11/27/2025
Sixteen Seasons of Spirits and Stories
Sharpsburg Civil War Ghost Tours, Tarot Readings, and the Magic of 2025
As the 2025 season winds down and the last lanterns are stored away for winter, I’ve found myself looking back—maybe more than usual—on what sixteen seasons of Sharpsburg Civil War Ghost Tours have meant to me, to Julia, and to the thousands of people who have walked through the quiet nighttime streets with us. Sixteen years is a long stretch for any small-town venture, but for a ghost tour in a place as haunted—historically and emotionally—as Sharpsburg, those years feel full to the brim. They’ve shaped us as much as the stories we tell.
Julia began reading tarot for visitors somewhere around 2015. She had already been doing readings for decades—over thirty years now—and her instincts remain sharper than any deck of cards could ever account for. Her readings have become a beloved tradition before or after the tour, something people ask about specifically. It isn’t just fortune-telling; it’s a quiet moment of reflection offered to anyone who wants it, a little window where life feels more connected, more mysterious, more guided. In a way, it matches what the tours themselves try to hold: the living brushing against the stories of the dead and finding meaning in the contact.
Every year, people ask whether any strange things actually happen on our tours. And the answer, the honest answer, is yes—sometimes they do. Both photographic and physical anomalies are rare, but they are not unheard of. This season, one moment stands out. There’s a particular spot we stop at—an old location with a grim wartime history—where some visitors swear they smell or taste blood. No one is prompted. No one is told in advance. About three weeks ago, before I said a word, a man on our tour quietly asked, “Does anyone else taste metal?” I just nodded. That’s the sort of thing you can’t plan, can’t stage, and can’t deny.
Another location is notorious for draining camera batteries. Fully charged phones suddenly drop to zero, and then—once we’ve walked on a bit—spring straight back to 100%. Some photos come out entirely white, others entirely black, and occasionally a string of shots will show pale, orb-like lights drifting along the paved alley as though they’re moving with intention. Is it paranormal? Is it technical? Is it the imagination? That’s up to the visitor. But it’s fun, and it’s part of what makes each tour unique.
But the truth is, running this tour is also a commitment—a real one. Saturday nights from May through November are no small thing, and I’m no longer the fit, fast-footed guide I was when this all began. Sixteen years have turned me from a spry fifty-something into someone dealing with neurological challenges who now walks with a cane. Tonight, in fact, I misstepped and leaned hard into a patron who steadied me before I fell. It’s humbling. It’s frustrating. It’s also a reminder of why I still do this.
Because at the end of each tour, there’s applause—gentle, sincere, encouraging. And the smiles. The smiles are the fuel that keeps this whole endeavor going. I can tell you there is a warmth in those moments that’s hard to articulate, a simple human connection that feels rarer with every passing year.
Over sixteen seasons we’ve entertained thousands—school groups, scout troops, historical societies, senior groups, libraries, genealogists, tourists, skeptics, believers. We’ve given countless free virtual tours for organizations who wanted to learn about Civil War ghost stories but couldn’t be here in person. What we do is not only about ghosts. It’s about context. It’s about the way history and memory blur after dark. It’s about introducing people to long-forgotten names—soldiers, civilians, children—whose lives once touched the ground we stand on.
Almost always, when we ask if anyone has ever heard of the people we mention, the group falls silent. And that silence tells us why the stories matter. We aren’t mocking the dead, nor are we exploiting tragedy. We’re keeping their stories alive. If anything, it’s an act of honoring, not haunting.
Soon I’ll sit down and prepare the 2026 calendar. We always begin the season around St. Patrick’s Day with our Irish Brigade Ghost Tour—stories of Irish soldiers, Irish families of Sharpsburg, and all the humor and sorrow that came with their presence here. It’s become a tradition all its own.
And if you’ve never been on one of our tours, we’d love to have you. Truly. When we say “family,” we mean the community of people who support us, walk with us, laugh with us, believe in what we’re doing, and help us keep these stories alive.
Here’s to the ghosts, the history, the tarot cards, the chilly alleys, the sudden camera glitches, the unexplainable whispers—and to another season in 2026.
