A few weeks after we married, my wife and I decided to go to Williamsburg to check out a ghost tour. Being the valiant man I have always been, I tactfully steered us towards a more “friendly” sounding tour than some of the others. While my wife can brute force any scary movie or creepy location, I’m the type that looks towards Scooby Doo as a role model in the “facing my fears” department.
This “friendly” option was marketed as a “Pirate Ghost Tour”. Taking place in Williamsburg, I justifiably assumed it would involve the tour guide dressed up like Blackbeard and doing his best buccaneer accent. Even if I was creeped out, I figured it would be offset by sheer stupidity. What made it better was the fact that this particular tour encouraged people to dress up like pirates themselves. Naturally, my wife and I dared each other to attend wearing the most absurd pirate attire we could come up with.
Somehow at no point in the process of assembling our pirate gear, choosing the date, and buying the tickets, did I feel any sort of reservation at our adventurous outing. No, that only happened once we actually got fully dressed and headed out the door as “pirates” even Davy Jones wouldn’t take. On the way, I was increasingly aware we looked like absolute lunatics driving through Williamsburg’s suburban streets, and even when we got to the colonial side of the city, I felt no less absurd. Still, at least this event was going to be in the dark, and have others dressed like us, though to be honest we were half certain we would be the only ones attending. Once we got there it was sure to be smooth sailing…
We parked and put on our finishing touches—eye patches, extra belts, unnecessary layers, all complete with an obnoxious and absurd hat for each of us—then left the car and headed for the meet-up point, which according to the email we received, was located at a large Capitol building at the end of the colonial town1.
As we walked through the historic village, complete with its quaint buildings and cobbled streets, leaves drifted around us lazily, tossed gently by the breeze. The blasted sun was stubbornly clinging to its power, giving far more light than I would prefer, even with the clouds scattered across a sky that looked fit for the occasion. I did my best to avoid the looks of others as much as possible and rushed onward to our destination, wife at my heels the whole way (I have always moved too fast even without a need, thankfully she doesn’t seem to mind walking like Mr. Krabs to keep up with me, most of the time anyway). We turned onto the main street and saw dozens of people loafing around, tourists with their children, locals on a night stroll, joggers, dog walkers. Basically, far too many people for our liking, dressed as we were on that mid-October evening.
As we walked further, closer and closer to the capital building, I came to appreciate the setting a bit more. The charming village houses held a lot of character, and the small shops and smithies created a nostalgia for something I’d never experienced. Perhaps there was something to this colonial LARPing after all. We passed several people that wore extravagant period accurate costumes, which only proved to make our makeshift pirate attire feel all the more stupid.
Finally the capital building lay before us in clear view. Large compared to the humble village shops and homes thus far, its Georgian architecture prominently displayed an overwhelming amount of red brick, flat rectangular windows, and was topped with a small white cupola (announcing its importance to the world). Of course, I failed to notice any of this, as to my wife’s and I’s great horror, dozens of people milled about the entrance, all standing around someone sitting in an electric scooter with a candle lantern held aloft. Worse, much worse, the scooter-bound man (who was clearly the guide) was the lone person wearing pirate garb.
Yes, you heard that right, the only person who also wore a ridiculous pirate outfit was the guide himself, who sat in his chair with an outfit Jack Sparrow himself wouldn’t have been brave enough to attempt.
Without discussing it at all (so in tune are our minds), we both quickly turned around and headed the opposite direction. Perhaps if we were quick enough, somehow, someway, we wouldn’t be noticed and could escap—
“Oh wow! Look at your outfits! Those are incredible!”
We both stopped dead in our tracks and slowly looked behind us. That bloody scooter was fast, and somehow the man was practically upon us already (so much for my speed-walking skills) and he grinned at us like we were old friends.
My wife and I looked at each other with the same frantic yet resolved look prey has right before it’s torn to shreds and eaten.
“Uhh, yes sir, we thought it would be fun.”
“Oh man, this is simply incredible!” He leaned in and whispered, “you know, people hardly ever show up in costume, it’s a real shame!”
I looked around at the gaggle of participants, whose size was growing by the minute (but already easily surpassed fifty), and groaned. Each and every one of them awkwardly crowded by and watched us as if we were part of the show. Moms and Dads with expressions that were unable to hide they were only doing this for their kids, children with bored looks on their faces wondering why their parents dragged them there, random couples looking embarrassed to witness us, and, of course, quite a few elderly folks.
Only the elderly looked like they were having a good time. “Anyway, just wait until my assistant sees you guys, she’ll love it!”
Sure enough, a woman dressed like a maid from the Victorian era arrived shortly and began to gush over us, the two new ‘pirate crewmembers’. I could feel my blood go cold, emphasising the already clear point on just how much I had screwed up. The wife didn’t look like she was doing much better.
The maid walked over to the pirate guide and turned on a speaker hanging on the back of his electric chair. Royalty-free pirate music blasted out of the thing.
“Good evening, everyone! My name is Captain Mike, and this is do be the fair maiden Elizabeth. Tonight we are joined by the legendary pirates Captain Jack and Ruthless Ruby!”
I looked around to see where these additional cast members were, hoping against hope, and after seeing the look of horror in my wife’s face, I knew who the additional cast was.
“Tonight we shall peer into the ghostly realm of the dead and truly see if ‘dead men tell no tales’!”
He began to explain some of the history of Williamsburg and its involvement in the destruction of Blackbeard. Despite the man never having set foot in the place, captain Mike seemed convinced the spirit of Edward Teach himself haunted Williamsburg in revenge. I’m not sure how a spirit haunts a place it’s never been, not to mention a town that’s 220 miles away from the place of its bodily death, but who knows, Captain Mike is the ghost expert so I trust his scientific analysis2.
As he was talking about Edward he stopped and gasped. “Shiver me timbers! Why, I do think we have a man here who knew Blackbeard before his death! Captain Jack!” He made a show of pointing to me. “Cap’n Jack, tell em’ ‘bout Edward! What was the man really like?”
I was beginning to understand that my own soul would end up haunting Williamsburg.
I looked around at all the people, staring at me expediently. “Ummm, well yes, indeed Captain Mike! Old Ed was quite the fellow! Not someone you would want to mess with! Quite the fun drinking pal though! Uhh…Arrrgh!”
Nobody responded to my little speech, except a cough from somewhere.
I heard some guy nearby whisper loudly to his girlfriend, “You think we can get our money back?”
My wife, having been in theater growing up and also possessing an actual brain, told the crowd about just how fantastic of a pirate Blackbeard really was, and what it was like to know him. I stared at her in amazement. If you didn’t know any better you would have thought she actually was a cast member of the show. Unfortunately, Captain Mike also became certain she was, and that meant ‘Captain Jack’ was lumped in as well.
Slowly, far far too slowly, the sun began to set, and as the sky darkened, Captain Mike began to scoot down the cobblestone-lined street and discuss what life was like in the colonial days. You may not be aware, but life in ye olden times, to put it in academic terms, is absolute ass. Turns out you could die from a simple cut getting infected, or a short tumble down a flight of stairs. Of course, the Captain was being much more theatrical in his descriptions of deaths that occurred on that ancient (by American standards) street.
For some unknowable and frustrating reason, the streets were still full of people. While we passed each one, they stared wide eyed at the strange parade we had become. Captain Mike rolling forward with his speaker on full blast, at this point pumping out spooky jaunts from Spirit Halloween, followed by the maid, ‘Ruthless Ruby,’ ‘Captain Jack,’ and some fifty odd people shambling behind. What a shame nobody was filming a promo for Colonial Williamsburg at that moment, imagine the tourist boom once that baby aired!
Eventually we arrived at a small house halfway down the street. It appeared unremarkable compared to the others, like a retrofitted barn, complete with rounded roof and symmetrical windows on all sides. Yet according to Captain Mike it held a great evil spirit within. He explained there was once a lady who lived there who had been married five times. Each time she grew sick of a husband she would rid herself of them in increasingly gruesome ways. “Till one day, she grew sick even of herself and drank the poison she intended for her last husband!” He paused for a long moment to let the story sink in. Spirit Halloween music drifted from the back of his electric scooter, dreadful soundscapes to amplify his words. At least it would have, had it not been playing a knock off version of “monster mash.”
We stayed there admiring the house and imagined the husbands that haunted the place, no doubt fighting for the most comfortable chair in the living room. Can ghosts even go in a living room? Finally, we moved on to the next location, and as we slowly traveled there he said almost as an afterthought, “Of course, we have no real way of knowing if she really did kill those men, the records are a bit iffy on that. Anyway! Ruthless Ruby, did you ever have to “take care” of any men in your life!?”
My wife, God bless her, carefully didn’t look at me at all when she pronounced “Aye! But you’ll never be able to prove it!” Captain Mike laughed joyfully, and not a few of the crowd actually joined him. For the thousandth time I wondered why someone as impressive as my wife was with a dolt like myself. Hopefully she never realizes that herself, lest I personally learn how Ruthless Ruby would get rid of a troublesome husband.
As we made it to our next location, we were met with a building that was practically a palace in comparison. Full of glass windows and ominous blood-red wood paneling. Captain Mike announced this was one of the most haunted buildings in all of Virginia, as it had been a field hospital for both the revolutionary and the civil war. He named it as the Peyton Randolph House, with such a flair that was no doubt meant to be met with sheer awe at the infamy of the place. Of course as a Virginia resident for the vast majority of my life, I had never heard of the place.
I was beginning to understand how this show worked: anytime Captain Mike would describe a death, he would do so in as grand and scary a way as possible, then like a medicine commercial listing side effects, he would quickly and dismissably disclose the mundane truth that enfeebled his story. Children stolen and dismembered were actually farming equipment victims, adulterous lovers that killed each other’s spouses just remarried after their previous spouses died from the flu. Witches were just old crabby women with an affinity for cats and herbs, vampires were just sick men. But the ghosts?
The ghosts were the best part of all.
Ghosts permeate every aspect of our life and possess every dark space or unexplainable occurrence. Strange noise at night? Ghost. Movement just out of sight? Ghost. Bad dreams? Ghost. Can’t find the other sock for your pair? Ghost. Memory a little fuzzy? That one is aliens. This stuff is important to know! All the absolute truth according to Captain Mike, who went over all the lore with the severity of an impending apocalypse and the certainty of personal experience.
“Aye my fellows, yet I have been saving for ye my special collection of photographs that prove the existence of ghosts. Yes sir! I have tons of evidence caught right here at this very place!” He whipped out a cell phone and began scrolling through images. “Where is that darn… Ah yes! Here we are!”
Of course, being part of the crew ourselves, we were entitled to such perks as seeing the pictures first. The photograph was blurry, as its taker had been overly excited, understandable in the face of undeniable proof of the supernatural. Yet that meant it was hard to discern anything about it at all, other than it was the same house we were looking at presently. One can only assume there is a secret society that ensures that all pictures of the supernatural are blurry.
Capt. Mike must have seen our confused faces as he took the phone back. “Oh here, this is a much better one!”
The second photograph was a bit less burry, enough to make out a rendition of the house we were looking at, complete with dead trees, a spooky moon, and a total, inescapable lack of ghostly entities. He zoomed in on some of the hazier pixels to highlight the terrifying reflection of a streetlight in the window, then when we weren’t impressed, he swiped to the next image. This one was much clearer, displaying a silver speck in a window that he emphasized with his fingers while he described the gruesome murder that led to its creation.
Realizing that it wasn’t just his pirate crew he needed to show the images (no doubt just as surprised as us at the tour crowd that pressed in around us), he began to move around and show off his pictures like the great marvel of the world they were.
I looked over at the wife and her face held the same look I’m certain mine had. A blend of strain from trying not to laugh and a slight smile at the sheer joy Captain Mike held for his collection of undeniable proof his phone’s flash operated correctly, reflecting off the windows of each building. In his mind this strange light that floated out of the windows was doubtless spectral phenomena.
Somehow not a soul laughed as he passed the images around. Though I did hear plenty of confused noises at just what in the world people were supposed to be looking at.
Ghosts, people! What else could it be!?
Finally, long after we needed its protection, the night fully embraced us as the group wandered toward our next horror, other ghost tours being led by their own guides passed us down the street. Each one in their own flavor of costume, no doubt telling tales about the same occurrences we had heard about but with their own flair. Apparently it was quite the booming business. Do they ever fight over territory? They must throw crystals and EMF readers at each other. I bet the ghosts get a kick out of seeing that! Poor things must be sick of being treated like zoo animals.
I realized that I had gotten distracted and lagged behind the group. Feeling all the water I had chugged before we left, I figured it was time to find out where the living emptied themselves. We walked over and asked the maid.
“Oh, uh, I’m not sure from here, honestly. I think if you walk in that general direction you should come across them. Hope the spooks don’t get you!” She hopped along back to the front of the group while Ruby and Jack made a beeline for “that general direction.”
Oddly enough, now that we were away from the knock off spirit halloween music and the group, it undeniably was quite spooky. The sky was completely dark, and only an occasional fire lit candle or torch showed the way. It was surprisingly quiet, and suddenly Captain Mike’s claims about ghosts held a lot more weight in my mind. Still, I have always pretended to hold claim to an ounce of courage, and I wasn’t going to let my wife think otherwise. I grabbed her hand to reassure her that I was there and quite brave. Not at all wanting to hold it for my own sake, none whatsoever.
Weaving our way over cobblestones and through the wooden buildings we were soon more lost than I expected for such a small and silly town. I wasn’t going to let that affect me though. Not at all. I began to walk faster simply because I was really starting to need to pee.
I praised God as at last we spotted In the distance a small outcropped building that appeared far too modern for the place it stood. Several people were milling about the front in the way only people waiting for others in the restroom always do. I was even more certain because everyone waiting was a guy.
We rushed inside and *im not going to cover this part, sorry* then came out. I found myself joining the cast of the “waiting outside the bathroom” documentary. Suddenly a thought hit me like a truck. A glorious thought. An idea so novel, so genius it only comes once a lifetime. Lets get the hell out of here!
Soon she came out of the bathroom and said with a joyful look “they wont miss us, lets leave!”
My genius wife and I covertly and swiftly moved back towards the car. We hid behind buildings and creeped along in our best attempt to stay out of the notice of anyone and anything. We jogged bent over, trying to get from cover to cover, holding our hats onto our heads as our jackets flapped around. The ridiculous clothing suggested that pirates hardly ever attempted stealth.
I realized that the ghosts—and anything else—that haunted Williamsburg lost its grip of intimidation on me. Instead replaced by a certainty that if Captain Mike caught a glimpse of us, no doubt he would wheel us down, taking flash photos the whole time. I felt a kinship with the spirits, a shared feeling of dread towards the meat bags that lurked in the night and fought shamelessly for unwarranted photographs of spectral proof.
Huffing and grasping the impending stitches in our sides, we came to stop and crouched next to the porch of some shop. Blisters were already setting in from the stupid boots I wore, and judging by the state of my wife’s outfit, and the look of her face when she caught a glimpse of mine, I was much closer to flamboyant hobo than pirate. While I fought the tremendous urge to rid myself of the absurdities, I attempted to figure out our location. Looking down where we just ran from didn’t help in trying to decipher anything from the maze of small and large that split off in all directions. The crowds had at last dispersed, but there was still the odd collection of couples and the like milling around. I racked my brain for every bit of knowledge and training I had received regarding navigation. Countless hours of military training, years of Boy Scouts, not to mention all of the lessons from my dad the mapmaker. All of it served as a great help at reminding me that I really suck at paying attention to anything important.
I had no idea which way we were supposed to go, and I had no doubt we had already doubled back twice. A dead carnival prize goldfish, held aloft in a plastic bag, would prove just as useful as a guide. Looking down the street, I saw a large group headed our way, the unmistakable look of someone carrying a candle lantern led them and I was certain I could make out a moving scooter amongst them.
In the complete absence of any fear I courageously sprinted in the opposite direction. Frantically storming ahead, I forgot to keep us in the cover of the buildings and was only thankful for the sound of my wife’s quick feet pounding the concrete right on my heels. We rounded a corner and were met with a sight that haunts me to this day.
“Oh, there you are!” The maid said warmly. “I was worried you wouldn’t be able to find us again! Don’t worry, Captain Mike will be glad to tell you all about what you missed!” She smiled at us, somehow missing just how out of breath and spastic I’m certain we looked.
My mind searched for a way out, but there is nothing for it but to simply follow her back to the group, right back to Captain Mike. She led us a few dozen yards off and we were once again trapped in the sound of cheap halloween party music. I couldn’t help but laugh, no doubt disturbing the rest of the group. Of course, of BLOODY COURSE we would SPRINT right back into the group!
I could feel my own soul departing its mortal shell to go haunt my old high school (hundreds of miles away mind you, but evidently this was well within spirit range, as long as you hate the place enough).
Cap’n Mike spotted us and beamed as if seeing long lost family members. “Captain Jack! Ruthless Ruby! We were certain the phantoms had stolen you away! I was just showing the group how to use the EMF reader!”
I choked down a despondent sigh as he waved us closer.
He held up what looked like a remote with a radio dial on it. “We must be very quiet as we listen to see if it picks anything up! It detects anomalies in the electromagnetic field around us. It’s a sure-fire way to find a ghost!”
The radio dial spiked for a brief moment. “WOAH, that must have been one that passed us by! Let’s see if they come back!” I looked around and realized that the group was now significantly smaller. It seemed others had no trouble staying hidden and finding the way out. I lamented the fact I could never make it as a master thief or spec ops operator.
So it went, going from house to house, cabin to cabin. Occasionally Captain Mike would pull out a new toy and test it out for us, each becoming increasingly more absurd from the last. Defying all odds and logic, the ghosts never came to play ball.
Not that I blame them. I hate solicitors too.
Finally, after countless stories and irrefutable evidence of the existence of my own personal social anxiety, we found ourselves back at the beginning. Staring at the now darkened capitol building we started from. Captain Mike invited everyone to get a picture together as a farewell (a much easier task now given how whittled-down our group had become). Afterwards Captain Mike beckoned us over to a quiet spot.
“Well I really must thank you two, you certainly made it a very fun evening! I want you to know that if you’re ever interested, we would love to have y’all come join the team! We wouldn’t be able to pay you of course, but maybe one day!”
Now that I’m out of the military it’s good to know I have employment options, unfortunately I’ll never set foot in Williamsburg after dark again.
Some places really are too haunted.
Endnotes
- Colonial Williamsburg exists as a sort of historic role playing village. A place where people who would find something like a renaissance fare a bit too fantastical (uncouth even, dare I say) can still dress up and play pretend. Why would someone want to dress up for a fictional fantasy setting when you could dress up like colonials and enjoy role playing that wonderful time in history? I can’t think of a single person or (group of people) that wouldn’t like it, it was great times to be had for all!
↩︎ - For those interested about how Blackbeard died, courtesy of several hours reading on the internet (it’s a miracle I get anything done, so heavily am I drawn towards distraction):
When the Governor of Virginia, Alexander Spotswood, found out the location of Edward Teach he was determined to capture the pirate as quickly as possible, dead or alive. So, without waiting for the authorization from the King or even notifying North Carolina, he sent two warships against Blackbeard under the command of Navy Lieutenant Robert Maynard. On November 22, 1718, after five days of search, the pirates were taken by surprise in the shallow waters of Ocracoke Inlet, North Carolina. Maynard attacked Blackbeard’s ship, but was severely outgunned. His quick thinking led to him instructing his men to hide below deck to convince Blackbeard that he had easily beaten them. When Edward came alongside he jumped aboard to capture the ship, only to be surrounded by all of Maynard’s men who hid below. It was a short and bloody fight, and eventually Blackbeard collapsed dead onto the deck having taken five shots and twenty dismal cuts in several parts of his body. Nine of Blackbeard’s men died with him, and Maynard lost a dozen of his men. Two days later, Maynard returned to Jamestown with fifteen prisoners, who were later hanged. Blackbeard’s severed head was stuck on the tip of the bowsprit and eventually hung on the end of a pole in the mouth of Hampton River, Virginia. It was there for several years before it disappeared forever. It’s debated what happened to the skull, did it simply deteriorate? Or did it make its way to Williamsburg for revenge?
Legend has it that after the British sailors decapitated Blackbeard and tied his head to the bowsprit, they dumped his headless body into Pamlico Sound where it took several laps around the ship before finally disappearing from sight. Other legends suggest his skull was made into a silver cup. I have no doubt that all of these are true, and would like to add my own. Blackbeard is undeniably haunting Williamsburg. Or, well, his head is that’s for certain.
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