Article and Images Copyright © 2000, 2006 Michael Gavin

I had the opportunity to visit St. Augustine in December of last year (1999). Each year there is a British Night Watch (18th century) re-enactment and a holiday festival of lights processional. If you ever have the chance to attend either, it is an event to see. My purpose for the trip also held an ulterior motive: St Augustine has a ghost tour!

Most of the day was spent enjoying the city’s rich historical sites and observing the re-enactors firing the cannon on top of Castillo de San Marcos (the old fort). When the sun went, the fun began. The tour commenced around 8pm and was very informative and well presented. My companions and I made a note to revisit a couple of the locations later that evening. I had no idea I was in for the most intense experience I have been through since I started my ghostly research.



The house on Cuna Street * (see Addendum at article bottom), I believe, was built some time mid 20th century. A cruel, old spinster originally inhabited it. According to our tour guide, the lady was found dead in her home, but only after she had been in that state for about a week! The story is that the house has never been able to remain occupied for any length time thereafter (even as a dormitory for nearby Flagler College).

Allow me to interject; I have never seen a ghost. I have felt their presence (the experience is much like a falling, almost disorientating sensation. Yes, the hair on the back of one’s neck does tend to stand up) at a mansion in New York City and at the Octagon House in Washington DC (to name a couple of places). However, those sensations were likened to a drop of water when compared to the tidal wave that slammed into me as I approached the house later that cool December evening! The rush of fear blended with overwhelming anxiety that raced thru me was so completely enveloping, that I knew it was definitely time to leave. And leave we did! As if to ensure we were gone, this sensation followed us down the street and around a corner before it subsided.

There was a second, even more bizarre encounter. We happened upon the unassuming building completely on accident this time. We had been wandering around the town searching for another of our associates. It was late. After midnight, I think. It was not until I recognized where I was, that I was assaulted with that now familiar wave of sensation. We wasted no time in backtracking! My companion swears that she saw something float from the second floor window towards us. In our attempt to evade this ominous follower, we turned down St. George Street (the main historic corridor). As we approached the Oldest School house, I was affronted with a similar sensation. This time, the "signature" was slightly different and a bit less anxious. It appears, according to my companion, that our course was best altered. We made a quick adjustment to that route by turning a corner and the sensations seemed to dissipate.

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