#1. The Silent Laughter of Calhoun Square

Written by Daniel Santiago

Savannah, Georgia. The city of moss-draped oaks, cobblestone streets, and restless spirits. I had spent years chasing ghosts across the country, but something about Savannah always called me back. It wasn’t just the history; it was the way the city held its breath at night, the way the past felt inches from the present.

I arrived at Calhoun Square after a dozen local whispers had pointed me in its direction. Unlike Savannah’s more well-known haunts, there was something different about this place—something quieter, but more unsettling. It wasn’t just that bodies had been buried beneath it, as some historians suggested. It was what people had heard.

I set up my recorder and met my first interviewee, Mrs. Ellen March, a woman in her late sixties who had lived across from the square for most of her life. Her hands trembled slightly as she stirred her tea.

“I hear them laughing at night,” she said softly, eyes fixed on the window. “Not grown folks. Children.”

I nodded, encouraging her to continue.

“It’s never loud. Just... a giggle here, a whisper there. But there’s no one outside. I’ve looked. And it’s not just me. Neighbors have heard it too.”

Her husband, Walter March, cleared his throat. “She won’t tell you about the shadow.”

Ellen’s hand tightened around her cup. She stared at her husband, unblinking. “Don’t.”

Walter met my gaze. “It’s not just laughter,” he said. “There’s something else in that square.”

I leaned in. “What have you seen?”

“A shadow that moves,” Walter said. “It don’t belong to nobody. Just… glides through the trees like it’s watching.”

I had heard this before—stories of shadows with no source. Savannah was full of them. But something about the way Walter spoke made the hairs on my arms rise.

That night, I parked near the square and brought out my audio recording equipment. You’d be surprised what you can hear with a decent microphone.  I set up on a bench and started to take in the sights and sounds. 

I got there around midnight, then 1am came,  then 2. Nothing out of the ordinary besides a couple squirrels who should be asleep.

Just as I was about to call it a night, I heard it. 

A sound crackled through my recorder, and into my earpiece - A giggle.

I jolted slightly at the sudden activity,  turning sharply to scan the dimly lit square. The Spanish moss swayed in the breeze like sheeted ghosts, but no one was there.

I concentrated on the sounds coming to my recorder mic, wanting to know if my mind was just playing tricks on me for being tired, but I heard nothing. I played back the recording to see if I was just being paranoid. It was faint, but I couldn’t unhear the sound of a child giggling somewhere near the square.

I gripped my flashlight and got up, stepping onto the grass and under one of the ancient oaks. The laughter had since been silent, but I couldn’t help the feeling—something watching. Waiting.

I decided to sit back down and collect myself - this is the kind of stuff I came here for after all.

And in that moment, an image of Ellen from the interview earlier that day suddenly appeared in my mind. It was the moment when her husband had finally spoke up, and I happened to see Ellen suddenly and sharply stare towards him. She had a concerned look - fearful, even - as if he was about to tell me something I wish I would never know.

“Don’t.”

There it was again - the child’s giggle had finally returned. Except this time it was not a faint crackle. It was directly next to my ear. I even felt a warm breath touch the hair on the right side of my face. For a few seconds, I didn’t make any noise. I didn’t speak. I couldn’t even breathe. A single tear forced its way from my eye as my body was overtaken by fear, and before I had time to regain any mental composure, I was already in full sprint towards my car.

As I flipped on my headlights, and they strangely flickered on and off for a moment, as if the battery was starting to go out on me.

In that split second of flickering light, I saw something in front of me.

There were no facial features. Vague outlines of clothing that seemed old and ragged.

There was just the shape of a child’s shadow, standing upright in the street, about 10 feet in front of the car. It was turning towards me, and disappeared as the headlights stopped flickering.

Another tear was pushed from my tear duct as the fear doubled on itself.

I hit the gas, spinning the tires accidentally on the historic cobblestone, and hyperventilating most of the way to my hotel room. I stayed up with the lights on until the sun came out before I felt safe enough to sleep.

Now that I think about it, I never went back for my recording equipment, and I’m not sure I ever will.