounters are abundant. One popular legend involves the “Hanging Tree” near the back of the cemetery. A gnarled old oak stands there – its precise age unknown but possibly old enough to have been a sapling during colonial times. People say that criminals and ne’er-do-wells were executed on that tree in the late 1700s. While official records of hangings within the cemetery are scant (punishments were usually carried out in the squares or public gallows), the story persists that at least a few souls met their end dangling from that oak. Visitors at night sometimes claim to see a figure hanging from a rope on the tree – just for a blink, out of the corner of the eye, an image so startling it stops the heart – yet when they focus, there’s nothing but twisting moss. Some have even photographed the tree and later found a strange translucent shape in the pictures, right about the height of a hanging body.
The Legend of René Rondolier: The guide then shares Colonial Park’s most infamous (and controversial) ghost story – that of René Rondolier. In the hushed darkness, it’s easy to be drawn in by the tale. René, so it’s told, was an unusually tall and disfigured young man who lived in Savannah in the early 1800s. Standing near seven feet, with perhaps a developmental disability or deformity, he was ostracized by society and lived near the cemetery. Over time, children in town began to disappear or were found murdered, and suspicion fell on the giant outcast. Accused of heinous crimes against children (though never tried in a formal court), an angry mob formed. They supposedly caught René in the act within Colonial Park Cemetery one night. Frontier justice was swift: they lynched him from a tree within the cemetery grounds. After his death, people began reporting a huge shadowy figure roaming between the graves, or hanging again from that same tree as if re-enacting the crime. Parents for generations used “René the monster” as a boogeyman figure to scare kids into behaving, saying he’d snatch misbehavers and drag them to his lair in the cemetery.
At this point, the guide pauses and, with a light smirk, reveals the twist – historically, there’s no evidence René Rondolier ever existed. No record of an unsolved string of child murders in that era, no mention of a lynching in newspaper archives of the time. It appears to be a piece of pure folklore that took on a life of its own. But, he adds, that doesn’t stop people from seeing something. Whether by the power of suggestion or a case of mistaken identity with another spirit, numerous tour-goers and investigators have still reported a giant shadow figure in Colonial Park Cemetery at night. The rational mind might dismiss René as fiction, but try telling that to someone who comes face to face with a towering silhouette among the tombstones on a misty evening. In the realm of the paranormal, belief and perception can blur lines between legend and reality.
The group exhales – some chuckling nervously, appreciating the debunking, while others glance keenly into the graveyard as if hoping (or not hoping) to catch sight of “René” themselves. Perhaps fittingly, at that very moment a stray cat darts between headstones with a rustle, causing a few yelps of surprise. The tension breaks and laughter follows. Dry humor is one way Savannahians cope with the grim; the guide quips that it’s just one of the cemetery’s “resident familiars” on patrol. But as the laughter fades, he steers the mood back, describing other phenomena:
Phantom Footsteps and Voodoo Traces: Many visitors standing along this fence (as the group is now) have heard the distinct crunch of footsteps on dead leaves inside the cemetery when no one is there. Sometimes there are whispers, as if an invisible funeral procession were passing by. Now and then, the motion sensor lights (installed for security) flick on with no apparent trigger, illuminating empty pathways – or, as a few swear, briefly illuminating a figure standing among the graves that vanishes as quickly as the light came. Adding to the eerie patchwork, the guide notes that Colonial Park was indeed a venue for voodoo rituals long ago. Early every morning, groundskeepers in the 1920s and 30s often found evidence of nighttime ceremonies: candle wax dripped on tombs, small dolls or effigies pinned with nails, bowls of burned herbs, and even animal bones arranged ritualistically. Practitioners coveted soil from graves (believing it held powerful energy from the departed) and would sometimes dig around fresh plots. There were even reports of grave robbing for body parts to use in spells. While this is undoubtedly macabre, it also underscores that Colonial Park has long been seen as a spiritually potent place, a crossroads between the living and the dead.
The guide’s voice lowers to almost a whisper. He invites the tour members to close their eyes for a moment and just listen. They do. In the silence, the sounds of modern Savannah seem distant. One can pick up the chirp of crickets, the rustle of Spanish moss, maybe the faint hum of traffic far away – but also the imagination kicks in to fill the void. Is that a faint moan or just the wind? Was that a knock from one of the crypt doors or just thermal expansion? Each person in the group stands there, hearts beating a little faster, minds alive with both fear and curiosity. In these quiet moments, the spirits of Savannah feel incredibly close.
Just as a few are perhaps too spooked, the guide cheerily announces it’s time to move on. Relief mixes with adrenaline as people step back from the fence. Some politely say “thank you” under their breath, directed at any ghostly residents who might have been listening – a small gesture of respect. As they depart Colonial Park’s perimeter, one visitor mutters, “I’ve got goosebumps on my goosebumps.” Another jokes, “Well, that’s one cemetery I wouldn’t play hide-and-seek in on a night like this.” Dry humor, again, helps lighten the load as they leave the City of the Dead behind. Unseen eyes seem to watch them go – at least in the fancy of a fertile imagination on Friday the 13th.
Haunted Mansions: Genteel Facades and Ghoulish Secrets
Savannah’s streets are lined with stately mansions and historic homes, many dating back to the 18th and 19th centuries. These elegant residences, with their columned porches and flickering gas lamps, exude Southern charm. But appearances can deceive. Behind many a genteel façade lurk ghost stories from Savannah’s past – tragedies that unfolded in drawing rooms and courtyards, leaving an imprint on the very bricks and plaster. On the ghost tour’s route this Friday the 13th, the guide leads the group toward a few of the most storied (and most haunted) houses in the city. Each has its own flavor of haunting, but all share a common thread: real historical sorrow giving rise to restless spirits.
The Sorrel-Weed House: A Tale of Betrayal and Despair
Rising at the corner of Madison Square is the looming presence of the Sorrel-Weed House, one of Savannah’s architectural treasures and a notorious paranormal hotspot. Even if you’ve never heard its history, one look at this grand Greek Revival mansion after dark might send a chill through you. Its tall windows are mostly dark now, but some say figures can sometimes be seen peering out when the house is empty. The guide stops the group outside the wrought iron gates and begins the tale.
Historical Background: The house was built in the 1840s by Francis Sorrel, a wealthy shipping merchant of French Caribbean descent. He lived here with his wife, Matilda Sorrel, and their children. As in many wealthy Southern households of the time, enslaved people worked and lived on the property, including in a carriage house out back. Despite the home’s grandeur and the Sorrel family’s social standing, darkness settled here in the mid-1800s. Matilda Sorrel died tragically in 1860 – accounts from the period say she fell (or jumped) from a second-story balcony, crashing onto the courtyard below. Whether it was an accident or suicide was whispered about even then. Within weeks of Matilda’s death, another death struck the household: a young enslaved woman named Molly, who was a domestic servant close to the family, was found in that same carriage house, hanging from a noose.
Scandal brewed around these events. The most popular rumor: Matilda had discovered her husband Francis in an affair with Molly. Overcome by betrayal and despair, Matilda took her own life. Then, wracked by guilt or perhaps fearing retribution, Francis may have killed Molly (staging it as a suicide) – or Molly herself, in anguish and with her lover’s wife’s blood figuratively on her hands, ended her life. There is no definitive proof for this dramatic love-triangle-gone-wrong, but it spread through Savannah society like wildfire at the time. Francis Sorrel moved out not long after these incidents, perhaps unable to live with the ghosts of his past (figuratively speaking). The house later passed to the Weed family (hence the hyphenated name), and eventually became a historic museum and, fittingly, a site for organized ghost tours and investigations.
Haunting Phenomena: If any place was primed for a haunting, it is this one. Visitors and staff of the Sorrel-Weed House have reported a litany of paranormal occurrences. The guide shares a few famous ones: disembodied voices (particularly a woman sobbing or screaming in anguish), cold spots on the otherwise warm second-floor balcony where Matilda fell, and inexplicable shadows moving in the periphery of vision inside the carriage house where Molly died. Paranormal investigators have recorded EVPs – electronic voice phenomena – in the house that some interpret as pleas like “help” or phrases like “I didn’t do it,” chilling suggestions of unresolved narratives still at play. People who are sensitive or empathic claim to feel a oppressive sadness in certain rooms, as if stepping into an emotional echo.
One of the most talked-about ghostly encounters involves a mirror inside the home. Several years ago, a photo taken during a tour appeared to show a faint reflection of a woman’s face behind the group – a woman in period attire who was not present physically. Many believe this was Matilda’s reflection, still lingering in her beloved home, perhaps watching the living who curiously tramp through her parlors and halls. The tale even made it onto national paranormal TV shows, solidifying Sorrel-Weed House’s haunted reputation. On a Friday the 13th tour, the guide can’t resist a gentle prod: “If anyone feels a tap on the shoulder or the urge to glance up at that balcony, you’re not alone – many have felt as if someone is watching from above.” Almost on cue, one or two guests do crane their necks upward. The balcony railing casts ominous stripes of shadow, but nothing stirs. Still, a couple of the tour-takers shuffle a step closer to the center of the group, just in case unseen eyes are indeed upon them.
The tragedy at the Sorrel-Weed House is an example of how Savannah’s haunted history often ties back to intense human emotions – love, jealousy, betrayal. The guide remarks that some say Friday the 13th amplifies such emotional energy, that ghosts tied to strong feelings might be more active on a day already charged with superstition. True or not, the group finds themselves collectively exhaling as they move on, leaving the sorrow of Matilda and Molly behind with a silent hope that those tormented souls have somehow found peace.
The 17Hundred90 Inn: Love Lost and a Room with a Ghost
Winding through quiet streets, the tour arrives next at a charming inn at 307 East President Street: the 17Hundred90 Inn & Restaurant. By day, guests come and go, and diners enjoy low-country cuisine inside its historic walls. By night, the inn’s aged brick exterior and flickering lanterns hint at its spectral resident. The guide gathers everyone near the entrance, under a balcony draped in wrought iron, and recounts the story of Anna – Savannah’s most famous “broken-hearted” ghost.
Historical Background: The building dates back to the early 1800s (hence the name 1790, though records suggest part of it may actually have been built slightly later). It’s one of the city’s oldest inns. Legend has it that in the late 18th century, a young woman named Anna Powers lived here. In some versions she was the daughter of the house’s owner; in others, a young wife of an older wealthy man who owned the inn. What all agree on is that Anna fell deeply in love with a sailor – a handsome, transient guest. Their affair was passionate but short-lived; eventually the sailor had to resume his life at sea, leaving Anna behind. Some say he promised to return, others that he ended the fling brusquely. In any case, Anna was devastated. Her despair became all-consuming when she either received word that the sailor’s ship was lost at sea or simply accepted he was never coming back for her.
Unable to bear her broken heart, Anna took her own life. She either leapt from the second-story window of room 204 or threw herself from the balcony above the entrance. The exact spot varies, but room 204 is consistently mentioned as the center of the haunting. Anna’s lifeless body was found on the cobblestones below, and since that tragic night, the inn has never been the same.
Haunting Phenomena: Guests who stay in Room 204 often report unexplainable occurrences. The guide shares some highlights: belongings mysteriously moving around, particularly jewelry or love letters (as if a young woman’s ghost is inspecting trinkets of romance); the room’s old-fashioned lock clicking open or locking itself; and the electric lights turning on and off on their own despite modern wiring. A number of couples who have spent the night in 204 claim they’ve felt a gentle tugging of bedsheets or even the sensation of someone (or something) brushing against their feet at the bed’s end. Far from being malevolent, Anna’s ghost is typically described as gently melancholic. It’s as though she’s still pining, hopeful that each new guest checking in might just be her sailor returning.
On occasion, staff have seen a figure of a woman in a white gown on the inn’s staircase or drifting through a closed door into 204. She’s been addressed — “Hello, can I help you?” — only to vanish. One housekeeper famously left mid-shift, refusing to service room 204 ever again after witnessing the rocking chair by the window start rocking vigorously on its own, right after she had set it still. The rocker continued for a full minute as cold air enveloped the room, then stopped abruptly. The housekeeper took it as a sign that Anna was present and perhaps displeased with intrusions.
The dry humor not lost on the guide, he notes: “We like to say 17Hundred90 has the best hospitality – even the ghosts are checking on you to ensure you’re enjoying your stay.” The group chuckles, some casting an eye up to the infamous room’s window. The curtains are drawn; nothing to see, or perhaps no one to see. At least not right now.
Interestingly, unlike some ghostly tales that frighten people away, Anna’s story attracts visitors. In fact, many people specifically request room 204 hoping for a paranormal experience, especially those who are ardent ghost hunters or simply lovers of ghost lore. Savannah’s tourist economy thrives on such tales – turning tragedy into a sort of treasured heritage (with a slightly macabre twist). It’s a testament to how the city embraces these spirits as part of its identity. Haunted Savannah Tours, being an authoritative voice, often emphasizes respect in these stories. The guide reminds the group that behind the quaint ghost story of Anna is a very real caution: heartbreak and mental health struggles have always been with us, even in romanticized eras of the past. In an empathetic tone, he suggests that maybe Anna lingers because her story is remembered, giving her in death the attention or understanding she never felt in life.
As the group prepares to leave, a sudden clatter is heard from within the inn’s restaurant – just plates and cutlery from late-night staff cleaning up, but it draws a jolt from some listeners. With a grin, the guide asks, “Had enough of love gone wrong? Shall we proceed to ghosts with perhaps more orderly dispositions?” They’re heading toward Reynolds Square next, for a brush with a spirit who’s far from heartbroken – one who instead seems to just want things neat and proper.
The Olde Pink House: Dining with a Diligent Spirit
A short walk brings them to The Olde Pink House, a colonial-era mansion on Reynolds Square now operating as a famous restaurant and tavern. Its pleasant pink stucco (a color created by the bleeding of old red brick through white paint) glows softly under uplights. This beautiful home-turned-restaurant isn’t just known for good food; it’s known for ghostly service of an unexpected kind.
Historical Background: The house was built in the 1770s by James Habersham Jr., a prominent Savannah citizen. He was a Revolutionary War-era figure, though rumor has it he remained a Loyalist at heart even while his friends and family sided with independence. Habersham poured his fortune and attention into building this home to the highest standards of the day. It’s said that he was a perfectionist, fussing over every detail from the symmetry of the Georgian architecture to the layout of the gardens. He lived in the house for only a short time, tragically. A few years after the Revolution, in the 1790s, Habersham is believed to have died by suicide (some say from grief over his wife’s earlier death, others claim a business stress or lingering conflict of loyalties).
Over the centuries, the house served many purposes – at one point it was a bank, at others a private residence, and by the late 20th century it had become the elegant restaurant we know today, aptly named for its pink exterior. And throughout all this time, James Habersham Jr. seems to have never truly left his beloved home.
Haunting Phenomena: Staff and patrons of The Olde Pink House frequently speak of a dapper gentleman ghost seen in the upstairs dining rooms and sometimes in the tavern downstairs. He’s often clad in a Colonial-style coat and breeches. Descriptions match paintings and period descriptions of Habersham. But unlike the tragic figures of other hauntings, this spirit doesn’t wail or mope or scare with malicious intent. Instead, he appears to be continuing his role as the consummate host – or perhaps the most obsessive maître d’hôtel imaginable.
Diners have witnessed chairs that they left askew being quietly pushed back into place when their backs were turned, as if an unseen butler tidied up. Table settings that were slightly off – a fork out of line or a napkin half unfolded – might be mysteriously corrected when no staff were around. On occasion, late at night, the cleaning crew hears footsteps on the second floor. They’ll find all the chairs have been unstacked from tables and arranged neatly on the floor, or that lights they switched off are turned back on in one particular room as if someone is still enjoying the ambiance. One well-known story involves a group of women in a powder room encountering a courteous man in old-fashioned clothing who politely tipped his hat to them. They assumed it was an actor or historical interpreter – until he vanished before their eyes. From then on, many believe they had met Mr. Habersham himself, still keeping an eye on his house.
On a ghost tour, the guide usually points out the windows of the room that was once Habersham’s study. This is where people sometimes see the silhouette of a man holding a candle, long after the restaurant has closed. He seems to survey the square as if pondering deep thoughts or lost in memories of the 18th century. The guide jovially notes that if you ever dine here and feel a sudden chill, it might not be the air conditioning – it could be James checking that you’re enjoying your meal in his house.
The Pink House ghost story is a favorite because it’s less about terror and more about personality. Even in death, James Habersham Jr.’s reputed politeness and obsession with order shine through. It provides a lighter, if still eerie, contrast to some of the darker tales. And in truth, it underscores how varied Savannah’s hauntings are: not all ghosts here are born of murder or heartbreak; some are simply devoted to their homes.
For Friday the 13th, this story also lends a subtle moral: not all “unlucky” occurrences or supernatural encounters are negative. Some, like the Pink House ghost, might even be helpful (imagine a ghost that cleans up after you!). It’s an amusing thought that garners a few smiles from the group. One of the tour members quips, “I could use a ghost like that at my place to tidy up.” Savannah’s dry wit and comfort with the supernatural are evident; even on a spooky night, the living here can share a chuckle about their spectral “neighbors.”
The guide wraps up this section by emphasizing that these mansions and homes are living history. Patrons at the Pink House might clink glasses unaware of James’s presence, and guests at 17Hundred90 Inn might get more than just a historic room for the night – they might get a story to tell for years. These locations are must-sees for those interested in Savannah Ghost Tours, forming a core part of the itinerary for things to do in Savannah at night. And as the group moves along, some are already planning to revisit these spots in daylight – or possibly return for dinner, half-hoping to see a ghost straightening their silverware.
Phantoms of the Pubs and Inns: Spirits Served with Spirits
After winding through quiet residential blocks and stately squares, the tour takes a turn toward the lively end of town – closer to the Savannah River. Here, historic buildings house taverns, inns, and pubs where locals and travelers alike gather for a good time. But even as laughter and music drift out onto the streets, the paranormal undercurrent remains. Some of Savannah’s most notorious ghosts lurk in these social establishments, proving that even while enjoying a drink or a night’s rest, you might be in company of the supernatural. It’s a reminder that, in Savannah, things to do at night often include a side of ghostly intrigue. On this Friday the 13th, as the group approaches two iconic haunted spots – one a pub and one a hotel – the atmosphere feels charged with the possibility of encountering a playful (or peeved) spirit.
Moon River Brewing Company: A Rowdy Ghost Named Toby
The Moon River Brewing Company on West Bay Street occupies a building with a long and tumultuous history. Originally constructed in 1821 as the City Hotel, it was Savannah’s first hotel and also a post office and bank in its early years. Over nearly two centuries, it has seen rowdy patrons, Civil War occupation, abandonment, and rebirth as a brewery and restaurant. With such a storied past, it’s no wonder this place is said to harbor several ghosts. The guide brings the group to the entrance of Moon River, where muffled tunes and clinking glasses can be heard from within, and focuses on the most famous specter here: Toby.
Who is Toby? Unlike many ghost tales where we can pin a historical identity, Toby is a bit of a mystery. The name “Toby” was affectionately given by staff in recent decades to whatever unseen force seems to cause mischief around the bar. He has never been linked definitively to a record or event – some say he might be a leftover spirit from the building’s hotel days, others think perhaps a construction worker who died during one of the building’s many renovations. Regardless of origin, Toby’s presence is strongly felt, especially in the second floor and the bar area.
Haunting Phenomena: Toby is, in essence, a pub poltergeist. Bartenders will tell you they’ve seen bottles slide across the counter on their own or topple off shelves with no one near. Glasses have leapt off tables as if swatted by an invisible hand, often crashing dramatically (only for Toby to presumably revel in the startled reactions). One common occurrence is hearing footsteps and shuffling upstairs when the second floor is empty – a sound often described as heavy boots pacing, perhaps the restless spirit of a long-ago boarder or soldier. But Toby’s signature move is physically nudging people. Countless brewery visitors have reported being pushed or bumped on the staircase or in the back hallway by someone they couldn’t see. It’s rarely harmful, more like an assertive shove that says “get out of my way” – appropriate if Toby is indeed the spirit of a feisty character lingering around his old drinking hole.
The guide shares a popular story from a past tour: A skeptic on one tour kept dismissing the idea of Toby. As the group stood inside near the billiards room, that skeptic suddenly stumbled forward as if someone had shoved his shoulder firmly. Regaining balance, he was wide-eyed and insisted he felt a hand, though no one was behind him. The timing (right as Toby was being disparaged) made believers out of the whole group. The pub patrons at the bar had just raised eyebrows knowingly – they’ve heard or seen stranger things.
The building also has some darker chapters that might contribute to its hauntings. In 1832, a hot-tempered local named James Stark was infamously shot to death on the stairway by a Savannah physician, Dr. Minus, after a feud (with Dr. Minus later acquitted in a sensational trial, claiming self-defense). Some say Stark’s agitated spirit might roam here too – people have seen a full-bodied apparition on the staircase or caught a fleeting image of a man in old-fashioned clothes out of the corner of their eye. Whether that’s Toby or Stark or someone else is hard to tell, but the fact remains: Moon River’s spirits come in both pint glasses and phantom form.
For those on the tour interested in things to do in Savannah at night, the guide points out that a haunted pub crawl is a popular option – essentially mixing ghost stories with tavern stops. And Moon River is often a highlight of such crawls, for obvious reasons. On a Friday the 13th, one might cheekily toast “to Toby!” and see if the ghost responds in kind (though be careful what you wish for – one doesn’t want a beer mug flying at one’s head).
Tonight, the tour does not go inside (that’s for a different kind of tour experience), but even standing outside, a couple of the participants thought they saw a curtain move in an upstairs window as if someone was watching. The guide neither confirms nor denies, just smiles knowingly. The line between patrons and phantoms is thin here. He concludes: “If you later fancy a drink with a side of supernatural, you know where to come. Just mind your manners – Toby likes to have the last word.”
The Marshall House: Hospital of Horrors Turned Hotel
Continuing along Broughton Street, the group halts before the elegant façade of The Marshall House, one of Savannah’s oldest hotels. Its cast-iron balconies and large shuttered windows speak to an earlier era (it first opened in 1851), and a discreet plaque mentions its historical significance. But the guests who check in here often have more than history on their minds – they’ve heard that The Marshall House is extremely haunted, and indeed it is frequently cited as one of the most haunted hotels in America. Now operating as a boutique hotel with modern amenities, Marshall House carries a past steeped in suffering that no amount of renovation can erase.
Historical Background: The Marshall House has lived many lives. Built by Mary Marshall in the mid-19th century, it thrived as a hotel before the Civil War. During the winters of 1864-1865, when General Sherman’s Union troops occupied Savannah, the Union Army converted the hotel into a hospital. Hundreds of wounded soldiers were treated (and many died) here as Sherman made the city his base. Later, during Reconstruction and beyond, the hotel closed and reopened multiple times. Notably, it also served as a hospital during Savannah’s yellow fever epidemics in the late 1800s. Imagine the halls, then, filled with the groans of fever victims or amputated soldiers – the wallpaper peeling with humidity, the floors stained and scarred from makeshift surgeries. It’s a grim image that stands in stark contrast to the pleasant hotel of today where tourists sip wine in the lobby. But traces of that past surfaced in a very literal way during renovations in the late 20th century: workmen discovered human skeletal remains beneath the floorboards of what had been the old surgery room. The explanation given was both fascinating and macabre: these were likely the amputated limbs of Civil War soldiers, sawed off during surgery and then buried under the floor (a common wartime practice when disposal options were limited and the ground too frozen to dig). The bones were carefully removed and interred elsewhere, but from a paranormal perspective, one might say the damage was done – those spirits knew their pieces lay there for a century, and they weren’t about to leave quietly.
Haunting Phenomena: The Marshall House’s ghosts are many and varied. Guests have commonly reported hearing phantom footsteps in the hallways at night, sometimes accompanied by the sharp tapping of a cane on hardwood – images of an injured soldier or perhaps an elderly long-term resident from the past come to mind. Doors open and shut on their own, and doorknobs jiggle as if someone is trying to enter. Faucets in rooms turn on spontaneously (as if an unseen nurse is scrubbing up, preparing for surgery once more). There are reports of the distinct smell of medicinal alcohol or a pungent odor akin to a hospital ward wafting through certain rooms, then disappearing just as quickly. Elevators sometimes stop at the wrong floor or go up and down with no one inside, as if unseen hands are operating them.
One of the most eerie accounts is of guests feeling a touch on their wrist or a gentle tug at their blankets at night – and waking up to see a figure bending over them, as if checking for a fever. These apparitions are often described as wearing old-fashioned nursing uniforms or even Union soldier garb. They don’t linger long; usually they fade as the startled guest blinks, but the interactions are enough to leave a lifelong impression.
Children seem to be a theme, too. People have heard the pitter-patter of small feet running down the hall and giggling, only to find no children present (perhaps echoes of kids who succumbed to yellow fever, or the child spirits following visiting families). One couple swore they saw a little boy playing with a toy near their bed in the middle of the night – they blinked in confusion and he was gone. The next morning, they mentioned it at breakfast and learned no children were checked in on their floor at all.
On this ghost tour, the guide shares these anecdotes with a somber respect – after all, these are not just “story” ghosts but possibly the souls of real individuals who suffered greatly right where the group stands. The Marshall House embraces its haunted reputation cheerfully (they even display some Civil War surgical instruments in the lobby as a nod to history), but they also treat the idea of their ghosts as part of the hotel’s charm. Many guests specifically ask for the “most haunted room.” There is even a record of a guest complaining that nothing paranormal happened during their stay, as if the lack of a ghost sighting was a letdown akin to a hotel pool being closed!
One could say spending a night at The Marshall House on Friday the 13th is the ultimate immersive experience for a ghost enthusiast – you combine a travel destination with a mild dare. The guide muses that if anyone in the group is brave enough, they might later pop into the lobby and check room availability. He assures them, however, that even if they’re not overnighting there, simply standing outside like this, listening, can be an experience. Some in the group indeed notice a faint flicker in an upper window, or think they catch a wisp of something moving behind the lace curtain. It could be a trick of the light or an overactive imagination fueled by the night’s stories – but in Savannah, it feels just as plausible that one of the Marshall House’s resident ghosts is peeking out, curious about the gathering below.
Having explored the spectral highlights of pubs and inns, the tour is nearing its end. The hour is late, and an almost full moon (fittingly) has risen, casting silver light and inky shadows in equal measure. The guide invites the group to consider how Savannah’s haunted places span all facets of life: from squares to houses, from pubs to hotels, from cemeteries to cobblestone lanes. Ghosts here aren’t confined to a single “haunted mansion on a hill” – they roam the whole city, just as much a part of Savannah’s fabric as the living. On Friday the 13th, one might fancy that the whole spectral population has been especially active, peeking out from attics, trailing along behind tours, perhaps even brushing past a visitor who’s none the wiser. As the final stop comes into view, the group senses they’ve nearly walked the city full circle, minds brimming with images of the past made present.
Superstitions and Chills: Friday the 13th Meets Savannah’s Ghosts
Now the tour winds towards its conclusion, and fittingly, it ends at a spot that ties together the themes of superstition, fear, and the unknown. The guide gathers the participants in one of Savannah’s iconic squares not far from the starting point. The lamps here are glowing low; the hour is late enough that few others are around. The old trees seem to lean in, as if eavesdropping on the final stories to be told. It’s here that the guide addresses how Friday the 13th itself has colored the experience of the night, and shares a few closing anecdotes that marry local superstition with the ghostly narratives.
The Psychology of an Unlucky Night: There’s a palpable psychological effect to walking about on Friday the 13th. The guide notes that earlier in the day, he saw fewer people willing to take risks – fewer ladders being climbed, perhaps, or more folks blessing themselves as they passed churches. Even in modern times, some Savannah locals won’t schedule important events on a Friday 13th. Couples avoid getting married on that date in this city of lavish weddings; businesses are loath to open a new shop under that supposedly cursed star. It’s irrational by most accounts, but then again, Savannah has always been a place where rationality and the supernatural coexist in an uneasy dance.
One charming superstition in Savannah involves “haint blue” which we mentioned earlier. On a guided walk like tonight, you may notice that many a front porch ceiling in the historic district is painted a pale blue-green. This Gullah-rooted tradition was meant to trick evil spirits (haints) into thinking the blue ceiling was the sky or water so they’d not enter the home. The guide points up at a nearby house’s porch to illustrate. Now, on a night like Friday 13th, one might feel doubly assured by haint blue overhead. In fact, some innkeepers quietly say they’ve had less ghostly activity in rooms painted that color – could be coincidence, could be because ghosts themselves are subject to the lore of the land.
Local Lore of Unlucky 13: The guide asks if anyone knew that Georgia (Savannah’s state) was the 13th colony established. A few nod. It’s an interesting irony: the very colony that gave birth to this haunted city carries the number 13 in its origin story. Does that contribute to Savannah’s mystique? Perhaps not directly, but it adds a delightful layer of numerological coincidence. He also mentions that Savannah’s street plan originally had 24 squares, but only 22 remain (two were lost over time to development) – had there been 13 squares or 13 something, we might suspect Oglethorpe avoided that number deliberately. There’s a rumor that the original plan avoided 13 in any grouping, but that’s more likely retrospective superstition. Still, it gets one pondering whether the idea of 13 has quietly threaded through local consciousness since the city’s inception.
Ghost Tours on Friday 13th – Any Different? One of the tour-goers pipes up, asking the guide if he genuinely finds this date spookier or more active. The guide smiles and shares a personal account: A few years back, on a Friday the 13th tour just like this, he had two separate cameras from guests malfunction only in specific haunted spots, only to resume working normally afterward. He also recalls that on that same night, at least four people on his tours (he did multiple rounds) said they felt distinctly touched or saw odd figures – more than average. He can’t prove any of it scientifically, of course, but as a storyteller and observer, he found the night remarkable. There’s a belief among some paranormal investigators that when many minds collectively focus on a superstition or fear (as people do on 13th), it can act like a self-fulfilling prophecy – basically, people tune themselves to notice the unusual. In a city rife with “unusual” to begin with, that can lead to a kind of mass-heightened sensitivity. Whether that sensitivity actually picks up more genuine ghost activity or just imagines it, who’s to say? But the result is the same: a tour on this night feels extra thrilling.
Dry Humor to Deflate Fear: Sensing perhaps a few jitters in the group – after all, it’s late, and every rustle might start to sound like a phantom footstep – the guide employs one of Savannah’s favorite tools: humor. He jests that the ghosts are probably delighted it’s Friday 13th, because all the attention is on them. “If I were a ghost, I’d come out tonight just to see the looks on everyone’s faces,” he winks. He recounts a tongue-in-cheek local “superstition” that the spirits have their own meeting in Colonial Park on every Friday 13th to trade scare tactics and gossip about which tour guide is telling their story right or wrong. The image of ghosts convening like office workers around a water cooler draws genuine laughter. It’s a needed release, showing how Savannahians have long learned to laugh at what scares them as a way to cope and even befriend their fears.
He also shares a quick legend about Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil (the famous book set in Savannah, often just called “The Book” locally). Some swear that the success of that book and its voodoo elements cast a kind of good luck spell on the city, drawing visitors in droves. But they also whisper that every Friday 13th after its publication, the Bird Girl statue (which once resided in Bonaventure Cemetery and graced the book’s cover) tends to shift her gaze. Of course, the statue was moved to a museum years ago after the popularity soared, so any shifting gaze is purely metaphorical now. Still, it’s a fun idea that on an unlucky day the icons of Savannah might play tricks.
One Last Ghost Story: As a final treat, the guide concludes with a short but creepy story linked to this very square (Savannah has no shortage of ghostly anecdotes, after all). Many years ago, there was said to be a “shadow man” who frequented this square at night. Several different locals, over a span of months, reported a tall, dark figure who would appear at the stroke of midnight near the square’s fountain. He wore what looked like an old-fashioned wide-brim hat and a long coat. At first one might mistake him for a real person, albeit oddly dressed, but he would be standing perfectly still, and upon second glance his features were indistinct – pure shadow. Those who tried approaching found he would vanish, or more unsettlingly, glide behind a tree and then be gone, defying any human movement. Because these sightings were not on tours or tied to any well-known ghost, they gained a sort of underground notoriety among residents. Some conjectured it was the spirit of a duelist or a murderer once hanged in the square (though officially hangings were at Wright Square as earlier told). Others thought it might be an “inhuman” spirit – not a dead person’s ghost, but something darker. In any case, the shadow man hasn’t been seen in a while (maybe he’s lying low until the city forgets, the guide muses). However, a Friday the 13th like tonight might just be the occasion for his return, if one believes such things. The guide theatrically checks his pocket watch (indeed, he carries a vintage one for flair) and notes it’s just about midnight now. “Shall we see if he shows up?” he asks with a grin, shining his lantern around playfully. A few tour-goers instinctively step a bit closer together, eyes scanning the far side of the square. It’s a moment suspended between belief and disbelief – nothing is there, of course… or is it? A trellis casts a human-shaped shadow that for a second looks eerily convincing. A nervous titter travels through the group until the angle changes and the shadow dissolves into mere vine leaves.
The exercise underscores a theme: Savannah’s ghosts often occupy that liminal space. Sometimes all it takes is a suggestive story and the mind summons apparitions out of shrubbery and streetlights. And yet other times, people with no context or expectation see something uncanny that they later match to a story. The interplay between mind, night, and legend is what makes ghost touring in Savannah so fascinating.
Conclusion: Embracing the Haunts of Friday the 13th in Savannah
The tour officially concludes where it began – maybe back at Johnson Square, or another central spot – but in truth it ends in a very different Savannah than the one first encountered. Now the city is alive in the imaginations of the group: every dark alley might hide a grieving specter; every balcony could be the perch of a forlorn lover; each pub could harbor unseen pranksters; each hotel room might have an extra, invisible guest. Savannah’s haunted history, once a distant concept, has become an almost tangible presence surrounding them. The guide, still in character but with a tone of warm farewell, thanks everyone for joining and reminds them that what they experienced is part of a tradition dating back decades – even centuries. Storytelling under Savannah’s night sky is an old art, and by listening and walking these streets with open minds, the group has kept that art (and perhaps the spirits) very much alive.
He invites them to take one more look around at the beautiful city bathed in moonlight. Spanish moss drapes like nature’s tinsel from oak limbs overhead. The ornate ironwork of balconies and fences casts lace-like shadows on sidewalks. There is a silence now that the tour’s movement has paused – a hush that almost asks, did you enjoy our stories? It’s as if the city itself posed the question. The answer is evident in the faces of the participants: a mix of awe, a bit of lingering fear, and a lot of excitement. Many have phones out, re-examining photos they snapped along the way for any odd anomalies. Some are quietly recounting to each other the parts that spooked them the most (“I still can’t get over that mirror story…”; “When we were by Colonial Park I swear I felt a cold breeze, did you?”). In these exchanges, one can see that the night’s mission – to create an immersive, educational, and entertaining experience – has been accomplished.
The SEO-minded might note with satisfaction that those high-intent queries – Savannah Ghost Tours, Haunted Savannah Tours, Things to do in Savannah at night, Most haunted places in Savannah, and so on – all those have been addressed in substance. But to the people standing here, none of that matters. What matters is they have touched a piece of Savannah’s soul. They’ve walked among its ghosts and felt the weight of its history in a profoundly personal way.
Before parting, the guide cannot resist a final tie-in to Friday the 13th lore: he advises, half-seriously, half-jokingly, that everyone check the soles of their shoes when they get back to their rooms. Why? Because an old Southern superstition says if you walked in a graveyard or on cursed ground on Friday the 13th, a vengeful spirit might hitch a ride on you – and the way to tell is that your shoes will squeak or have tiny muddy footprints on them that aren’t yours. A whimsical caution, indeed. This gets a round of laughs and a few mock shoe inspections. Dry humor and superstition, once again intertwined.
He then suggests some what to do in Savannah ideas for the remainder of their stay: perhaps visit some of these sites in daylight for a different perspective, check out the museums or the riverfront. He reminds them that Haunted Savannah Tours runs different themed tours (ensuring no one mentions competitors, of course), such as a voodoo tour or a family-friendly ghost walk, should they crave more. The city has a way of drawing people in deeper – one story leads to another, one visit begets a return trip.
Finally, with a tip of his hat (if he’s wearing one) or a theatrical bow, the guide bids all a safe and spirited night. He leaves them with a parting thought: Savannah is a city that doesn’t hide from its past – it invites you to stroll with it, hand in hand with the departed, under the moss and moonlight. On a night like this, it’s easy to feel like the barrier between now and then, between the living and the dead, is paper-thin. And perhaps that’s the real magic of taking a Savannah ghost tour on Friday the 13th: you confront the superstitions and, in doing so, become part of the very folklore that will enthrall the next generation of curious souls.
As the group disperses, small clusters peel off toward their hotels or maybe for a brave nightcap at a nearby pub. One can almost imagine ghostly figures following at a respectful distance, escorting their new friends a short way before fading back into the shadows of oaks and alleyways. The most haunted places in Savannah have shared their secrets tonight, and those who listened will carry a piece of that eerie enchantment with them. In Savannah, every day is steeped in history, but on a Friday the 13th night, history and legend entwine to create something truly unforgettable.
So, if you find yourself in Savannah on such an ominous date, don’t shy away from the dark – embrace it with Haunted Savannah Tours as your guide. You’ll get goosebumps, you’ll learn a great deal, and you’ll laugh in spite of yourself. You might even leave believing, just a little, that the ghost stories from Savannah are not just stories after all. And even if you remain a skeptic, you’ll have a collection of vivid tales to share, having walked the haunted heart of Savannah on the unluckiest of nights and lived to tell the tale. Safe travels, and sweet dreams – if you can sleep with the lights off, that is.