Craig Fletcher
Sep 1, 2018 · 6 min read

The Haunted House Of Hargis Louisiana

As I’ve mentioned on numerous occasions, I grew up in Hargis Louisiana, in a house that was built before the civil war.

Hargis is located about three miles outside of the little town of Montgomery, in the pine hills of central Louisiana, out on rural highway 122, and If you blinked you might miss it.

Built in 1856 by a man known only as Mr. Mathis, the plantation house that I would one day call home would still be relatively new by the time armed conflict between the Union and the Confederacy broke out in 1861. Now, not much is known of this mysterious Mr. Mathis, other than that he owned a large amount of the Hargis area that made up the plantation, at the center of which stood the house. To get right into the gist of the story, yes, Mathis was indeed murdered in his/my house.

Through some research, I’ve managed to uncover the details of the story. And, although it varies to some extent and no specific dates were cited, the legend goes like this.

Apparently Mathis was a very cruel master and had a perverted way of punishment for his slaves. An iron ring was screwed into one of the porch columns where he would tie the slave and have him beaten with a whip. Meanwhile old Mathis would rape the slave woman in his bedroom. The master bedroom was just off the porch and had one of those old high windows one could walk through.

One day he was performing his perverted punishment to a slave that had been chopping wood for the coming winter. Mathis' brother-in-law arrived in a carriage and witnessed the perverted act. He became so enraged that he cut the poor slave down. The slave then ran over to the wood pile grabbed his axe, ran through the open window, chased old Mathis up the stairs and chopped his head clean off.

All hell would break loose. The brother-in-law had to flee the country for Europe and the slave was hung from an oak tree around the Winn Parish courthouse.

Ever since then one can hear old man Mathis’ head rolling down the stairs late at night. The blood stain at the foot of the stairs will NOT clean up, and the old iron gates to the property will not stay shut even when pad locked. Nothing but tragedy has followed anyone who lived there thereafter. The body of Mathis is buried on the property under a concrete slab and lightning is alleged to hit the slab about once a year.

Below is the actual marker for Mr. Mathis’ gravesite located in the woods on a now separate plot of land once originally part of the plantation. Legend has it that Mathis feared slaves would dig his corpse up and mutilate the body, so he had insisted it be covered with a concrete slab, but lightening would always strike it because he was cursed.

No doubt that story has been embellished by locals over the decades until the only truthful parts of the entire account are that apparently there was a man, his name was Mathis, and he was murdered in the house.

For one, in order for Mathis to run upstairs, he would of had to exit out the door/window that the axe wielding slave had just ran through, to access the stairs, which at the time of original construction were located behind a center door on the front porch. You can make out the upstairs door in the center of the porch in the drawing depicted in the article cover photo. The door to the left leads into the master bathroom. The door to the right opened into the livingroom or parlour in those days.

Further research revealed a more accurate, less exaggerated account as follows. Mr. Mathis was murdered with a dirk knife, in his sleep, in a back bedroom of the house, by a slave, who later confessed, and was hung from an oak tree on the Winn Parish Courthouse square. Mathis' brother-in-law had conspired, and hastily fled the country.

Period.

The end.

Growing up, most all of my classmates believed my house was haunted. A side effect of stories they had no doubt heard from their parents and grandparents.

By far, the most prominent story we had heard about our home was about the blood at the murder site in the house rising up from the floor. Supposedly, when it rained the humidity would make the spot in the old floor darken and discolor. But as for “blood rising up from the floor" that’s just a lot of local flavored tall tales and hokum. The floor where the murder was reported to have occurred had actually been tiled over long before we ever moved into the home, so there’s no evidence available to corroborate this farcical story.

As for any possible paranormal activity, the weirdest thing we experienced the entire time we lived there was us kids discovering a ceramic dog. One day, shortly after moving in, while exploring in the void space on the second story we found a decorative black ceramic dog and about five minutes later we stumbled across a 45 record titled Beware The Dog. A mere coincidence, no doubt, but pretty spooky stuff at the time to me and my brother. Taking no chances, my younger brother Brian would subsequently smash both the dog and the record to bits with a claw hammer.

My mother did report she would often hear noises in the house, like someone was up milling about at night, and she or dad would get up to investigate but find nothing. They always chalked it up to Brian, who was prone to sleep walking in his youth. But, who knows, maybe that was the evil slave owner’s head rolling around the house.

As for “tragedy has followed anyone who lived there thereafter”. Our family lived there for decades with nothing tragic to report, unless you consider my dad’s untimely passing in 2000 from injuries sustained in an automobile accident suspect. But seeing as how the accident nor his passing occurred on the property itself I can hardly see that theory holding water. Maybe the ghost of old man Mathis went along for the ride. I guess even demonic spirits might need a night out at the casino gambling and drinking to break up the monotony.

So sorry. No demonic possession. No paranormal activity. No headless slave owner hauntings to report. In the end, the only thing horrifying or tragic about this whole story is the levels of depravity that the modern day den of thieves and meth heads that comprises most of Grant Parish have sunk to. As soon as they discovered the house abandoned they looted and ransacked it. We still own the house, and the “plantation “ is now a mere ninety two acres. But it’s ours. The Fletchers own it lock, stock, and barrel.

I can still remember the last night I spent in the old house when dad passed away. I prefer to remember it that way. The old house still stands, and I’m sure the legends and tall tales continue to grow like the vegetation that’s slowly claiming the structure. Maybe one day I’ll go back there and work on my writing.

Hmmm, speaking of my writing. Come to think of it. The only person in the legend who wasn’t given closure was the poor slave wife who was raped.

Raped and widowed slave Hattie Leroux was actually a creole voodoo witch. Right before she committed suicide over her grief she cursed Mathis’ soul. Every time lightening strikes Mathis’ tomb people in Hargis go missing and tonight a team of paranormal experts are going to find out why.

I love writing.

Craig Fletcher

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