Do you believe in ghosts? Have you ever seen a ghost?
GHOSTS!!! I have had some weird things happen around me so...Sometimes I believe, sometimes I don't.
My wedding anniversary is Halloween. Just about every year we go somewhere "neat." Atlanta, Boston, New York, Las Vegas and so on...
One year we went to New Orleans. We stayed at the Hotel Maison de Ville in the Carriage House Suite. (if you go to the link you will see a fine picture, which will add much to the story where my description fails)
The hotel is over 200 years old and boasts that Tennessee Williams slept and, more importantly, wrote there. John James Audubon painted there. And as one might imagine, some of the rooms are former slaves quarters. Needless to say, the place has history. The hotel is almost fortress like and if you weren't looking for it, you might very well wander right by without notice. Once behind the walls, you can't even hear the rowdy Bourbon street crowds.
Upon entering the main building you are met by a stairway to the left and off to the right is the check-in desk. This entry way is barely wide enough for two people to stand side by side and the check-in is more of a cubbyhole than a room. Passed that is a parlor where you can serve yourself a port in the evening. Beyond the parlor are doors that lead to the rest of the hotel and a brick paved courtyard complete with a variety of botanicals, a fountain and wrought iron furniture. If you don't want to take your port in the parlor, you can sip it in the courtyard. It is as Southern Gothic as you can get, it is also very pleasant and inviting.
The Carriage House Suite is set off to the back of the courtyard. It stands alone and is the most private room in the hotel.
I do not know how much damage Katrina caused the hotel, but when we stayed there the Carriage House entrance was secreted behind a 7 ft tall privacy hedge or ivy covered wall. The door to the suite was secured with an old-fashioned key and lock. It had a lock cover that slid to one side in order to insert the key. For some reason I was unable to open the door to our room. I would struggle with it then hand the key over to my husband who seemed to be able to twist the key and open the door with ease.
One evening we walked around the French Quarter and happened upon a very nice liquor store. I was keen on picking up some Blackened Voodoo beer, and maybe a few other drinkable fun things I could only find in the Crescent City, to take back to Arkansas. By the time we were through shopping we had picked out so many things that we couldn't carry it all back to the hotel so we arranged for the purchase to be delivered to us.
We got back to the hotel an hour or so later. We were halfway across the courtyard when my husband stopped and said he needed to go back and alert the night clerk to give us a ring when the liquor arrived. I told him to give me the key and I would open the room up for us. He did and I made my way down the dark and creepy path to the suite. I could hardly see what I was doing. I bent close to the lock and slid the cover to the side and after several attempts at inserting the key managed to do so. Once the key was in place I began struggling with the lock. The key would turn but the latch wouldn't retract. I began to get aggravated. I felt a presence behind me that I assumed was my husband. I didn't look up or behind but I acknowledged it by saying something like, "Why does this door hate me so much?" There was no answer. After a few more seconds of jiggling the door and key, I felt a hand press firmly on my right shoulder. I took this as a silent gesture from the husband to, “Step aside and let me do that." I waved my hand and said something like, "NO! I know I can do this! I can do it!"
This time, when there was no answer, I straightened up and turned around. There was no one there. I called my husband's name. No answer. I walked to the edge of the secluded walkway and scanned the courtyard. I was alone.
Just then my husband came out of the main building.
"Were you out here a minute ago?"
"No."
"Just now while I was trying to open the door, you weren't with me? You didn't touch me?"
"I have been talking to the desk clerk this whole time."
I laughed and said, "I have a story for you."
The invisible hand on my shoulder event didn't scare me, but there was something about that suite that was unsettling. It just felt wrong. It was uncomfortable and constricting. The stairway to the second floor was narrow and steep and almost spiral in its design. I envisioned myself falling down the stairs every time I encountered them. I was uneasy in the bathroom, checking and double-checking the window to make sure no one was watching me. I noticed our moods changing when we were in the room. We argued about stupid things and at the drop of a hat. During one particularly ugly and exasperating argument, I found myself changing from my nightgown into my street clothes. I grabbed my coat and went out the door; my husband did not try to stop me. I walked the streets of the French Quarter at 2:00 am, alone. When I returned to the hotel I sat in the courtyard for the longest time because I didn't want to go back in to the carriage house. I wasn't afraid; I just didn't like the feeling of the place. I was even more irked when I climbed the creepy staircase and found my husband in bed, sleeping soundly, not a bit concerned that I was wandering around N.O. for hours by myself at night. New Orleans is a dangerous place. As a bartender named Shaun told us, "People come here and disappear all the time!" Either way, these days when the husband requests I call for a check in if I'm going to be out late (after 9pm), I just remind him about the time I was "big girl" enough to amble the streets of New Orleans by myself with out his concern.
I have no idea if the Maison de Ville is known for ghost activity, but New Orleans is easily one of the creepiest towns in America. If any town is going to have ghosts, N.O. is it. Katrina will certainly be the catalyst for a new generation of ghost stories.
