By Kathleen Scott

“Some ghosts may remain in the area of their sudden death, confused. Some are bound here because of their own fears, some because of unfinished business.” The guide paused. “And we the living may hold our loved ones here because we don't let go.”

In historic Texas towns such as Granbury and Galveston, some residents see ghostly happenings as echoes of an unfinished past that lingers in century-old settings.

The heart and center of Granbury, a town of about 6,000 souls, is a late 1800s courthouse and surrounding square.

Most weekend nights a guide named Boots, who sports the footwear, leads a walking tour of Granbury Ghosts and Legends around the square. At one corner he points to a flight of black iron stairs and calls it a “husband escape.”

In the days when saloons outnumbered churches and patrons partook of more than drink, if a man was in the company of a saloon girl when his wife came to drag him home, a barkeep would send the man down the outside stairs. Boots says this “husband escape” is where Jesse James' heart was broken.

The outlaw lived for a time in the area and even had a working checking account at the First National Bank. The story goes that he fell in love with an 18-year-old “soiled dove” at the saloon and began to settle down, until the night she hurtled out the back door and down the “husband escape” — but not quick enough to dodge a bullet in the back. Her final resting place isn't known, but some say she's one of the restless spirits whose footsteps are heard in empty upstairs rooms around the square.

On the Texas coast, Galveston's many 19th century buildings reflect a colorful past. The Strand Historic District abutting Galveston Bay is listed as a National Historic Landmark and holds 26 square blocks of brick and stone buildings dating from the 1850s.

Galveston Island's history lends itself to tales of the unexpected. Long ago, the island was home to cannibalistic natives and Jean Lafitte's pirates. Civil war battles took place there, and in 1900 a Category 5 hurricane inundated the island, killing 90 children at the Sisters of Charity Orphanage, and more than 6,000 people in the area.

The storm is memorialized in restored buildings, miles of seawall and stories of wandering souls. Dash Beardsley, a tall man in a long black coat and sunglasses (even at night) guides visitors to sites of afterlife activity in The Strand, telling tales of island history and people who lived and died and perhaps never left — their energy sometimes evident as sounds in an empty hallway, Civil War soldiers at upper windows, or wraiths in the street.

Ghostly activity isn't limited to The Strand. Jackie Hasan, chief concierge of the Hotel Galvez, tells stories of spirit activity at the beautiful century-old beachside property. The most famous is that of a “ghost bride” who hanged herself after word came that her fiancé was lost at sea. Since that time about 60 years ago, guests sometimes smell a sudden scent of gardenias in the lobby, hear footsteps in the fifth floor hall when no one is there or catch a glimpse of a shadow-woman at Room 501.

Maybe the connection of the past to the present is stronger in old towns like Galveston and Granbury.

Kathleen Scott is a freelance writer from New Braunfels.