Ghost Hunting in the French Quarter
Just as the commingling of the French and Spanish inspired the establishment of Vieux Carre, the spirits of the French Quarter’s past reportedly still commingle among the living. Ghosts of its most notorious ancestors — Jean Lafitte, Madame Delphine LaLaurie, and Marie Laveau —are said to still exist. These captivating characters and their legacies seem unable to break away from NoLa’s magnetic pull as if each is tethered to the city’s most haunted properties: Lafitte’s Blacksmith Shop Bar, the LaLaurie Mansion, St. Louis Cemetery №1.
I can’t blame them for not wanting to leave. NoLa is a city with a strong pulse and the French Quarter is its heart. NoLa’s predisposition to hauntings is in its DNA. A conduit for the living and dead alike, its rich history — Pirates, Prohibition, Voodoo, Mardi Gras, Native Americans, Slavery, Bordellos, Jazz, Plantations — has had a tremendous impact on the city both physically and psychically.
But are these spirit energies by-products of New Orleans’ tumultuous background? Or have they been conjured by human provocation? Are they destined to remain residents by choice? Or are they bound by those seeking to profit from NoLa’s omnipresent occultism? Or perhaps a perfect storm of Mother Nature and human nature combined is why ghosts call NoLa “home.”
The French Quarter is a fulcrum when it comes to parapsychology. The vast number of reported hauntings local to the area is why NoLa is considered by many to be the “Most Haunted City in the United States.” Its history of occultism and hedonism makes it an ideal setting for ghostly storytelling. Such tales of its haunting are like manifestations from the minds of masters such as Edgar Allen Poe, Henry James, Alexandre Dumas, Marquis de Sade. Even Mark Twain is said to have once referred to its cemeteries as the “Cities of the Dead.”
Notwithstanding Twain’s statement, however, I would argue that the New Orleans is a City for the Dead.
Known for it’s cuisine, jazz, and debauchery, NoLa’s mysticism is largely driven by the ever-existent influence of Louisiana Voodoo. The presence of voodoo is an inaudible drum beat, a rhythm that circulates through the city’s veins like blood. The legend of Voodoo Priestess Marie Laveau piques the curiosity of many who pay homage to her tomb at St. Louis Cemetery №1 in the hopes that an offering will arouse her spirit.
Despite various ghost tours offered throughout the French Quarter, I wanted to experience a spirit, not just listen to regurgitated musings about the dead offered by tour guides. As fascinating as these oft colorful stories are, truth is, they’re based on hearsay. Alternatively, I could have left it to chance whether I’d encounter an entity. Sure, I might witness a sheerish mist photobomb a drunken pack of frat dudes taking selfies while drinking Hurricanes at Pat O’Brien’s. Or maybe I’d randomly experience a spirit squeezing in-between me and fellow patrons riding the Carousel Bar at Hotel Monteleone.
But I wanted to maximize the odds of a first-hand interaction with the spiritual realm. So I signed up for a paranormal investigation.
Unbeknownst to me, though, the property where I and others would attempt to engage the spiritual world was the one-time home of Addie Hall, the victim of one of the most heinous crimes in NoLa’s history, and Zach Bowen, her boyfriend-killer.
Confession: I’m no stranger to certain phenomena. My experiences with the paranormal began as an adolescent. Late at night, I would sneak into the tunnel-esque hallway of our Victorian flat in San Francisco when my mom watched films such as “The Legend of Hell House” and “The Haunting” on broadcast television in the dining room. She was oblivious to my presence, but occasionally I would be greeted by the apparition of a young boy. He never attempted to interact with me; rather, he would stare, not at me, but through me. His emotionless expression every time suggested that the walls of what was once presumably his home seemed as unfamiliar to him as the strawberry blonde girl who now inhabited it.
At the time, I was too young to realize I was an empath. Empaths are able to “feel” the emotions of people around them. We’re like sponges absorbing others’ energies. This heightened sensitivity to the sensory world makes us predisposed to experiencing psychic and paranormal activities. Similar to when an individual inherits a genetic mutation that’s related to a disease, Empaths are more susceptible to the spiritual world.
However, being able to intensely “feel” and perceive the supernatural is why I’m a skeptic when it comes to the paranormal. Working in the legal profession, I have a penchant for evidence. A need to be convinced of things via tangible proof. I’m a person who rarely concludes that an act is paranormal in nature. Yet throughout my life, I’ve experienced events I simply cannot rationally explain. Trust me, I’ve tried. I still try.
A mysterious aura encompasses the French Quarter like the surrounding Mississippi River. Perhaps this is a reason why ghosts are attracted to NoLa. I’ve learned in my research that certain things can attract and/or rouse supernatural phenomena and vice-versa: Electromagnetic fields, limestone, bodies of flowing water, railroad tracks. Paranormal activity occurs when a ghost is present or an object moves without explanation but hauntings are strictly associated with the presence of ghost(s).
I landed at Louis Armstrong Airport in the wake of a coming thunderstorm. Even at 9p.m., the humidity was almost stifling. It was as if the Barometric pressure had caused the air to wrap around me like a spooning lover, his skin clinging to mine. NoLa had taken a hold of me before I’d even stepped foot upon French Quarter terrain. On my way to the French Market Inn, my Lyft driver, a lovely local named Erica, said, “New Orleans is gonna love a pretty, tiny California girl like you. I’m not foolin’. This City falls in love with some people. Like it’s drawn to them. Makes ‘em never want to leave.”
I’d remember Erica’s words throughout my 5-day trip. NoLa is a spellcaster. Like a femme fatale, her allure and sex appeal are irresistible. NoLa possesses an undeniable paranormal prowess. It’s sense of spiritualism is as intoxicating as those mint juleps served at the Carousel Bar. And for some of us, the French Quarter forms an attachment that persists long after departure.
NoLa radiates a certain energy that seduces and entices. Similar to human attraction, her charisma is unquantifiable yet palpable. Insatiable. She can turn visitors into would-be suitors who can’t get enough of her mysterious ways.
Standing in the courtyard of my hotel, I could imagine skinny-dipping with my crush in the salt water pool late at night, giggling softly as we undressed each other under the watchful spotlight of the Yellow Moon the Neville Brothers sing of overhead. A certain impulse comes over you while you’re under NoLa’s throes, a weakening of inhibitions that inspires blush-worthy activities. During Prohibition, men crowded May Baily’s in Storyville, hungry to spend their money to engage in lascivious behaviors.
The French Quarter possesses an innate eroticism that titillates the senses. Under the influence of NoLa, adults gleefully strip while traversing Bourbon Street. Particularly after dark, bare skin is a valuable commodity and payment is most often dispensed in the form of beads. NOPD officers sitting on horseback watch over various blocks while guys throw beads at females passing by, hoping to be flashed (and vice-versa.) The perfume of Magnolia trees lingers throughout the town. Producing hedione — the scent of lust — the citrusy aroma mimics a pheromone, a juicy sweetness that can cause one’s cheeks to flush and pupils to dilate.
A large part of NoLa’s appeal manifests from its haunted history, which can be almost as addictive to study as the seemingly free-flowing bourbon throughout the city limits.
Despite the creation of even elaborate contraptions that can capture and measure paranormal activity, the presence of spirits often provokes our senses. Even in 90 percent humidity during daylight, certain blocks gave me goosebumps that crawled up the back of my neck. I would routinely look over my shoulder while walking through Pirate’s Alley, expecting to see something behind me. I’ll even admit that there was an instance when I mistook the whistle of wind to be the whisper of an disembodied voice. The Manager of the French Market Inn told me she’d often “feel” what she believed to be a female in the reception and sitting areas. Sometimes she’d catch a shadow from the corner of her eye. It’s easy to rationalize ghost activity as being trickery of the mind.
Unlike the Pharmacie Museum, Le Petit Theatre, and the Beauregard-Keyes Mansion, 826 N. Rampart Street, also known as Bloody Mary’s Voodoo Museum, is distanced from other well-known haunted locations within the French Quarter.
I arrived at the Museum on Saturday, just before midnight, greeted by the raucousness of Bourbon Street echoing from blocks away.
Our group of 8 embarked on a walk-through with our investigator/host. Nothing felt remarkable about the ground floor museum, despite its rooms being decorated with allegedly haunted objects and voodoo-related paraphernalia. The upstairs unit seemed calm as well — except for the bathroom. As I walked through the small kitchen and stepped near the bath tub, my heart started to pound as if someone was trapped inside and vigorously trying to escape from inside the myocardium. The sensation was reminiscent of when I was 12 and my best friend and I witnessed a planchette feverously fly off of a Ouija Board in her bedroom. Unexpected, it was a kind of fear that the brain won’t let you forget, no matter how hard you try.
When the group returned downstairs, our host proceeded to show us a framed picture of Addie and Zach taken outside of the property. I was the only person present who wasn’t aware of their story, which read like a combination of Shakespeare and Brett Easton Ellis: They were troubled young lovers who many believe fell victim to NoLa’s charms. In the beginning, Addie and Zach seemed happy and in-love. Inseparable. But upon moving to N. Rampart Street and after having refused to evacuate following Hurricane Katrina, witnesses claim their relationship became increasingly volatile, combative.
It was a love story gone wrong. Very wrong.
On October 5, 2006, shortly after moving into the upstairs apartment above what was formerly the New Orleans Voodoo Spiritual Temple, Zach killed Addie. Rumors of Zach’s infidelity had surfaced days before, prompting Addie to ask the landlord to evict him. Contrarily, the landlord didn’t act, hoping the two would reconcile.
The details of Hall’s murder are almost as gruesome as those associated with the savagery at the hands of Madame LaLaurie. Bowen dismembered Hall’s body with a handsaw and knife in the bathtub, then consequently hid her body parts in various kitchen appliances. One report purports he’d even seasoned her arms and legs in a basting pan placed in the oven.
Bowen apparently kept the apartment at 60 degrees to preserve Hall’s body until she was subsequently discovered after Bowen jumped to his death from the roof of the Omni Royal Hotel on October 17. A suicide note tucked into his pocket directed police to their N. Rampart Street apartment, upon which time they discovered Bowen had detailed his crime in Hall’s journal as well as written across its walls.
“What the fuck?” I uttered as our guide continued to speculate as to the reasons why Bowen had brutally murdered a woman he loved. A woman next to me asked, “You didn’t know? That’s what made my husband and me book this tour. We wanted to investigate ‘The Murder House.’”
I had a somatic reaction upon learning the details of the Hall-Bowen murder-suicide. As the others chatted, I could feel tears forming. In hindsight, I should’ve left. But I’d spent $65.00 and honestly, a part of me did wonder whether Addie’s and/or Zach’s spirits were still present, along with those of a young slave boy and others who allegedly haunt the premises.
As thrilled as I felt to potentially record a disembodied voice and bear witness to technology like a K-2 meter reacting to a presence, my guilt persisted during these 90 minutes. I could feel a sense of rage mounting, not about the crime per se, but that Addie’s and Zach’s deaths were possibly being manipulated — even exploited —for financial gain.
Moreover, the same kitchen appliances where Hall’s body had been stored were still present. Investigators often use “trigger objects,” items that belonged to a spirit while alive, to coax a ghost’s attention. The familiarity of a beloved stuffed toy or doll or personal item can draw an entity closer. In this case, the oven and fridge where Zach purportedly hid Addie’s mutilated body parts were being employed in hopes of “triggering” their spirits.
The paranormal has always been a lucrative business. Human curiosity drives this market. We have a satiety for wanting answers to questions such as whether an afterlife really exists or can spirits be summoned upon command, and what happens to a person’s spirit upon death. Occultism manifests in many forms, such as the casting of spells and the summoning of spirits. Long before the innovation of ghost box devices and the like, spiritualists held seances to “demonstrate” their ability to communicate with and conjure spirits, and investigators used mechanical means like dousing rods and pendulums to measure activity. Technology being as pervasive and savvy as it is today has exponentially increased the number of opportunities to share knowledge and information about the paranormal. But the establishment of countless digital platforms also allows for even greater exploitation of the paranormal field.
Following Darwin’s publication of the Theory of Evolution and the establishment of rationalism, several scientists; namely, William James, a heralded professor at Harvard University and founder of the American Psychological Association, became devoted to investigating “unexplainable” occurrences of ghosts. Even the creator of Sherlock Holmes, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, wrote A History of Spiritualism, attempting to describe his own experiences with the spirit world.
Nowadays, shows such as Ghost Adventures, The Dead Files, and other Travel channel programs have made the field of paranormal investigation “cool.” Even if they capture authentic activity, the flip side is that their growing popularity can inspire viewers to act like investigators anywhere they go, which can be dangerous for those who’re unaware of the negative consequences associated with occult practices.
Pragmatism aside, paranormal and ghost tours have become about as commonplace for travelers as bar hops or sightseeing tours in normal cities. But New Orleans is far more extraordinary than a typical U.S. city — it is the nexus of paranormal activity in America. In fact, seemingly countless episodes are dedicated to investigations centered in NoLa and surrounding areas, some of which feature the now-owner of 826 N. Rampart Street: Bloody Mary herself.
Early evening, you’ll see groups of people standing in front of the Louisiana State Supreme Court, intently listening and many of them secretly hoping for a glimpse of those ghostly apparitions that travel its corridors. Muriel’s restaurant even welcomes such visits by hosting a special table upstairs in its secluded “Séance Room” for the spirit of the man responsible for restoring its building after a fire.
Most notable is the magnificent facade of the grandiose home located on the corner of Royal and Governor Nichols. Otherwise known as the LaLaurie Mansion, 1140 Royal Street is considered to be THE epicenter of paranormal activity. Based on its Creole townhouse style exterior, it’s hard to fathom that its over 10,000 square-foot interior was a torture chamber once owned by actor Nicholas Cage. The degree of human depravity exemplified by its owner, Creole socialite Madame Delphine LaLaurie (also regarded as the first female serial killer), inspired an entire season of American Horror Story. Despite a major fire in 1834 (said to have been started by the family cook, a 70-year-old woman who was chained to the stove) as well as flooding and hurricanes, its regal presence remains intact.
The stories associated with the LaLaurie mansion are perhaps more lurid than most humans can imagine. Its caretaker of many years alleges to have had numerous paranormal experiences, including having witnessed the apparition of what is believed to be a 12-year-old slave girl who jumped off of the balcony to her death after having been chased by the Madame.
The lurid details of Madam LaLaurie’s heinous crimes were unbeknownst to me until I returned home to San Francisco as were the tales of ghost tour guides who often refuse to walk on the same side of the street where the property is located because many consider it to be cursed. I can honestly say that each and every time I walked alongside the mansion — including the first time, when I was totally unaware of the mansion’s identity (it isn’t physically labeled on the exterior)— I felt sick to my stomach. It was the type of nausea that persists over the course of hours; a visceral feeling that I experienced whenever I passed by this property.
The sensation was akin to those seconds of sickness I experienced before entering the scene of where Addie Hall was dismembered at 826 N. Rampart Street.
It’s known that the mind can influence our body’s sense of homeostatic functions. However, those sharp abdominal pains I experienced at both locations weren’t based on a conscious awareness of the travesties that occurred within. Rather, I believe it was my subconscious mind that “sensed” what can only be described as evil or negative energies which continue to dwell at each.
So did I obtain tangible “evidence” of the paranormal during my time inside 826 N. Rampart Street? I’d conclude yes. Upon asking if an entity could mimic my knock on a wall inside of the adjacent carriage house, within seconds, me and three others heard a clear and distinct knock respond in the same location. During a ghost box session, the only “voice” to come through was the name of a dear friend of mine who’d committed suicide a few years ago. When our host asked if anyone knew of an “R” (I refer to him by initial for privacy reasons), the other 7 emphatically denied knowing anyone by this name. I won’t disclose the remaining details, except to say I never attempted to interact with “R”. After being inside of the location for 65 minutes, I became weary of wanting to either elicit or engage additional activity.
The take away was a lesson I’ve always subscribed to — be cautious when it comes to the paranormal. I’m the type who discourages friends from trying to cleanse their homes using sage or attempting to make contact with the spiritual world via electronic voice phenomena (EVP) or other means of conjuration. I’m hesitant for a simple reason: Like Newtonian physics, for every action there exists an equal and opposite reaction; therefore, even the most innocent of endeavors, say, playing with a Ouija Board, can potentially open doorways into a realm of which many do not have the skills to close. Even partaking in Wicca or White Magic can catalyze the manifestation of darker energies that can be difficult to remove.
Furthermore, participating in ghost or paranormal tours can result in spiritual attachments, in which an entity (typically a negative entity) can “attach” themselves to a person and follow them once leaving the location. While there are certain blessings one can use prior to possible exposure to the spirit world (e.g. the Lord’s Prayer and St. Michael the Archangel Prayers), these are merely words, which when used alone are often innocuous. Holy Water and protection salts can create a sort of shield of protection; however, evil entities are well-known for being cunning and manipulative. They can appear in seemingly innocent forms in order to gain one’s trust before revealing their true personae. And by this time, demonic entities in particular have already oppressed their target.
After the investigation had concluded, I walked the French Quarter for more than an hour. Along Bourbon Street, I tried to forget about this sadness by drowning my sorrow in the surrounding sexual energy of strangers engaging in salacious behaviors. Yet I couldn’t help but wonder about the mischief Addie and Zach might’ve gotten into. Was there something about 826 N. Rampart Street that had a negative influence on them? Or had they fallen down a proverbial rabbit hole of addiction and violence where the only way out was death?
Since returning home from NoLa in May, I’ve experienced an unusually large number of intense dreams and nightmares, some set in NoLa. Although I had good intentions upon exploring 826 N. Rampart Street, I now realize that while residual hauntings of a certain location can be harmless, alternatively, the act of intentionally binding to a location — keeping ghosts or spirits active within a space — has consequences. For example, when a violent event takes place, sometimes a person’s spirit cannot leave. It’s a scenario wherein these spirits are forced to relive those moments just prior to death over and over, by virtue of provocation by the living. It’s analogous to the same scene in a movie repeating itself in a feedback loop. Simply put, a skilled medium or person should help a spirit “move on” whenever possible, not encourage it to remain.
The circumstances surrounding the Hall-Bowen deaths is an example of a “final scene” that should never again be replayed, even in a spiritual sense. It has been reported that Zach Bowen was known to act erratically and suffered from addiction. Having served in the military, it would come as no surprise if he’d been afflicted with PTSD. Addie Hall was a spirited “spit-fire” of a woman. Thus, it’s safe to say these were tormented souls who came together, presumably in search of love. While I have no definitive proof to confirm or deny whether their spirits still haunt 826 N. Rampart Street, I can only pray that if there is indeed an after life, both have moved on.
Months have now passed since my NoLa trip. While I have many great memories and am eager to return, I still lament having gone on this paranormal investigation. In hindsight, that evening, my gut told me to forego the investigation. Maybe certain curiosities are better left unexplored. A Pandora’s Box that should remain sealed and buried.
Notwithstanding the tangible proof validating my experiences — the heaviness I experienced in the bathroom, responsive knocking on the wall, the appearance of “R” via ghost box —I’m now of the belief that it might be best to let spirits rest, even when they’re restless.
