Haunting True Crime Stories

The seeds for this unsettling tale were planted on February 27, 1859, when New York State Representative Daniel Sickles shot and killed his sworn enemy and romantic rival, United States District Attorney Philip Barton Key, in front of a crowd of stunned onlookers.

The events of that day were the culmination of weeks of suspicion and growing tension. Sickles and his wife Teresa were considered the cream of the crop in the political circles of Washington’s elite. Life had been as good as it gets for a time, that is, until Teresa caught the eye of Philip Key, the son of Francis Scott Key, famous for composing “The Star-Spangled Banner.”

Flattered by the attention she was receiving from Key, Teresa had thrown caution to the wind and embarked on a torrid affair with the charismatic widower. Surprisingly inept at hiding their liaisons, it wasn’t long before tongues were wagging. It seemed that nearly everyone who was anyone knew about the relationship, everyone that is except for her blissfully ignorant husband.

Three days before the murder, Daniel Sickles had received an anonymous note informing him of his wife’s infidelity. The author of the correspondence had not only provided him with the name of Teresa’s lover, but also the details of how and when they were meeting up without his knowledge.

According to this person in the know, Key had rented a flat in Lafayette Square specifically to be near Teresa, with whom he was hopelessly smitten. On days when his schedule was clear, he would dangle a handkerchief out the window. If her husband was in his office or otherwise indisposed, his cheating spouse would sneak out of the house for a bit of afternoon delight.

When Sickles confronted his wife about the allegations, realizing that the party was over, she had tearfully owned up to the affair. Forgiving her on the spot, he had focused his jealous rage on Key, whom he held solely responsible for the near destruction of his marriage.

On the morning of February 27, Sickles met with his close friend and legal counsel, Samuel Butterworth, in the home he and Teresa shared in Lafayette Square. The barrister would later tell police that he had sensed that trouble was brewing shortly after his arrival.

Butterworth recalled that, after seeing Key on the street corner, he had gone outside to have a word with him. Aware of the affair and all that it entailed, he had suggested to Teresa’s paramour that he leave in order to avoid a scene. Heeding his advice, Key had turned and walked away.

Butterworth hadn’t known it at the time, but while he was outside trying to deescalate the situation, Sickles was arming himself to the hilt in preparation for what was to come.

His blood boiling over at the sight of his wife’s lover, Sickles had stormed out of the house and shouted for Key not to take another step. The two had briefly exchanged words before gunshots rang out.

In a matter of seconds, Key lay bleeding on the ground, begging for his life. Sickles, who had not an ounce of pity for the man who had tried to come between him and his beloved Teresa, had fired twice more, each shot hitting their mark.

As soon as Sickles backed off, bystanders took over, scooping up the mortally wounded Key and rushing him to the nearest building, which happened to be the Washington Club, a boarding house and place for congressmen to unwind. Their efforts, though noble, had come too late to save Key, who died a short time later.

Sickles, who had gunned down Key in broad daylight on one of the busiest streets in the city, was taken into custody later that day. At trial, he would become the first person in United States legal history to plead not guilty by reason of temporary insanity. The surprisingly sympathetic jury, feeling his pain, had acquitted him on all charges.

The killer, who had gotten off scot-free, went on to become a Civil War hero, where he fought on the side of the Union. He and Teresa remained married, though some say it was in name only, until February 5, 1867, when she died at the age of thirty after being stricken with tuberculosis.

Sickles died in 1914 from a cerebral hemorrhage. He was interred with full honors at the Arlington National Cemetery in Virginia. His story, however, doesn’t end there.

In the decades since the fatal shooting in Lafayette Square, both the perpetrator and victim are said to haunt the area. Strangely, while they have been either seen or heard by a number of witnesses, the pair are never seen together. It’s become apparent over the years that these enemies in life, forever separated in death, are fated to share the same space at different times, never meeting face-to-face.

Key’s ghost is said to always be running, as if trying to escape his killer. The phantom gunshots that often follow on the heels of these sightings indicate that his attempts to rewrite history are unsuccessful.

In alternate versions of the story, Key, having been denied justice in life, has assumed the role of judge and executioner in death. Determined to change the way his story ends, he pursues Sickles in a vain attempt to alter the past.

Sickles’ presence is said to always be preceded by a fast-paced thumping sound along the pavement. The source of this odd pounding is thought to be the wooden leg he sported after losing an appendage in the war. Haunted by the knowledge that he got away with murder, he is doomed to spend eternity trying to stay one step ahead of his demons.

Bound to the area of Lafayette Square by the entanglements of the past, Philip Key and Daniel Sickles appear to be trapped in a loop of madness and murder that knows no end. Forever united by a mutual fear and hatred that prevents either of them from seeing that past misdeeds can never be undone, they now dwell in a hell of their own making.

Resources: whitehousehistory.org, dcchs.org, defense.gov, washingtonpost.com, ghostcitytours.com