Street Scenes

What sets Leesburg, Virginia apart from other American towns - other than the pungent autumn shedding of the numerous Ginko trees - is an abundance of ancient buildings that actively share their interiors with living and ethereal inhabitants. But the ghostly goings-on of Leesburg aren’t confined to the houses and businesses. Apparently some of Leesburg’s ghosts prefer the freedom of the streets, alleys and yards. 

Before passing away in 2006, Joe Holbert, known to locals as “The Ghost Guy,” led tours around Leesburg’s most popular haunts, entertaining his audiences with scientific theories for cold spots, electromagnetic fields and voice phenomenon. His 90 minute tour began at a local eatery on Market Street, strolled along the main streets of old Leesburg and concluded in the courthouse yard. 

One warm autumn evening, Joe led a group through the wrought iron gates of the courthouse lawn. He launched into his spiel on the ghost of a convicted slave and a clerk’s frightened dogs, but his audience’s attention was elsewhere. 

They were watching a young, soldier dash across the lawn less than twenty yards from where they stood, frantically glancing over his shoulder as if being pursued. As the group stared in disbelief, the soldier disappeared behind a large tree. The startled onlookers searched the fenced courtyard for a rational answer, but the soldier was nowhere to be found. All that remained was a current of charged energy.

Today, a bare patch marks the spot where ghost seekers stand and stretch their hands under the branches of a massive Oak tree, searching for the current of residual energy as it dashes through the courthouse gates and across the yard. 

Wandering Ladies On the southwest end of town, a young girl strolls up the Loudoun Street hill, happily going about her daily business, the rustle of layers of petticoats swinging from side to side. She presses against a wooden gate to peer into side yards and gardens. Occasionally she pauses to touch the tiny, beaded purse that dangles from her wrist, anticipating how she’ll spend her hard earned pennies, unaware that her carefree shopping days ended over a hundred and fifty years earlier. 

The pretty, young girl in the yellow, pre-Civil War dress has been seen wandering throughout Leesburg. She happily floats along Wirt Street on her way to an afternoon tea. She gazes longingly into the King Street shop windows undaunted by the noise of 21st century vehicles and pedestrians that crowd the sidewalks. Content to pass her time revisiting the streets where she spent many happy days, she occasionally pauses to materialize and smile at an unsuspecting passer-by, leaving them uncertain if they have seen a re-enactor or something paranormal. 

A similar apparition is seen in the yard of the Elijah Viers White house. Although the current owners believe there is nothing unusual about their home, previous occupants claim to have seen her. Neighbors have seen her. There are even reports that a postal worker and a police officer saw her. This young lady in the yard of the White house is wearing a late 18th century dress. Her brown hair is neatly pinned up and she has piercing, blue eyes. Her eyes are the consistent feature that every witness remembers. 

Despite the frequent sightings, no one has determined who the young girl is. She strolls along the porch, playfully waving at passers-by. Like her wandering counterpart, she enjoys the local gardens and will often lean over the picket fence to admire a stray blossom. Both ladies are obviously replaying the happy moments of their lives. 

A local couple enjoys spending their evenings amongst the haunts of Leesburg’s graveyards and nearby battlefields. An ever-ready digital tape recorder captures their conversations, nature’s night noises and, if they’re lucky, the occasional voice from beyond. One of their favorite places to record EVPs is Ball’s Bluff where they capture the agonizing moans of desperate souls facing an untimely death. Another favorite destination is cemeteries. 

While walking through the Old Stone Church cemetery they recorded melancholy sighs and subtle half-whispers engaged in muted conversations. But the most astonishing recording was at the St. James Cemetery, a tiny plot wedged between the county jail and a row of cottages on Church Street. Lean in close to the recorder and listen carefully. You will hear the couple conversing about the dates and conditions of the deteriorating headstones when a young, female, Irish brogue clearly proclaims in a melancholy tone, “Existence, not for me.” 

Is it the murmurs of the wandering young lady in the yellow dress? Despite her care-free demeanor, does she understands her ethereal condition but can’t bear to part from her quaint hometown?

The Alley Hag Not everyone is eager to share their ghostly street encounters. Some ridicule the belief that ghosts exist, others fear being made fun of. A story that is whispered among downtown retailers but unknown to the public is the tale of the old woman in the alley. 

As Leesburg grew, the half acre lots were subdivided and multiple buildings began crowding the spaces. Narrow alleys run behind and between the buildings to allow deliveries and back entrances. During hard times, the dank, dark spaces were crowded with "alley dwellers" who had nowhere else to call home. 

In modern days, some alleys, like the one adjacent to the city parking garage, have been broadened to accommodate traffic and delivery trucks. Others are sealed off from the general public and are only used by shop owners for trash containers and equipment overflow. 

And then there is the alley that employees refuse to venture down alone. 

In the early morning hours, when the smell of frying bacon wafts from the Leesburg Café and the Courthouse Deli preps for the lunch hour rush, the apparition of an elderly woman huddles in the shadows of the alley. Clothed in dirty rags, her busy hands tend to an unseen task as she mutters incoherently under her breath. Unsuspecting workers approach her to offer their assistance, but as they get nearer she looks up with her gaping, toothless smile and fades away right before their eyes. 

Colonel Burt Wanders Glenfiddich’s Colonel Burt is known to have left the comforts of home on two occasions. 

A Glenfiddich guest once invited the Colonel to come home with her and he apparently took her up on the offer. When the guest returned to her apartment, she incurred a week of unexplainable activity. The phone rang constantly, but no one was on the other end. The TV turned itself on and off, lights flickered, objects moved or disappeared all together. 

Having a ghostly roommate wasn’t as much fun as she thought it would be. The lady thanked Colonel Burt for being her guest, but informed him it was time for him to return to Glenfiddich. The unusual activity in her apartment ended immediately. 

The Miles received a letter describing the recent activity in the apartment of their former guest. Thinking back over the previous week, they realized things had been unusually quiet around Glenfiddich. But soon the shenanigans resumed. The Miles and their employees gladly welcomed Colonel Burt home. 

Every October, the Miles open Glenfiddich for the annual "Hauntings" tours. On one occasion, an attractive female guide finished her tour, got into her car, left the Miles/LeHane parking lot and pulled up to the stop sign at the King Street intersection. As the car rolled to a stop, the automatic seat belt on the passenger side moved forward as though someone was trying to free himself to get out of the car. 

Back at Glenfiddich, an employee was securing the building. As he double-checked the basement offices of the main house, a sudden gust of air rushed by him. There were no open windows or doors in the basement, so the blast of air caught him by surprise. 

When the guide returned the next day and shared her seatbelt story, they were able to put two and two together. Colonel Burt had once again ventured outside the house, but this time he thought better of it when he was only a half-block away and rushed back to the house as quickly as possible. 

If we could silence the streets of Leesburg, what would we see? What would we hear? If we stopped the traffic and removed the parked cars, would the Virginia Army come charging down King Street with their 1200 captured horses or the 700 Union prisoners captured at Balls Bluff? What are we not seeing because of our noisy, fast-paced lives? Are ghost really more active at night, or is that the only time the living quiet down long enough to appreciate the residual energy imprinted on the core of Loudoun County?