Well enough of that, you guys want to hear about the ghosts right??
A long long time ago, my Great Grandmother purchased a house as an investment. She actually bought four of them, one for each of her children. Smart chick, my great-granny. One man had owned the house, she bought for our line and had purchased it from the US Government. The houses were used as a staging house, from what I understood, the military, during WWII. Either it was offices, or actual living quarters I’m unsure, New Orleans had a very large staging area during that time, for training and processing. The house went from my Great Grandmother to my Grandmother when she passed and was never used as an actual residence, just a rental for most of my Grandmother’s life, until my Granny renovated her own home and moved into the Louisville house during renovations. This is when the stories began. Strange noises, doors opening, doors closing, things of that nature. But, my Granny is a very logical person, a mathematician, so things of that nature were just considered tidings of a settling house.
When my grandmother’s renovations were finished, she moved back into her house and then my mother, my two brothers and myself moved into the house, because my mom had just divorced my father and we needed a house to live in while my mom went back to school. I was fifteen, with a newly divorced mom who was in school and dating and giving me very little attention. I think I might have perpetuated the hauntings because I became obsessed with divination, tarot cards, conjuring and things of a more pagan nature, nothing ridiculous, just a teen who likes to read, reading stuff from the library on subjects that I thought were magic. A friend of mine bought me a tarot deck, nothing too intense, but the odd noises increased. Running sounds would echo very loudly through the house at 8 pm every night. Every night. My cousin’s boyfriend who was Latino and very very superstitious saw a light over the bed and refused to ever enter the house again. I awoke to see a man standing next to my bed in full battle dress on numerous occasions and my tarot cards had startling accuracy. Accuracy. Meaning if I laid down a set it would always be the same cards if I asked the same question. Something that I could not recreate when outside the house. A friend of mine actually did a side by side reading with me and we pulled the exact same cards – nine in total. We stopped at nine, too freaked out.
Everything was rather benign though and it was almost just like a cool story you told when you were drinking with friends. My mother likes to bring it up a lot. I eventually joined the military and moved out of the house. My mom graduated and bought a house of her own and Granny rented the house. Again.
Fast forward six years and Granny was renting it to a terrible woman who neglected her child and the neighbors were fed up. This was a very very nice neighborhood, one of the best in New Orleans and they didn’t like the riffraff that was going on in the house. My husband (bf at the time) and I had just decided to live together and my Granny asked if we could move into the property instead of renting outside the family so she would know there was someone “respectable” living there. Can’t deny granny.
The haunting started up immediately. The refrigerator door was constantly swinging open and it was new with a great seal. I would walk into the kitchen and ALL the cabinets would be open (think the 6th Sense). The running at 8pm continued. One night my husband and I were sleeping when there was a loud banging coming from the bathroom. Someone was banging on the window…a window that looked out into the house (a shoddy add on, had the bathroom window looking into the storage room that was added on to the house in hte 60s). The window was actually situated so you would have to climb up a cabinet to get to it and like I said, was inside the house, so it wasn’t like it could be a neighbor banging away. There was no one else in the house and it scared the crap out of me.
And lastly, the grand finale of the hauntings. I don’t think he liked my stepbrother and sister, because one Mother’s Day my mom and her new husband and kids, along with my brother came over and we BBQd. The kids were in their early teens, tweens really, and were just being relatively good kids, just hanging out. My stepsister was in the kitchen with my brother and she went to the fridge to get a Diet Coke. I had a decorative HUGE jar of cut up oranges (something you would get at Pier One or World Market) at the back of the fridge and three German Beer Steins at the front. My brother (who was eighteen) said he watched as the jar slid forward and moved to the side as it passed the mugs and then fell, striking the back of my stepsisters head. The jar exploded. There was glass and vinegar and oranges everywhere. She was bleeding. She’s lucky it wasn’t worse. If it would have hit her higher on her head she would of had a concussion or been knocked out, but it hit her at the base of the head. We spent an hour in the bathtub washing out the oranges and then cleaning up the kitchen. Questioning the event we grabbed a stool and peered at the top of the fridge. Our detective skills noticed that there was actually a track in the dust that zig zagged. Wouldn’t a jar sliding because of a sinking house, or just jostling would make a straight line, right? We had no answer. Especially since it almost looked as if the the jar went AROUND the beer stein in front of it.
On the way out the door after being traumatized and a little shaken up, my stepbrother stopped to peer at my collection of DVDs and CDs (back when you still collected your CDs and displayed them in fancy case thingys), they were behind three tall candle holders that reached upwards of four feet. He touched nothing. I was watching. The entire area just crashed to the ground all of the cds, DVDs and candles just fell in upon themselves, but towards him, not away from him, like it would if he would have touched them. There was stuff everywhere. My stepbrother ran out of the house and I don’t think he was comfortable coming back ever since….but after that everything seemed to go quiet. There really wasn’t that many nights when we heard the running noise anymore, and no more cabinets or fridge being opened. It just stopped. Maybe the ghost used up all it’s energy on that day. Or, as my husband said we came to a peaceful understanding with him.
Not too long after, about a year and a half, the house was buried under 13 feet of water and then later torn down. Our family sold the lot and a contractor bought it. A new house has been constructed on the lot. It’s a huge monster of a house. But the three oak tress that my Great Grandmother planted are still standing on the front lawn. I wonder if the ghost made it through Katrina – if he went with the house, or is he staying with the lot? Will the new family that moved into the house hear running at 8 pm every evening, louder in the Summer?
|The three oak tress. Still standing. They made it through Betsy and Katrina with just a little lean…|