Our city emits a strong, but friendly, paranormal vibe and abounds with mysterious tales, at least according to Emilio San Martin, owner of Orlando Ghost Tours, which hosts nightly walks through downtown. I decide to challenge my skeptical mind and take a tour. Standing in the moonlight outside of Ceviche, our guide, Steve, gathers the expectant group thirsting for scary stories and subtle scares.
It’s an appropriate launching point; the building has a rich history of sordid tales and notorious characters. Prior to 1922, the building housed the Strand Hotel, a brothel that accommodated many trysts involving high-ranking government officials.
Perhaps that explains the unidentified man in black who has made this spot his “home” over the years. Tall, slender and dressed in a long black coat and top hat, he has been seen sitting at the old saloon piano, languidly stroking its keys.
After turning over chairs and wiping down countertops at closing time, employees of the old Rosie O’Gradys Good Time Emporium reported hearing wistful notes emanating from the piano, even though no one was sitting at its bench. Though this ethereal piano player hasn’t been seen for many months, there’s no telling when he’ll reappear, moved to play again.
We wander along the paved walkway adjacent to the train tracks toward Pine Street. Our guide stops in front of the Ying Academic Center, a building that was once a funeral home.
The original structure was built by Elijah Hand. After arriving in Orlando in 1885, he earned a small amount of notoriety for becoming the city’s first embalmer. Countless numbers of Orlando’s deceased arrived at its gated entranceway in horse-drawn hearses. During the quiet wee hours, you may become one of many who say they’ve heard the clippety-clop of horse-drawn carriages rolling down the street toward the old mortuary.
Our tour continues down Orange, where the new Plaza Cinema now stands. The contemporary structure bares no resemblance to the Woolworth store built in the mid-1900s that once occupied the spot. That building eventually became a popular haunted-house attraction aptly named Terror on Church Street, whose owners felt the structure’s rumored haunting added to its appeal.
It seems decades prior, a fire had demolished sections of the building, taking the lives of two small children, a brother and a sister. Terror on Church Street did not admit anyone under the age of 16, yet apparitions of a young boy and girl were frequently reported standing in dark corners and blending into the shadows. The building closed in 1999 and was vacant for years, locked up and inaccessible to anyone except city inspectors. No one can explain why children’s handprints were often found on the glass windows, reappearing again and again after being repeatedly wiped away.
Ambling toward the Orange County Regional History Center, Steve elicits “oohs” and “aaahs” with tantalizing stories of objects shifting around rooms, strange bumps in the night and visions of vaporous beings. Outside the AKA Lounge at the corner of Pine and Magnolia, he recounts the tale of ghostly dancers floating across the floor of what used to be an old Arthur Murray Dance studio.
As the renovations at AKA took place, spirits frequently appeared to the owners, merely standing in the middle of the room as if they’d forgotten where they were going. Such visions were disconcerting, but of greater concern was the sight of their 5-year-old son having conversations with thin air. When asked with whom he was speaking, he’d gleefully reply that he was talking to Eddy – perhaps the ghost of Edward Kuhl, the original builder?
Our lazy stroll culminates inside the Orange County Regional History Center where the spooky stuff really begins. Once Orlando’s downtown courthouse, the building is reportedly packed with paranormal energy that can be picked up on the electromagnetic energy detectors our guide passes out. The handheld gadgets, which look a little like television remote controls, light up when electromagnetic energy is detected, the same energy ghosts emit when they pass through a room. Essentially, they “see” dead people.
The Orange County Regional History Center, we’re told, is the most paranormally active site in downtown, befitting the site of so many scandals, shady characters and stories with unhappy endings. Tonight, we experience only one encounter, but this scaredy cat is far from complaining.
We move to the courtroom where we tiptoe along the polished wood floor, anxiously waiting for our detectors to light up. Nothing happens. We move to the grand jury room. Nothing. Then Steve turns off the lights and gently sets out a little stuffed bear. He explains that a little girl ghost named Emily inhabits this room and is easily excited when she sees the toy bear.
There is speculation that Emily may have been an abused child who was taken from her parents in this building and moved to foster care, where she later died. It’s believed she came back here to stay because it’s the place where she last saw her mother and father. Security guards often report that objects have been moved, that they hear footsteps and the sound of a young girl’s giggles late at night, long after the center has closed. Sure enough, my little detector lights up for an instant. Okay, I’m done. Time to go. Take the tour for yourself: visit hauntedorlando.com.
Downtown Orlando certainly hasn’t cornered the market spine-chilling experiences and more tales of “murder, mayhem and mystery” await on the Haunted Kissimmee tour in Historic Downtown Kissimmee. It’s a dark and rainy night (perfect) when our group of eight, including two guides, takes to the streets for our two-hour prowl. We met outside the Nature’s Table Café on Broadway Street, which we’re told was once the site of the Kissimmee Opera House, which might explain reports of singing heard there late at night.
Haunted Kissimmee owns three hearses for touring, but tonight we’re traveling on foot. Bill and Ashley are local historians who infuse our stroll with interesting local tidbits that prompt at least one guest to remark, “I didn’t even know there was a Kissimmee before Disney.”
Founded in the mid-19th century as a trading post called Allendale, Kissimmee has its share of notorious characters, unsolved murders and quirky stories. This tour is genuinely fascinating and – it turns out – even scarier than its Orlando counterpart.
We stop at the train station, a place we’re told has a lot of paranormal energy owing to the fact that train tracks tend to attract murders, suicides and bloody accidents. Ashley pulls out a binder with enlarged photos of the area that show orbs glowing over the tracks. Orbs, we’re told, are thought to be manifestations of paranormal energy – a.k.a. ghosts in a lighted form. Orbs cannot be seen with the naked eye, so they have to be captured using cameras.
The Kissimmee library is thought to be the most paranormally active site in downtown. We’re told of faucets that turn on without anyone around and books that fly off of shelves. Turns out, three women were murdered here in the early 1900s when the building was a sawmill. Their murders were never solved.
We pass by the Monument of States and are given an engaging account of the site and its sculptor, Dr. Charles Bressler-Pettis, who’s actually buried underneath the monument. Some say his ghost has been spotted casually sitting on a nearby park bench.
After a short walk, we’re standing in front of Susan’s Courtyard Café, a lunchtime favorite for jurors serving in the nearby Kissimmee Courthouse. Several people have reported seeing a woman staring out from one of Susan’s windows – a ghost thought to be a woman murdered there decades ago by her husband.
Our guides are accomplished storytellers, and they’ve succeeded at thoroughly freaking me out. Before I’m safely deposited back in front of my car, I hear more spine-chilling stories that cause the back of my neck to tingle and make me glad my husband isn’t out of town tonight. But if you’re up for a scare, visit hauntedkissimmee.com.
