Travels in Charleston, S.C: The Day I Met A Ghost In Philadelphia Alley

By Devin Lally

 

Spirits do not always have to be seen in order to be believed. I recall my first trip to this Charleston as I immerse myself in its irresistible essence. Nestled between wholesome southern comfort and bygone memories, lies the charming, unchanging town of Charleston, South Carolina.

Charleston Harbor

One deep breath of Dixie air invited me to surrender to the captivating splendor of this historical city. A sugary aroma from downtown bakeries chases the gentle salty scent sweeping towards me from the Charleston Harbor. I sit on the porch of a local cafe and enjoy a satisfying meal of stuffed French toast and a cool glass of sweet tea. As I peer down Calhoun Street, I see women and men clad in Civil War-era clothing, standing on the grand steps of historical mansions, enticing visitors to take a tour of the past. I lean back in my creaky wicker rocking chair, take a long gulp of tea, and recall the first time I ever traveled to Charleston, South Carolina.  

The Memory

If there is one thing my family and friends know best about me, it is that I have an intense fear of the unknown. At thirteen years old, this quality erupted.

When my father suggested the family attend a ghost tour of Charleston, I threw a tantrum that horrified innocent bystanders enjoying the beach on Seabrook Island. My dad yanked my arm, gave me his best authoritarian glare, and said, “This is a family vacation, and you will partake in family activities.” Maura, my dear older sister, sneered, “Devin is just scared.”

            “Oh yeah?” I beckoned

            “Yeah!” Maura retorted. And with that, I had no choice but to prove her wrong.

Poogan's Porch

Before the tour, my family and I ate dinner at the famous Charleston restaurant Poogan’s Porch. I
stabbed my fork into my penne pasta, but could not eat a bite.

            “Devin. Eat,” my mother ordered

            “My stomach is killing me, mom. Leave me alone,” I grumbled. My mom and dad gave each other a knowing smile. I watched anxiously as the sun melted into the Charleston Harbor, and finally, a full moon reflected on the quiet water. The silhouette of Fort Sumter garnished the brink of the harbor, piercing through the center of the glowing moon.

“Well, it looks like its time to head out!” exclaimed my father as my empty stomach dropped.

The ghost tour met at City Hall. Four other families gathered to join us on the adventure. Our tour guide, a gray, lackluster man, limped out of the heavy oak doors of the hall and drearily informed his tourists that this night would change the way they looked at Charleston.

“Additionally,” he growled and gave a quick hack in his deep smoker’s lungs, “this will be the most terrifying experience of your life.” I gave a shrill, hysterical chuckle and nervously zipped my purple sweatshirt. “Why are you wearing a sweatshirt, Devin?” Maura examined, “It is eighty degrees outside tonight.”

            “I have a stomachache, Maura, remember? I’m sick.” I groaned. In reality, I was wearing the sweatshirt to hide the half-moons of perspiration forming under my armpits as a result of my anxiety.

“Our first destination,” the old man creaked, “will be the popular restaurant, Poogan’s Porch.” I felt my sister’s eyes burning holes in the back of my head. Sweat dripped slowly down my nose. My dad was irritatingly excited about the fact that we just finished dining in the most haunted restaurant in Charleston. “Interestingly enough,” our tour guide heaved, “the porch experiences the most paranormal activity. A deceased dog named Poogan is known to lick unsuspecting tourists’ ankles and feet as they dined.” I felt the imperative need to rub my legs to be sure there was no residual dog slobber.

Philadelphia Alley

The majority of the tour consisted of walks through haunted mansions and stories of disturbed spirits. I tried my best to tune out our tour guide in an attempt to subdue my fears. Finally, we approached the final haunted destination of our tour: Philadelphia Alley.

Philadelphia Alley, also known as Dueler’s Alley, was where frustrated duos went to settle their differences. “Many times,” our tour guide warned, “as tourists stroll through Philadelphia Alley, they experience phantom touches from duel victims. Usually, a victim will grab a walker’s leg in to find the help they never received before death.” I fidgeted my exposed legs, hoping to ward off any agitated spirits trying to grab my legs.

Suddenly, I felt a cold, unforgettable pressure on my right leg. A hand tugged me towards the ground. I let out a scream worthy of a blockbuster horror movie. “My leg! The ghost has my leg!” I breathlessly howled. I ran with Olympic speed down Philadelphia Alley, expecting my family and the rest of the tour group to follow. As I emerged from the alley and landed safely on Cumberland Street, I turned and realized I was alone. My eyes squinted to see down the long alley, and revealed my family, the tour group, and the guide buckled over in laughter.

“Devin, come back!” my dad yelped between cackles.

            “No way, are you kidding? A ghost just grabbed my leg!” I cried.

            “Devin…I grabbed your leg!” my father confessed.

Nowadays…
At twenty-two years old, I realize now that nearly a decade has gone by since my last and only ghost tour of Charleston. Over the years, many family dinner conversations began with the request; “Tell the story of Devin at Philadelphia Alley!” A trip to Charleston is not one which involves laying on a hot beach or sipping margaritas in the tropics, but rather experiencing a city full of adventure and nonstop memory-making. As I eat the final bites of my French toast, and sip the last swig of sweet tea, I ponder what it would be like to bring my eventual family to Charleston to invest in a bedrock of memories to last for years. One thing is certain: we will all attend a ghost tour.