Belton’s Annual Spooky Walk of Ghostly Tales A Treat
Greg Wilson/Anderson Observer
The annual Belton Ghost Walk featured a treat bag full of tasty and spooky stories this year about things that go bump in the night in and around Belton. Here are the tales for this year:
Belton Depot
In the historic Belton Train Depot, residents and visitors alike tell tales of a haunting presence that lingers through the decades. Conductor O’Neal, a spirit who claims the depot as his “home-away-from-home,” is just one of the seven documented ghosts that paranormal experts have encountered there. Among these spectral residents are a little girl who leaves mysterious imprints on a roped-off antique bed and turns flashlights on and off, a distinguished gentleman with a cane and top hat who has been seen near the train tracks, and an African-American porter who whistles while performing phantom duties.
One spirit named Hal is known for his dislike of modern electronics, often causing phones to ring mysteriously, batteries to fail, and other technical malfunctions during ghost hunts. The North End Gallery, once stacked with coffins of unclaimed World War I soldiers, is a hotspot of paranormal activity, with EMF detectors lighting up and unexplained noises filling the air. Local lore says these restless soldiers continue to haunt the depot, seeking their families who never came to claim them.
Visitors and staff have experienced cold spots, jangling keys at midnight, and doors mysteriously unlocking despite added locks — manifestations attributed to these lingering souls. The depot, once dubbed the “Depot of Death” due to the long wait for soldiers’ bodies to be claimed, stands as a poignant and eerie reminder of the past, reputedly the most haunted place in the upstate. Whether skeptic or believer, the stories of the depot’s ghostly inhabitants continue to captivate all who hear them, blending history with supernatural intrigue.
City Square
Belton’s City Square, came to life alongside the Greenville-to-Columbia Railroad in the mid-19th century. The first lots were sold in 1851, and by 1909, the brick buildings that defined the square had been completed. Central to the early town’s story was a deep well dug to supply water to merchants—later replaced by the Standpipe when indoor plumbing arrived in 1909.
Afterward, a small brick police hut was constructed over the old well to serve as an outpost. Local legend tells that misbehaving children caught by officers were warned about a hidden trap door in the hut that opened to the abandoned well below. They were told that if they didn’t reform, they’d be dropped into the dark pit—never to return.
Over time, townsfolk began whispering that the well was haunted by the voices of those who might have vanished there. On foggy nights, some claim to hear faint cries echoing up from beneath the square or to glimpse a wavering shadow near the base of the clock tower. Whether a trick of acoustics or the restless echo of the town’s past, the story of the old well and its ghost has become an enduring part of the square’s lore—half history, half haunting reminder of the town’s early days.
Mortuary
Belton followed 19th-century Southern funeral traditions, which often lasted days and reflected both economic class and social custom. Wealthy families hosted elaborate wakes where guests gathered for a week, drinking rum punch and eating cake while the deceased lay unembalmed in the home parlor surrounded by flowers and candles to mask decay. Poorer families, by contrast, held modest graveside rites marked by fieldstones and scripture readings.
During the Victorian era, strict mourning etiquette emerged—widows wore black for two years, children dressed in seasonally appropriate mourning colors, and jewelry containing the deceased’s hair became common keepsakes. Elaborate portraits, and later photographs, often included the recently departed to memorialize their presence.
By the late 19th century, undertakers began to replace family members in preparing bodies, bringing professionalization to death care. As mill towns grew in places like Anderson, Belton, and Spartanburg, funeral parlors replaced the traditional home “laying-out.” Yet legends persisted: many locals whispered that some parlors—built on old homes or early grave sites—were haunted by those who had once been displayed there, their spirits said to linger among the flowers and veils where they had been mourned long ago.
Hotel
Stop at Geer Hotel (now harlie’s ABC): When the town was established as a stop on the railroad, there came a need for a hotel to accommodate travelers. Dr. George R. Brown and his son-in-law A.R. “Wit” Broyles built an establishment on the south corner of the square directly in front of the first depot. Built of clapboards, it boasted well-appointed rooms and was managed by Mattison Gambrell. G. W. McGee purchased the hotel in 1855 and he greatly enlarged the structure. The Geer family then purchased the building and added a three-storybrick addition in 1907 (show photo). The hotel is considered the second most haunted place in Belton.
Belton Werewolf
From about 1900 to 1920 in Belton, South Carolina, locals reported sightings of a mysterious large dog or wolf-like creature with a hairless face that roamed the roads at night. Illuminated by the moonlight, the creature’s face was said to appear human when it looked directly at onlookers. It was never seen during the day, but its foot tracks were regularly found along local creeks, and eerie howling noises disturbed the night.
The creature terrified horses and mules traveling on unlit roads, and farmers often found their livestock—calves, pigs, chickens, geese—killed and partially eaten. Smokehouses showed huge claw marks, suggesting something powerful had tried to break in. A local board member’s grandfather claimed to have seen the creature around 1916. Although it never harmed people, it would run alongside buggies and horses, effortlessly keeping pace. Despite attempts to shoot it, the creature always escaped unharmed. Some speculate it may have been a mangy wolf, but its strange appearance and behavior have turned it into a lasting local legend known as the Belton Werewolf.
Dr. Bannister’s Office
The tale of Dr. Bannister’s dental office takes on a chilling layer beyond the tragic nitrous oxide explosion that claimed the life of patient Arthur Blair. It is said that his spirit still lingers in the building, which today operates as a photography studio. Staff and visitors report hearing whispered voices and feeling an eerie presence, especially near the one charred room that was preserved after the fire. The whispers often carry the haunting words, “I can’t feel my face,” echoing Arthur’s final moments. This ghost story, blending tragedy with the paranormal, has become part of the building’s lore, serving as a somber reminder of the life lost and the dark history embedded in its walls.
This unexplained phenomenon continues to captivate and unsettle those who enter, adding a supernatural dimension to the historical narrative of the dental office and the explosion that forever changed it.
405 Brown Avenue, The Dr. W. R.Haynie House
On moonlit nights in the early 1900s, the quiet country roads around Belton, South Carolina, were said to belong to something not quite animal and not quite human. Folks called it the Belton Werewolf. Those who caught sight of it described a creature larger than any dog or wolf, with matted fur and a face that gleamed hairless in the pale light—hauntingly human when its eyes met yours.
Farmers would hear its howls drift across the creeks—low, mournful, and close enough to set every mule to shudder. Come morning, they’d find what it left behind: claw marks gouged into smokehouse doors, livestock torn and half-eaten, and strange footprints pressed deep into the mud. The prints appeared overnight, always near water, always vanishing just beyond the fence line.
