Paranormal Photography: Capturing Spirits Through Time

William Mumler & the Birth of Ghost Photography

William Mumler, regarded as the first spirit photographer, operated in the early 1860s. He gained notoriety for capturing an image of Mary Todd Lincoln, seated solemnly with ghostly hands resting on her shoulders—a presence attributed to her late husband, President Abraham Lincoln.

At the time, photography was a new and mysterious art, easily misunderstood by the public. Opportunists like Mumler capitalized on this uncertainty, using double exposure techniques to superimpose spectral images onto his photographs. In the aftermath of the Civil War, when mourning families desperately sought proof that their loved ones remained near, Mumler’s business flourished.

One of his fiercest critics was P.T. Barnum, the famed showman and skeptic. Determined to expose fraud in spirit photography, Barnum led the charge against Mumler, even testifying against him in court when his deception was finally uncovered. Given such scandal, one would think spirit photography would fade into obscurity—but even today, as technology advances, ghostly images continue to surface across the world.

A photographer can swear by their experience. The conditions may seem unexplainable. But a healthy dose of skepticism is always necessary. Then again… not every ghostly image is a mere trick of the camera. Or is it?

Mary Todd Lincoln. Photo originally by William Mumler

The Face in the Squadron Photo: A Ghostly Goodbye

A simple World War I squadron photo holds a secret that has baffled skeptics for decades. The war had ended, and the RAF airmen stationed aboard the HMS Daedalus breathed a sigh of relief—no more losses, no more tragedies. But that sense of security was shattered when Freddy Jackson, an engineer, accidentally walked into a plane propeller, a fatal mistake that devastated the men who served alongside him.

Two days later, as his squadron gathered for a commemorative photo, they unknowingly captured something impossible to explain. When the image was developed, an extra figure appeared among the back row—Freddy Jackson, smiling as if he had never left his comrades’ side.

Squadron members immediately recognized him, despite the impossibility of his presence. The photograph, taken in 1919, remained hidden in private collections for decades until one of Jackson’s airmen, Sir Victor Goddard, finally published it in 1975. Since then, the photo has circulated across paranormal communities and skeptic forums, yet attempts to prove it was hoaxed or manipulated have failed.

Perhaps Freddy’s sudden, tragic end tethered him to his fellow airmen, unwilling to leave behind the friendships forged in war. Or maybe, just for a moment, he wanted to reassure them—letting them know that wherever he had gone, he was at peace. His subtle smirk and relaxed expression might have been all the comfort his squadron needed.

And isn’t that enough?

Freddy Jackson’s ghost. Original photo credit: Sir Victor Goddard

Ghost Photography in Practice: My Own Paranormal Capture

Working in haunted locations has uncovered countless eerie images—orbs flickering through cemeteries, figures appearing in windows where none should be. Over time, ghost tour guides whisper stories of the most unexplainable captures. And now, one of those stories is mine.

Few people know the full truth behind it. Only James and I do.

It started as an ordinary night. A quiet Monday in St. Augustine, nothing out of the ordinary. I had gone to a trivia event, later meeting James as usual—our tradition was simple, walking to our cars together, chatting under the glow of haunted streets. That night, James was finishing a small ghost tour inside Scarlett O’Hara’s, a well-known historic pub with a reputation for eerie happenings.

The place was empty—his four guests, the lone bartender, and nothing more. Dark corners, unfinished renovations, quiet anticipation. The upstairs was closed off, so the group gathered in a secluded space, listening as James unraveled his tale. The bartender, though familiar with the story, was captivated hearing it in a new light—grounded in our historical research, shaped by fresh perspective.

Once the guests left for livelier bars, the bartender approached us with an offer.
“Do you want to see upstairs?”

We didn’t hesitate. After all, the upstairs housed the infamous bathtub where an unsolved murder occurred 150 years ago.

Climbing the narrow staircase, excitement coursed through us. Neither of us had ever explored this part of Scarlett’s before—when the second floor had been open to the public, we had lived elsewhere. Now, in the pitch-black room, surrounded by abandoned renovation tools, it was finally our turn.

I snapped a few photos, eager to document the moment. Then, for fun, I suggested a selfie—a cheeky memento to share with our team. We posed, made faces, and planned to send it later. The night wrapped up uneventfully, and James looked forward to his family outing the next day.

It wasn’t until morning that everything changed.

Reviewing the photo, I noticed it was too dark to make out much detail, so I adjusted the brightness to lessen the shadows. That’s when I saw it.

A full-bodied figure.

It wasn’t part of the background. It wasn’t a trick of the light. It had depth, definition, presence. It was wearing a hoodie, standing directly behind the bathtub. A space far too small for any full-grown person to hide or crouch without being seen.

Immediately, I texted him: “Who the heck is behind you?”

James didn’t reply until the next day. When he did, he told me he had chills—a moment of unease while visiting Animal Kingdom, the ghostly presence lingering in his thoughts.

James is Seneca Native American, and while his culture doesn’t believe photography steals souls, there is a deep-rooted belief that spirits captured in photos can attach to the people who take them.

That idea troubled him deeply.

He began showing the photo on his ghost tours, searching for answers. Who was this? Could anyone debunk it? Was it just a trick of the camera?

Then one night, we got our answer.

A local joined James’ tour and immediately recognized the figure. “That’s the bouncer from Scarlett’s. He was murdered right outside the bar.”

Three years prior, the man had been killed while protecting the patrons he swore to keep safe. After kicking out an aggressive drunk who had been harassing a group of women, he followed the man outside, ensuring the women remained unharmed. But when the drunk refused to leave, a confrontation broke out.

Six gunshots rang out.

The bouncer was left for dead, and the killer claimed Stand Your Ground, dividing the town in a heated legal battle over justice and consequence.

When we finally showed the bartender our photo, she recognized her former coworker immediately. His hoodie, his stance, his presence—it was him. She sent us the news article confirming his story, solidifying the reality of what we had seen.

We hold this story close.

We never shared the photo with his family, out of respect for their grief. But we honored him quietly, telling his story on our tours, sharing the legacy of a protector, a brother, a friend—someone who lost his life defending others, who perhaps is still watching over them in the afterlife.

We left shots for him frequently, placing them along the fence outside Scarlett’s in memoriam.

Time moves forward, and stories shift.

The bartender passed the photo to other ghost guides. Our personal encounter became legend. Details changed, facts blurred. We were suddenly traveling psychics, the bouncer became the victim in the bathtub, and the timelines were warped beyond recognition.

Scarlett’s changed hands, and access to the upstairs vanished once again—reserved for private parties, lost to history once more.

The house’s historic charm was overtaken by pool tables and thumping club music, transforming a once-beloved local haunt into a rowdy college bar, frequently raided, thick with chaotic energy.

I haven’t been back in a long time. But I felt the shift the last time I was there.

The energy is heavier now—not from spirits, but from the living.

The spiritual aura it once held is replaced by the intensity of reckless, living chaos.

I can no longer tell the bouncer’s story on my tours.

But his story must not be forgotten, so I share it here.

James and I at Scarlett O’Hara’s. Copyright: Kindred Spirits Tours, LLC