St. Augustine, Florida, bills itself as America’s oldest city — a charming mix of Spanish colonial architecture, cobblestone streets, overpriced taffy, and relentless humidity. It also bills itself as one of America’s most haunted cities, which is tourist-speak for “bring your wallet and your willingness to believe anything after dark.”
Naturally, I signed up for a ghost tour.
At sunset, our group assembled outside an ancient-looking tavern under a gas lamp that flickered suspiciously, presumably from bad wiring, not spectral mischief. Our guide introduced himself as Marcus, wearing a top hat, a frock coat, and the air of a man who had corrected multiple TripAdvisor reviewers by candlelight.
We were issued EMF meters — cheap plastic boxes that beep at electrical fields, cell phones, overhead wires, and, I presume, Marcus’s ambition. We were solemnly told to hold them steady and to alert the group if they blinked, because that might indicate a ghost. Or a power line. Details were not emphasized.
The tour itself was an energetic mix of loosely remembered history, wild speculation, and enthusiastic pointing at balconies, doorways, and public restrooms where “tragedy once struck.” Every third building, according to Marcus, had a “dark and tragic past.” Most of these tragedies involved someone falling down the stairs, contracting yellow fever, or losing at poker — hardly the stuff of Gothic horror, but Marcus recited every anecdote with the reverence of a man describing an ancient battlefield.
At one point, we were encouraged to photograph a supposedly haunted window where the “Lady in White” allegedly appears. We were told to aim carefully, because “the spirits sometimes interfere with your camera.” Translation: blurry photos ahead, conveniently blamed on the afterlife.
The highlight of the evening was a stop outside an old cemetery, where Marcus assured us a ghost had been captured on video just last year. He played the footage on his phone. It looked suspiciously like mist, headlights, and wishful thinking tangled into a pixelated smear. The group oohed and aahed. I contemplated faking my own death so my make-believe ghost could speed things along.
Final thought? Ghost tours of St. Augustine are fantastic entertainment, and moderately educational if you don’t mind your history seasoned with liberal amounts of creative license. But if you leave convinced that every creaky gate and moldy stairwell is haunted, you’re not communing with the spirit world — you’re communing with the marketing department.