Following our marvelous dinner at Elizabeth’s on 37th, we headed back to the hotel for a change into more casual clothing for the evening plans. Those in-between moments are often what I recall with the most fondness ~ the warm lights of our hotel room, a brief survey of Savannah from the balcony while a balmy night wind swirled around us, and an extra spritz of Jo Malone all created a sweet memory of safety. Intentionally so, as we were about to visit a place of darkness…
Built atop a pile of soldier bones, the Sorrel-Weed House is one of the most haunted places in all of America. It comes with years of tragic history, and the scandalous doings of its former inhabitants seem to bleed through its very walls. While I chickened out on going into it last time, with Andy in tow I felt emboldened to schedule a night-time tour (with explicit instructions for him not to move more than one foot from my side during the entire duration of the thing).
Mulling around the courtyard, we approached the 10 PM hour that marked the start of the tour. Talk of ghosts ensued, haunting incidents were discussed, and by the time we entered the front door of the house I was thoroughly shook. Andy was amused more than anything and within minutes had violated my strict do-not-move-more-than-12-inches-from-me rule, leaving me to fend for myself against evil spirits and the not-quite-completely-gone.
Most of my sensible side was merely entertained by everything the guide told us, but there was no denying that tragedy had taken place repeatedly in that space, and I do believe that trauma like that leaves a stain. Maybe it’s the mere knowledge of something bad having happened that stirs something in us, and maybe we bring it into being. However it happens, there was a discernible chill when they brought us into the basement (which is how basements usually work).
The tour ended in the square outside the house, where the remaining history of the original tenants was told. We weren’t that far from the Mercer House. As I may have mentioned, every step of Savannah feels haunted.
That night, vivid nightmares marched through my restless sleep. I had not escaped untouched. Though it may sound strange, the idea of visiting Bonaventure Cemetery the next day sounded peaceful. Perhaps the dead sleep better when they’re properly buried…
