There's a bench on the Public Square in downtown Franklin, right across from the old City Hall building. It's a nice spot to sit and people-watch, to enjoy the charming shops and restaurants that make this town such a popular destination. But if you sit there at just the right time—usually twilight, when the shadows start to stretch—you might see something that freezes your blood.
Up on the balcony. Two figures. Standing at attention.
They're wearing Union blue, and they're not supposed to be there. When you blink, they're gone.
The Old Franklin City Hall has been haunted since 1864, and the soldiers who occupied it during the bloodiest battle ever fought in Tennessee have never entirely moved on. If you're exploring the ghost tours of Franklin, this building on the square is one of the most reliably active haunted sites in town—and one of the easiest to overlook if you don't know its history.
The Heart of Franklin
The Public Square has been the center of Franklin's civic life since the town was founded in 1799. By the time of the Civil War, the square was surrounded by the essential institutions of a prosperous Southern community: shops, professional offices, churches, and the imposing structure that served as both City Hall and courthouse.
The building that stands on the square today (currently home to a Mellow Mushroom restaurant) has witnessed more than a century and a half of Franklin's history. But nothing that happened within its walls before or since can compare to what occurred on the night of November 30, 1864.
When Union forces occupied Franklin ahead of the battle, they established their headquarters in the City Hall building. From here, officers coordinated the defensive lines that stretched across town. From here, they watched the Confederate assault begin. And from here, they heard the screams when the fighting finally stopped and the dying began.
When Every Building Became a Hospital
Local author and historian Allen Sircy has spent years documenting Franklin's haunted history, and his research paints a vivid picture of what happened on the Public Square that night. 'They fought the Battle of Franklin all the way to the square,' Sircy explains. 'When it was over, they marched to the square, and the soldiers outnumbered the citizens four to one that night. Every building on the square became a hospital.'
Every building. Think about that for a moment. The shops. The offices. The churches. The City Hall. All of them filled with wounded and dying men, both Union and Confederate, because by the time the guns fell silent, there was no room for loyalties—only for suffering.
The City Hall's offices became hospital wards. Men who had been processing legal documents and civic business just days before now found themselves stacking bodies. The floors that had been swept clean were now slick with blood. And the balcony where town officials once addressed citizens now offered a view of hell on earth—thousands of bodies scattered across fields that stretched to the horizon.
The Soldiers on the Balcony
The most famous ghostly encounter at the Old City Hall involves that balcony. Multiple witnesses over the years have reported the same basic experience: sitting on a bench across from the building, they look up and see two figures in Union uniforms standing at attention, gazing out over the square.
The figures appear solid at first glance—solid enough that witnesses often assume they're looking at Civil War reenactors or costumed actors from some local event. But there's something wrong. The figures don't move. They don't speak. They simply stand there, watching, as if they're still on guard duty for a battle that ended generations ago.
And then they vanish. Not slowly, not by walking away—they simply cease to be there. One moment the balcony holds two soldiers; the next moment it's empty.
Who were these men? Why do they still stand watch? Some theories suggest they were sentries who died at their posts during the battle, their sense of duty so strong that even death couldn't relieve them. Others believe they might be officers who felt responsible for the casualties that piled up in the building below them, their guilt keeping them tethered to this spot forever.
More Than Just the Balcony
The balcony soldiers are the most dramatic manifestation, but they're far from the only paranormal activity reported at the Old City Hall. People who have worked in the building over the years tell stories of unexplained footsteps on the upper floors, of doors that open and close on their own, of cold spots that appear in the middle of summer.
Some have heard voices—commands barked in the clipped tones of military officers, groans of pain from men long dead, whispered conversations that stop the moment anyone tries to locate them. Others have reported the smell of blood, of gunpowder, of the particular reek of a field hospital where surgeons worked without anesthesia and men screamed as saw met bone.
Paranormal investigators who have examined the building have recorded EVP sessions with interesting results. Voices that shouldn't be there answer questions about the battle, about their units, about whether they know they're dead. EMF readings spike in areas that correspond to where the hospital wards would have been set up. Whatever happened here in 1864 has left an imprint that modern technology can detect.
The Square's Dark History
The Civil War hospital isn't the only source of trauma attached to this site. Before the war, the courthouse property was used for public punishments—brandings, beatings, and executions. The square has witnessed hangings, public humiliations, and all the casual cruelties that were once considered acceptable forms of justice.
That history adds layers to the haunting. Not every spirit on the Public Square is a soldier from 1864. Some may be older, prisoners who met their end here in the years before the war changed everything. The supernatural energy of this place is complex, accumulated over generations of human suffering concentrated in one small area.
For those sensitive to such things, walking across the Public Square can be overwhelming. The weight of history presses down. The echoes of old violence seem to linger in the air. And if you stand in just the right spot at just the right time, you might feel the presence of someone standing beside you—someone who has no business being there at all.
Experience the Square for Yourself
Today, the Old City Hall building houses businesses that cater to Franklin's thriving tourism industry. You can grab a pizza at Mellow Mushroom and sit beneath the same roof where Union surgeons once amputated limbs. You can shop at boutiques located in buildings that served as makeshift morgues. The contrast between Franklin's charming present and its bloody past is everywhere on the Public Square.
If you're looking for the ghostly soldiers on the balcony, your best bet is to visit around dusk. Find a bench across from the building, settle in, and watch. Not everyone sees them—the spirits seem to choose their witnesses carefully. But enough people have reported the same experience over enough years that something is clearly happening there.
For a deeper exploration of Franklin's haunted history, including the Old City Hall and many other locations, join us on a Ghost City Tours experience. We'll walk you through the streets where the battle raged, past the buildings where men died, and share the stories that the living have tried to forget but the dead refuse to let go.
The soldiers on the balcony are still standing watch. After more than 160 years, they're still waiting for orders that will never come. And on quiet evenings in downtown Franklin, if you know where to look, you can see them—blue uniforms against the brick, eyes fixed on a horizon that exists only in the past.
Union soldiers have been spotted standing on this balcony for over 160 years
