The Ghosts of the Haunted Lotz House

Johann Albert Lotz was a German immigrant with sawdust in his veins and ambition in his heart. A classically trained master woodworker, he came to America seeking opportunity and found it in the rolling hills of Middle Tennessee. In 1855, he purchased five acres of land from his neighbor Fountain Branch Carter—yes, that Carter, whose house across the street would become equally infamous—and set about building his masterpiece.

The Lotz House wasn't just a home. It was a showroom, a living advertisement for Johann's extraordinary craftsmanship. Every cornice, every mantelpiece, every inch of intricate woodwork was designed to make potential clients say, 'I want that man building my furniture.' The Greek Revival beauty was completed in 1858, a two-story white frame house that stood proudly on Columbia Avenue.

Johann and his wife Margaretha raised their family there, including two young children who would tragically die before reaching their third birthdays. That grief would be the first shadow to fall across this house. It would not be the last.

When people ask me what the Battle of Franklin was like, I tell them to imagine Pickett's Charge at Gettysburg—then multiply the intensity and compress it into just five hours after sunset. That's what happened on the evening of November 30, 1864, and the Lotz House sat at the absolute center of it.

Confederate General John Bell Hood ordered a massive frontal assault against entrenched Union forces. The charge began at 4:00 PM, and by the time the guns fell silent around 9:00 PM, nearly 10,000 men lay dead, dying, or wounded. Six Confederate generals were killed—more than any other single engagement of the entire war. The fighting was so intense, so close-quarters, that men fought with bayonets, rifle butts, and bare hands in the gathering darkness.

When the shooting started, the Lotz family fled across the street to the Carter House basement, where they huddled with twenty-three other terrified civilians as the battle raged literally above their heads. When they emerged the next morning, Johann found his beautiful home nearly destroyed. The entire south wall had been blown away by cannon fire. Seventeen dead horses lay in his yard alongside hundreds of bodies, some stacked six feet deep.

But the house still stood. And almost immediately, it became something new: a field hospital where Confederate surgeons worked through the night, amputating limbs and watching men die faster than they could be saved. The blood that soaked into those floors came from boys who cried for their mothers, from veterans who'd survived Shiloh only to die in Franklin, from men whose names we'll never know.

Here's what I've learned after years of studying haunted locations: battlefields don't just create ghosts—they create layers of them. The Lotz House has so much paranormal activity because so much trauma happened in such a concentrated space over such a short period of time. The energy of that night in 1864 has never fully dissipated.

The Children in the Windows

Remember those two Lotz children who died young? Multiple visitors have reported seeing a little girl's face peering out from the upstairs windows when the house is completely empty. Others have felt small hands tugging at their pants legs as they walk through the house—the unmistakable gesture of a child trying to get an adult's attention. One theory suggests these are the spirits of the Lotz children. Another suggests they're the ghosts of drummer boys who died in the battle, some as young as twelve years old.

The Woman on the Stairs

One of the most frequently reported apparitions is a woman in period dress standing on the staircase, holding a candle and calling out 'Where is Ann?' Ann was Margaretha Lotz's middle name. Is this Margaretha herself, forever searching for something—or someone—she lost? Or is it the echo of some other woman from that terrible night, one of the many wives and mothers who wandered the battlefield calling for their loved ones?

The Soldiers Outside

Guests report hearing the sounds of battle—disembodied screams, shouted orders, the thunder of cannon fire—at all hours of the day and night. Some have seen semi-transparent figures in Civil War uniforms moving around the exterior of the house, as though they're still fighting a battle that ended over 160 years ago. The Travel Channel's investigation captured these sounds on audio equipment, and they remain among the most compelling EVP recordings ever documented at a Civil War site.

The Weeping Woman

Perhaps the most heartbreaking spirit is the crying woman. Visitors hear her sobbing in various parts of the house, her grief as fresh now as it was in 1864. Some believe she's a wife who learned her husband fell in the battle. Others think she might be one of the nurses who worked in the field hospital, overwhelmed by the suffering she witnessed. Whoever she is, her sorrow has become part of the fabric of this place.

The Lotz House isn't just haunted according to local legend—it's been rigorously investigated by some of the most respected paranormal teams in the country. In 2018, the Travel Channel's Haunted Live brought the Tennessee Wraith Chasers to investigate, and what they found exceeded even their expectations.

EMF meters spike without explanation. Temperature drops occur in rooms with no drafts. Objects move on their own—docents have reported finding items in different positions than where they left them, with no human explanation. EVP sessions have captured voices speaking in both English and what sounds like German—a reminder that Johann Lotz's native tongue still echoes in his former home.

But perhaps the most unsettling phenomenon is the feeling visitors describe. There's a weight to the air in certain rooms, particularly the areas where surgical procedures took place. People who've never experienced anything paranormal in their lives report sudden waves of sadness, of pain, of overwhelming grief that seems to come from nowhere. Skeptics have left the Lotz House as believers.

Today, the Lotz House operates as a museum dedicated to preserving the memory of the Battle of Franklin and the people who lived through it. The bloodstains remain visible on the floors—a conscious decision by the preservationists who felt that sanitizing the house would dishonor the men who died there. You can still see where cannonballs crashed through the walls, where surgeons' saws cut through bone, where ordinary people experienced extraordinary horror.

The museum offers regular tours, including specialized ghost tours that delve deep into the paranormal history of the site. Their cellar tours are particularly intense—the basement served as a holding area for wounded soldiers awaiting surgery, and the energy down there is palpable.

If you're planning to visit Franklin, the Lotz House pairs perfectly with a Ghost City Tours experience. We'll take you through the streets where the battle raged, past the buildings that became hospitals, and share the stories of the people—both living and dead—who shaped this remarkable town. Franklin has been called the most haunted small town in America, and the Lotz House is ground zero of that haunting.

Just be prepared. When you walk through that door, you're not just visiting a museum. You're stepping into a space where time has folded in on itself, where the veil between worlds is thin, where 1864 is always just a heartbeat away. The soldiers who died there haven't forgotten. And once you've been inside, you won't forget them either.