On a dark night in Beaufort, there was a chill in the air as our horse-drawn carriage clopped through the streets of this low-country town in the south.
along the route.
"Who dares to come on my street on this night?" barked the marauder with the lantern.
"Have you seen Charlotte? Have you seen my Charlotte? I can't find my Charlotte. Have you seen Charlotte?" asked the bewildered Confederate soldier repeatedly as he wandered the street.
It was told that spirits are stirred each time an old house is renovated.
Another wandering soul appeared from the dark. This character had a face half-burned when her house went aflame.
As we passed a plantation, we saw couples twirling to a minuet on the back lawn. Around and around they danced in no syncopation to the music.
Our carriage wound through streets overhung with Spanish moss. A cat howled in the distance. Did you see the shape of someone standing in the far right window or was it my imagination?
The carriage started where it began and an odd couple bid us adieu.
The roach entangled in the rusted chain around her neck scampered away. The noose from his neck dangled with unintention.
My friend and I tried to mask our fright, ran to our car and sped home. As the driver clenched the wheel, I held an unlit match out the window to ward off any spirits with notion to follow us back to Hancock Street.