cajunmysteries - Tumblr blog

[cajunmysteries]

Story of the Day

Hello all, Terri here. It seems the daily post is not realistic at this point in time, but if you stay tuned I promise to continue to sneak up on you.  

Today's story is known by the locals of New Orleans as The Story of the Sultan's Palace. It is a tale that I am particularly fond of as it raises many controversial moral questions within the individuals who absorb the details. Enjoy. 

The house on Dauphine Street, to the eye of an unknowing passer-by, shows no symptoms of the evil, dark, and unsolved crimes that took place behind its walls.  The house appears to hold resemblance to typical French Quarter houses. Only two blocks from the infamous Bourbon Street, it fit in well with it's surrounding homes, complete with lovely wrought-iron laced balconies and intimate courtyard. 

Jean Baptiste Le Prete owned the house at 716 Dauphine Street from 1839-1873. He was, as most Quarter residence owners in that day, a wealthy plantation owner who used the house for socializing during the fall and winter. He resided the rest of the year with his family at their plantation home in Plaquemines Parish. 

During the later years of his ownership, thought a specific year in time is not known, a young Turkish man approuched Le Prete in surch of a house to rent. The foreign stranger claimed to need the home for his older brother, a wealthy Turkish sultan, who would be joining him later. 

The Turk was successful in obtaining the rental from Le Prete, and soon moved in with his entourage of both attractive women and men. The house sustained dramatic character changes almost immediately. Windows were heavily laden with draperies, allowing no external light inside the home. A padlock was secured on the gate and guards were stationed around the clock at said gate. On the rare event that the front door opened, a sweet smell of incense wafted through the door and the sound of tinkling music could typically be heard. 

As with most mysterious new comings in tight-knit neighborhoods, stories began to circulate of strange happenings in the neighborhood around the Dauphine Street home. Rumors circulated that the women with the young Turk were stolen away by him to America, and were originally part of the Sultan's harem. Further still, rumors circulated accusing the young Turk of hoarding boxes of treasure he had stolen from his Sultan brother and often held orgies which included sexual perversions and opium. 

Early one morning, a neighbor noticed the gate unlocked and a stream of blood coming from under the front door and trailing down the front steps. Of course, the police were quickly notified and as they slowly swung open the front door, the officers were met with carnage such as they had never experienced before, and would never experience again. Several officers could go no further than the front door as the putrid smell of death was so strong and penetrating. 

The extravagantly decorated home had become a human butcher shop. Organs and various body parts were discarded along the grand staircase. It was impossible for the officers to navigate the scene without disrupting the pools and streaks of blood across the beautiful wood floors. The same blood made it difficult to walk with falling.  Every individual had been so completely mutilated and discarded through out the house that it was hard to determine which part belonged to which body, but it was clear that all the occupants of the home had been slaughtered during the night. Only one of the victims was ever able to be identified.... 

As the officers ventured through the scene and into the courtyard, one spotted what appeared to be a glove. To the horror of this officer, upon closer inspection, the glove was actually a human hand...reaching from what appeared to be a shallow, freshly dug grave. In the grave was the young Turk, who had obviously injured before being buried alive.  It appeared that the last moments of the young man's life were torturous as he choked on the soil of that French Quarter soil. He was actively clawing for his life as he drew his last breath. 

Stories still circulate of a pirate ship which docked for less than a day and disappeared. This ship seems to be commonly linked to the tragedies, but this mass crime was never officially solved. 

Occupants of the surrounding homes on Dauphine Street have since, and still report the sound of tinkling music and that same sweet smell of incense coming from the house. Later residences of the home have seen a young man late at night who disappears as if by magic. Others claim to have seem a young man similar in description in the early morning hours in the windows facing the front gate to which the trail of blood led. 

Is this the spirit of the young Turkish man? Is he searching for closure in this horrific crime? Were the rumors of the stolen treasure and women by the young Turk from the Sultan, his brother, true? Did the Sultan seek revenge, leading to this act of absolute inhumanity? Had pirates learned of the treasure hidden behind the drapes and wrought-iron and stolen into the city in the middle of night to successfully obtain said treasure, eliminating all witnesses in the process?  Perhaps the spirit of the young man restlessly haunting the halls of this Dauphine Street home is the only one who holds the answers and he has not spoken... 

Yet.

[cajunmysteries]

Story of the Day

'ello govna, been awhile, sorry about that. Today's story is of a charming old place that is well known in these parts. I've always known of it's existence, but I just recently learned it's history. Enjoy.

Oak alley plantation was built by Jacques Telesphore Roman III. The house was originally called Bon Sejour and would later come to be known as "Oak Alley", inspired by the line of oak trees planted on the grounds in the 1690's. Construction began in 1832 and four years passed before it was complete. Upon completion it was the finest home in Louisiana Typical for the time, the house was built to suit the tastes of Roman's wife, Josephine Pile, who was about as Creole as they come. French Creoles looked down on Americans, who seemed to disregard manners. They clung to their old language and ways and created an insulated community all their own. Many believe that the ghost of Oak Alley Plantation may be that of Josephine Roman, who loved the home and gave the house it's original name. She is frequently seen on the widow's walk (where a woman would stand to watch for her husband's boat when he returned on the river from New Orleans), as if watching for the man who constructed her most treasured possession in a profession of, what must have been, great love. Others believe that the apparition may be that of Josephine's daughter, who had her life tragically changed by an incident at the house. Louise Roman stuck to her Creole heritage as her family did. A drunken suitor called upon her one evening. When he attempted to kiss her, she fled, enraged. Louise was unfortunately wearing a hoop skirt with an iron frame and she fell, cutting her leg open. After days, the cut refused to begin to heal. Gangrene set in. The leg was amputated and Louise considered herself scarred for life. Her mental state after the wound was never positive. After the amputation, she left the plantation. She traveled to St. Louis, where she entered a Carmelite convent. After time, she longed for the south and moved to New Orleans to start a new convent. The amputated leg was put away in the family tomb so it may be buried with Louise when she died. Indeed, it was buried with her. Remember Jacques? He died of tuberculosis in 1848 and the management of the plantation fell to his only son, Henri. Civil War brought ruin to the Roman family. After hanging onto the house for some time, it was eventually abandoned and left to the elements. Years of neglect threatened to destroy the house until 1914, when it was purchased and restored by several different owners into the 1920's. Oak Alley became a part of a non-profit organization in 1925. This organization still manages the place, keeping it open for tours and renting bed and breakfast rooms in the cottages near the home. Over the years, Oak Alley has become one fo the most famous haunted houses in the state, and visitors are encouraged to bring their cameras. The ladies fated to roam the grounds for enternity don't seem to be very camera shy.

[cajunmysteries]

Story of the Day

Hello and good day to all! Terri, here with a story that seemed to, almost literally, touch my soul. I can't explain why. Let's see how it makes you feel.

The Cottage was built south of Baton Rouge, along the Great River Road, in 1824 by Colonel Abner Duncan as a wedding gift for his daughter and her husband, Frederick Daniel Conrad. The house had 22 rooms and was considered one of the finest in the Baton Rouge area. Visitors to the house included such notables as Jefferson Davis, Henry Clay, Zachary Taylor, and the Marquis de Lafayette. The Conrad family itself had esteemed beginnings, tracing its ancestry to George and Martha Washington. In the years before the Civil War, life was very good at the Cottage. They imported furniture, collected a fortune in jewelry and amassed great wealth. In the 1850's, another man came to live at the Cottage, a traveling teacher named Holt, who would become the private tutor to the Conrad children and Frederick Conrad's personal secretary. Holt became a part of the Conrad family and lived there happily until war came.

Life, after the beginning of the Civil War, changed forever. The Union Army took over the Cottage and removed everything that could be found of value, from horses to furniture to jewelry to even the clothing of the children. The troops occupied the plantation and held the family prisoner, being especially brutal with Frederick Conrad and his secretary, Mr. Holt. After the troops left, the family abandoned the house and it was taken over and used as a hospital for Union soldiers with yellow fever. In the years that followed, this is probably what saved it from being destroyed by vandals. Many had died from the disease in the house and were buried on the grounds.... the fear that the sickness lingered kept many people away.

A few years later, Frederick Conrad died in New Orleans and Holt returned to the abandoned Cottage. He was a changed man, becoming a recluse, spending all of his time trying to repair the old house for what remained of the Conrad family, most of whom had been his students. He stopped shaving and was seen wandering the grounds of the Cottage with a long, white beard. Many local people avoided him, but they could never forget the wonderful man that he had once been and made frequent gifts of food to sustain him while he stayed on at the house. When Holt finally died, friends went through his many trunks and found huge quantities of books and clothing, along with moldy half-eaten biscuits and portions of meals. Holt had taken to walking about the house at night, reliving the happier times in the house, and as he walked, he would munch on biscuits and meat and then throw the uneaten portion into one of his trunks.

Holt was taken away and lovingly buried in a local cemetery. The Conrad children would never forget what the man had meant to them.... but had he really left the Cottage?

As the years passed, the Cottage again stood empty. People who lived nearby said it was haunted. No one would go near the house after dark, fearing that Holt's ghost was still there. There were reports of doors opening and slamming by themselves and sightings of apparitions on the grounds. These shadowy figures were often seen, but when investigated, the place was found to be empty.

In the 1920's, the Conrad family began a restoration of the house. Luckily, thanks to the rumors of ghosts and yellow fever, the house had managed to survive fairly intact throughout the years. In the 1950's, the house was opened to the public and served as a museum to the memory of the Old South. It attracted a great deal of interest and artists came from all over the world to capture the flair of the south before the Civil War. It was also used as the set for several movies, including Cinerama Holiday and Band of Angels, starring Clark Gable.

During these days, the rumors of ghosts still persisted. Some visitors would report the sounds of singing and strange music in the house and on the grounds. It seems that in the heyday of the house, before the war, the Conrads would often entertain their guests by having their slaves sing for them and play music. Now, nearly a century later, the sounds of that music could still be heard at the house, a residual and ghostly echo from another time. Other visitors had their own encounters... with Mr. Holt. He was said to be seen walking through the house, pulling at his long beard and mumbling to himself. One reporter for the Elks Magazine even photographed the ghost by accident. He was doing a story about the Cottage and after having his film developed, he noticed the image of an old man looking out the window. He was sure that no one had been there at the time and after showing it the staff members at the house. They, of course, identified the man as Mr. Holt.

On a February morning in 1960, the Cottage burned to the ground. The firemen who were on the scene would later report a very strange incident. It seemed that while they were directing water on the house from the side garden, a man appeared in the upper window of the house. The fire fighters directed him to jump, but he never seemed to notice them or the fire that was all around him. The roof suddenly collapsed and the man was gone. After the fire was put out, they sifted the debris, searching the man's remains. Of course they found nothing.

There are nothing but ruins now where the Cottage once stood but there are people who still venture out onto the land and claim to hear the sounds of music and singing there. They also claim to encounter the ghost of Mr. Holt as he wanders about the property.... perhaps still imaging life the way that it was many years ago.

[cajunmysteries]

Story of the Day

Hello, all. Terri here.

Today's story is one that is so abstract and hard to track. But I did get the story straight from the horses mouth. Enjoy.

When the most recent owners first took over the 1891 Castle Inn in 1998, they had no idea they would be sharing their mansion with spirits -- at least the non flammable kind. When one of the staff repeatedly reported seeing a male apparition standing by the window in Room 11, no one quite believed it. Then, when guests reported strange occurrences taking place fairly regularly, the owners began to think that there might be something to it. Intrigued and bewildered, the new owners went to the previous owners and asked if they had ever encountered anything out of the ordinary. They claimed they had not. The guests and employees of the 1891 Castle Inn reported strange and unexplained encounters: Objects moving by themselves, electric lights and appliances turning on and off on their own, unexplained sounds, lots of footsteps, water faucets turning on and off in empty bathrooms, and brief glimpses of a "translucent man" standing in corners and on the front porch late at night. This is the kind of stuff that makes you question precepts of reality and mortality. The once skeptic owners were forced into believers. What they learned about the spirits was the result of several ghost researchers' "readings" and testimonials of the inns guests, visitors and staff. Here is what they believed to have: two ghosts -- perhaps more. Dates and names seem to be hard to nail down, but based on the "facts," both of the known ghosts left this material world at least 100 years ago -- and probably even longer. Their first ghost was a paid servant, a horse carriage driver, who acted as a gentleman's gentleman. He was a very light skinned black man who spoke several languages, loved the ladies, loved music, drank far too much, smoked and was quite the prankster. Sadly he accidentally killed himself in a smoky fire set either through smoking in bed or by knocking over a heating pot. He was so drunk he did not wake and suffocated to death. His spirit remained in the mansion by choice. After all, he always believed that his rightful place was in the main mansion and not in the servant's quarters. He is the one responsible for the coughing and whistling heard in the hallways, objects moving or being hidden and is the "translucent man" often seen in mirrors or briefly seen out of the corner of guest's eyes. He loves to play with radios, televisions, ceiling fans, and lights. If you can't find an object in your room, look in a drawer or in a place where you would not leave it. (Like the guests who, upon checking out, could not find the receipts of the past four days of shopping and travel which the husband had collected in his wallet. His wife found them all in the microwave after they searched the room from top to bottom.) The second ghost is a little girl who drowned in a small pond on the former grounds of the local plantation before it was subdivided to make room for a rapidly growing New Orleans. She was wearing a white dress and was barefoot at the time. She wanders the neighborhood in search of her mother and is a frequent visitor to the Castle Inn. She is the one responsible for water turning on and off, women being touched on the leg (as if brushed by a cat), beds bouncing up and down (as if your kid were trying to wake you up for pancakes on Sunday morning) and little bare feet running up and down hallways. All of the guests with experiences at the 1891 Castle Inn indicated that they were not frightened by their encounters, just perplexed and bemused.  The owners have recently lost a long battle with the Garden District Association, which seems hell-bent on shutting down businesses in the "exclusive" Garden District. Shame. Maybe YOU would have had an experience.

[cajunmysteries]

Story of the Day

Hello, all. Terri here. Due to holidays and my own person injury, we haven't posted in a while. For that we greatly apologize. However, the story I have for you today is a grand one.

When people think of the old American South, they usually visualize the old plantation house. These homes were the closest America had come, at that point, to the magic of European palaces. When I think of the old American South, I think of what many folks don't know, or maybe they don't care to think about. I think of how many of these homes were built upon the backs of slaves. These human beings, these poor souls slaved under the whip of the white plantation owners, endlessly harvesting cotton and surgarcane under the hot Louisiana sun. Some were literally worked to death, only to be replaced like an old belt when the next shipment of slaves came to port. The plantations were wealthy palaces to some, but to the people who built and operated them, they were places of misery, torment, and death. It should come as no surprise that many of these homes (the homes that remain) in the South are rumored to be haunted. I'm here to tell you one of the stories* of one of those houses: In the 1800s, there were many plantations north of New Orleans along the banks of the Mississippi River. These plantations were fuel for the national economy and their owners were often some of the richest men in America during their time. The Myrtles Plantation is located just outside of St. Francisville, Louisiana. It was, and still is, a stunning example of old Southern Antebellum architecture. A visitor is greeted with the sight of spanish moss, wide verandas with beautiful ironwork, and the sweel smell of myrtle trees. Inside this lavishly decorated plantation, one would find more of this Gothic style, with ornate plasterwork, European antiques, and crystal chandeliers. From the beginning, it was only a matter of time before the sinister history hidden behind all of this beauty could no longer be concealed. Many believe this started with a slave girl named Chloe. During Chloe's time at The Myrtles Plantation, it was owned by Judge Clarke Woodruffe and his wife, Sara Matilda. The couple had two young daughters, and a baby on the way. The judge was well respected in the community as a man of integrity, and a strict upholder of the law. But he held a dirty secret, and he hid it well. He was a compulsive womanizer. When the opportunity presented itself, the judge would have relations with female slaves. Chloe, who served as the governess to the Woodruffe children, eventually became the target of his advances. While Chloe was disgusted at the idea, she knew if she didn't submit she would be sent back out to toil in the fields, or worse. Working in the "big house" was the closest to freedom a slave could imagine, so she did what she had to do. However, after awhile, Chloe began to suspect that the judge was tiring of her, and would soon look for a new lover. Horrified at the thought of going back to the fields, Chloe began eavesdropping on the family's conversations to see if her suspicions were true. The judge caught her and, in a fit of rage, cut off one of her ears, as he saw this to be a fitting punishment for her crime. Chloe wore a green turban around her head after her punishment to hide her shameful wound. Having lost her stance with the judge, she knew she had to do something fast to prove her worth to the family. Her opportunity came when she was directed to help set up a celebration for the birthday of the Woodruffe's eldest daughter. Since the judge was away, Sara and her two daughters planned to celebrate by eating cake in the dining room. Chloe had a plan. She crept outside to pick one of the oleander plants growing beside the house. She knew that the leaves contained a small amount of poison, which she added to the birthday cake. Her plan was to make the family sick, and to nurse them back to health. She was sure this would prove her invaluable to the family. She cared for the children and was very careful to only add enough poison to make them slightly ill. As the family ate the birthday cake, Chloe soon found out she hadn't known as much about the plan as she thought. One by one, they dropped their utensils and fell to the floor writhing in agony. Chloe helped them to their beds and desperately attempted to save them, but it was in vain. The young girls, their mother and her unborn child had died. As word spread throughout the plantation, the other slaves were terrified that the judge would take his anger at Chloe and grief from the loss of his entire family out on them. They knew they had to do something to, not only prove their loyalty to their master, but to save their own hides. A lynch mob formed in the night and grabbed Chloe as she slept. They hanged her from one of the oak trees on the grounds. After she was dead, they cut her down, weighted her body with rocks, and threw her into the Mississippi River. The judge sealed off the dining room and never used it again. The plantation house later became a bed and breakfast, with many people attracted to its beauty and Southern charm. But these visitors, as well as future owners, would discover that they were never really alone in the house. One of the newer owners of The Myrtles Plantation took a photo of the front of the house. When the picture was developed, a shadowy figure could be seen standing near the veranda. The figure was feminine, with her head wrapped in what appeared to be a turban. At night, some guests have reported hearing restless footsteps wandering the hallways. Others were jolted from their sleep by a black woman in a green turban, who lifted the mosquito netting around their beds, as if looking for someone. Soon other strange incidents were reported in the house. In the foyer, to this day, a mirror is hung on the wall. This mirror is said to sometimes show the handprints of small children, despite having the glass changed in the frame several times. Some guests have claimed to see the images of small children playing in the hallways and peeking through windows. Is the mysterious woman in the green turban the ghost of Chloe, searching for the judge who caused her so much grief? Are the mysterious, small children the ghosts of the Woodruffe girls, forever trapped in the home where they died? Take a trip to The Myrtles Plantation and spend the night. We will let YOU decide. ---- *Chloe and the children are not the only ghosts reportedly haunting the grounds of the beautiful Myrtles Plantation, to this day. Those stories I will save for another day.

[cajunmysteries]

The Silk Lady of Madisonville

Hey guys, Daniel here. Here's our write-up of the story about the Silk Lady of Madisonville. It's not very long, but it took us a week of waiting to head to Madisonville itself to ask the local people about the story, since you can't find any reliable information on it online. Hope you enjoy. In St Tammany Parish, Louisiana, there's a small town called Madisonville. You'd be surprised how important this tiny town was to the formation of southern Louisiana, including New Orleans, and as such it's one of the oldest around, dating back to the 1800s. But, back then, it was little more than a large village, on the outskirts of which lived a young maiden.

She lived in an area known as Palmetto Flats, which in the 1950s became a residential area, home to the current mayor of the city. We're unsure what her name was, and barely any more sure of what happened to her.

The most agreed upon story is that one day, she was riding into town on her horse to see off her fiance. Along the way, something scared her horse, and she fell off the back and hit her head, causing her to die alone in the wilderness. Ever since then, she's been sighted along the section of Palmetto Flats where she reportedly lived. She's described as wearing a long, white, silk dress, with long white hair, and long white fingernails, leading to the name Silk Lady. She's been spotted all the way up to around the 1950s, when the soon-to-be mayor spoke up and announced he had seen her multiple times, giving his account of her banshee-like shriek. Since the area was made into a residential area, sightings have slowed, but not stopped.

No one has ever reported being attacked, or hurt, by this apparition, but most reports seem to include, or consist entirely of her terrifying shriek. Spooky. Stay tuned in the coming weeks when we'll, just for fun, go out to the area she supposedly haunts with a paranormal investigator and his gear, and do a bit of poking around at night.

[cajunmysteries]

Story of the Day

Hello, everyone.  Terri here. Today's stories is a quite notorious tale of a pair of vampire brothers. Many believe them to still walk amongst the nocturnal locals. This particular account was written by Brian Harrison, who had visited the apartment these brothers co-inhabited shortly before documenting what he learned. John and Wayne Carter were brothers. They seemed to be normal in every aspect. Had normal labor jobs down by the river and lived on a street in the French Quarter. It was the 1930's and times were hard. So a man worked all he could and rested when he could. One day, a girl was reported to have escaped from the Carter brothers' apartment, and ran to the authorities. Her wrists were cut. Not enough to cause immediate death, but more so, to drain slowly of that red source of life, over the course of several days. The policemen ran to this 3rd story apartment and found 4 others tied to chairs with their wrists sliced in the same fashion also. Some had been there for many days. The story was that both of these brothers had abducted each of them and would drink their blood at the end of every day when they came home from work. They also found about 14 other dead bodies. The cops waited that night for the return of the brothers and when they did, it took 7 to 8 of them to hold down these two averaged size men who had been doing manual labor all day. A few years later when they were finally executed, the bodies were placed in a New Orleans vault. Cemeteries in New Orleans are fanciful in their own making. Not only are they more ornate than the rest of our nation's, but they recycle them using the same vault over and over again. The remains sift down into the back, bottom of the vault, when it is all rubble, and the new body is slid inside. After many years, they were placing some other Carter in this grave and what they found in the vault was nothing. No John or Wayne. They were gone. To this day, many sightings have occurred in the French Quarter that matches the descriptions of these two brothers almost exactly. Years later, an owner of their apartment, saw two figures that resembled them outside on their balcony one night whispering to each other. Both figures jumped off the top of the 3rd story balcony and took off running.

[cajunmysteries]

Story of the Day

Good day, everybody. Terri, here. Today's story is one of a recent "victim" of Louisiana Voodoo. The name of said "victim" as well as the original reporting of this story are unknown to us. The story tells of a woman in Galveston, Texas, who bought a "real haunted New Orleans Zombie Voodoo doll" on ebay in October of 2004. It arrived as described, bound and in a metal box. Believing it just to be a strange curio, she decided to take it out of it's small coffin and display it. "A real big mistake," she says now with great fear... the haunted doll attacked her, repeatedly. Afraid for her life, she put it back in its decorated box casket, but it haunted her in her dreams Afraid to the point of mental exhaustion, she tried to destroy it by burning it first; it would not burn. Then she tried cutting it up. The knife and scissors broke. Finally, she tried burying it in a cemetery. But as she tells it, the doll's grave was just too shallow and it appeared, lying dirty on her front door step once more. She said she even resold it on ebay, but the buyer wrote her that the doll had just disappeared from her home. So, she sent it back to the purchaser when she found it on her door step again. The third time the buyer told her the box arrived empty. The evil doll was found at her door once more. The Original ebay seller's ad said that this Haunted Zombie doll was very active and almost alive. It went on to say that the new owner had to follow the rules of keeping it hidden away, and to never open the silver box it was locked in, even to view it. She, of course, thought all this was not to be believed. And as a beginning ghost-hunter, she thought this would be a great piece to investigate, even if it was not really haunted. But to her surprise it was possessed by a ghosts, she says. She tried getting in touch with the person in New Orleans, but her emails were not returned. She even packed it up and sent it back to the address it was shipped from, but the package came back with the attachment: "Resident Deceased." She called in 3 different paranormal groups. Two showed up and said there was nothing they could do. She's still waiting to hear from TAPS (The Atlantic Paranormal Society) and it has been over a year. After countless emails to all that is paranormal on the internetnone have answered her or even tried to get in touch. So, what is a haunted doll's owner to do when no one will help you to be rid of the cursed dolls spirit! When she had contacted a local Radio Station and told her story on Halloween of 2006, several callers told her to seek out a priest. This she did. The Priest who visited her was shown the large antique silver box that the haunted voodoo doll is kept in. She begged him not to open it, just to take her word for it. He then blessed the box as she asked the evil Zombie spirit locked inside to stay inside. Others have offered to take it off her hands, but no one has ever showed up. People think she's crazy, she says. But, she knows she is not. "It's really haunted", she states. Two years later she now keeps the doll locked away hidden deep her attic. One day she says she will sell her home, move elsewhere and, maybe if she's lucky, she'll leave the the haunted doll tucked away in the attic and no one will ever find it or let it out.

[cajunmysteries]

Our trip to Madisonville for RESEARCH

Ah, crossing a 22 mile long lake on a thin stretch of bridge. At least you get use to it after a while. Hi, ladies and gentlemen, Daniel here. As a preface, we did head out to Madisonville for research! I know, awesome, right? We did the roughly hour and a half drive there, pulled up to the Madisonville Museum, and spent most of our time there talking to the nice woman at the desk. Remember when I said Madisonville had tons of history? I wasn't kidding. I won't give you a history lesson here, but if you're interested, I definitely suggest doing a bit of looking up. If you live in Madisonville, head on over to it! It's small, but it's so cool! The trip there was nice. Got to joke around at the GPS navigator saying things like "Turn left. Then, turn left." and also seeing the sights of Southern Louisiana. The one sight, I should say.

Swamp. There was going to be a video included in this post, of us taking a drive down the area where the Silk Lady supposedly haunts, but the file got corrupted somehow and it's unusable. But we do have a basic writeup of what we saw!

Palmetto Flats is located on a specific section of a road in Madisonville, marked by the mayor's house, and a gated community on either side. Before and including the mayor's house, all the houses are nice, well kept, lived in, and there were children playing about in the street. Past the mayor's house, you start seeing less people, the houses look like no one lives in them judging by the lack of cars on a Sunday compared to the rest of the street, and there's many, many for sale signs. Once you hit the end of where she haunts, there's a nice gated community with nice houses, and past that there's just more private roads. It was certainly a bit odd seeing such a massive change simply by entering the supposed haunting location of a 19th century ghost. Now, for the museum we visited! So this place isn't exactly massive. It's literally one room, with the jail cells underneath being exhibits as well. But it does a really good job of summing up the history of the town before it gets boring, like most museums. We saw old, authentic maps and parchments, got to check out and feel an old cannonball (Still loaded with gunpowder, ready to explode, which made us stop feeling it up once we learned that) and see tons of civil war memorabilia. The jail cells have three major ones, one is the Silk Lady exhibit, one is an exhibit on the town's agricultural history as well as some random bits and bobs (Like a massive fucking crossbow!), but one exhibit is the most hilarious thing I've ever seen. You've got to check it out for yourself, trust me it's worth it if you live in Louisiana. Overall, it's a nice little museum run by nice people. We got to talk to the curator a bit before we went into the jail, and I think the general consensus between Terri and I is that the lady at the desk was extremely helpful. She told us tons of stories, most related to our project, but even the ones that were unrelated were extremely interesting.

We're still going to head back at a later date with Sir Ghost Hunter, which I'm almost certain he wont like me calling him, to investigate the road at night, and we're going to have way more than one camera filming. Probably upwards of four cameras.

Expect our writeup of the Silk Lady story sometime this week. I'm aiming for today or tomorrow, but it will definitely be done prior to our continued investigation.

[cajunmysteries]

Story of the Day

Hey everyone, Terri here. Today's story is one of tragedy and revenge. It is a well known story through the city of New Orleans and Southern Louisiana, and all who tell it believe it to be true.Continue reading at your own risk. Dr. Louis LaLaurie and his wife, Delphine, moved into their French Quarter mansion in 1832. They were very wealthy, prominent, and respected throughout New Orleans. Madame LaLaurie successfully handled the family's business affairs and carried herself and her daughters with great style. This helped her to become one of the most influential French-Creole women in the city. For those lucky enough to attend social functions at 1140 Royal Street, they were amazed by what they found. The exterior of the three-story mansion was quite plain with the exception of its delicate iron work. The interior however, was lavish to anyone's standards. Mahogany doors that were hand-carved with flowers and human faces opened into a parlor, lighted by the glow of hundreds of candles in massive chandeliers. Attendants and a LaLaurie gathering could expect to dine from European china and dance and rest on imported Oriental fabrics. Madame LaLaurie was very lovely and intelligent, bringing the feeling of honor to all those who received her attention at her events. Guests in her home were always pampered as their hostess saw to their every need. But this was the side of Madame LaLaurie the admirers were allowed to see. There was another side. Beneath the refined exterior was a cruel, cold-blooded, and (most say) insane woman. The expensively imported contents of the mansion were attended to by dozens of slaves and Madame LaLaurie was cruel to them. Her cook was kept chained to the fireplace in the kitchen were the dinners were prepared. Many of the slaves were treated much worse. Unfortunately, in those days, slaves were not even regarded as human but even by the standards of the 1800's, Madame LaLaurie was beyond cruel to her slaves. The first suspicions that something was not quite right in the LaLaurie Royal Street house came from neighbors. Hushed conversations about the constant, and rapid disappearances of LaLaurie's slaves started to surface. One day a neighbor was climbing the stairs leading to her own home when she heard a scream. She saw Madame LaLaurie chasing her own personal servant, a little girl, with a whip. The pursuit led to the roof of there house, where the child jumped to her death. The neighbor later saw the small slave girl buried in a shallow grave beneath the cypress trees in the courtyard. A law existed at that time in New Orleans that prohibited the cruel treatment of slaves. The authorities investigating the neighbor's claims impounded the slaves and sold them at auction. Madame LaLaurie later coaxed relatives into buying and selling them back to her in secret. The stories continued about the mistreatment of the LaLaurie slaves and nervous whispering spread among her former friends. Party invitations slowly started to be declined and soon the family was politely avoided by other members of Creole society. Finally, in April of 1834, all of the doubts about Madame LaLaurie were realized. A terrible fire broke out in the kitchen. Legend has it that it was set by the cook, who could no longer endure the Madame's tortures. Regardless of how it started, it swept through the house. After putting out the blaze, fire fighters discovered a secret, barred door in the attic. Behind it they found more than a dozen slaves, chained to the wall in a horrible state. Slaves of both genders were strapped to makeshift operating tables, confined in dog-sized cages, human body parts were scattered around. Heads and human organs were placed haphazardly in buckets...grisly souvenirs were stacked on shelves and next to them a collection of whips and paddles. It was more horrible than anything the fire fighter's imaginations could conjure. Fingernails of men had been ripped off, eyes poked out, and the Madame was also fond of castration. One man hung in shackles with a stick protruding from a hole drilled in his head. It seemed to have been used to "stir" his brains. The tortures were obviously intended to bring slow, painful deaths. Mouths had been pinned shut and hands had been sewn to various parts of the body. Regardless, many of them had been dead for quite some time. Some were still alive, begging to be put out of their misery, Needless to say, the horrifying reports from the LaLaurie house were the most hideous to occur in the city up to that point and word soon spread about the atrocities. It was believed that the Madame alone was responsible for the horror and that her husband turned a blind, but knowing, eye to her activities. Passionate words swept through New Orleans and a mob gathered outside the house, calling for vengeance and carrying hanging ropes. Suddenly, a carriage roared out of the gates and into the milling crowd. It soon disappeared out of sight. The LaLaurie's were never seen again. Rumors circulated as to what became of them. Some say the family fled to France, others claim they only went as far as the north shore of Lake Ponchatrain. Could the horrendous actions of Madame LaLaurie have infected another house in addition to the Royal Street mansion. Whatever became of the LaLaurie family there is no record that any legal action was ever taken against her and no mention that she was ever seen in New Orleans, or her fine home, again. Of course the same cannot be said for her victims....

[cajunmysteries]

End of the week update

Hello everyone, Daniel here.

I'm here to give a quick rundown of our plans for next week, and I have a question at the end of the post for all of you.

So, Story of the Day seems to have been a good idea, unfortunately so many of the urban legends in Louisiana are either too similar to warrant their own story, or too localized for us to find without traveling, and we've not found many on the internet. For that reason I'll be shutting off the queue on weekends, so that we have time to stock back up on stories.

If you read our previous blog post, you remember we were planning to head out to Madisonville tomorrow with a Paranormal Investigator in order to do further research on the Silk Lady of Madisonville. Unfortunately, sometimes things turn up and you have to reschedule, as the investigator can't make it, and there may not be enough money laying around to warrant the excursion. There's still a decent chance we'll head out, since our main goal isn't to go ghost hunting, but to do research. If our investigative friend can't make it, we'll come back for ghost hunting on our own time, but if we don't have the money to go, we simply don't have the money to go. Here's hoping we don't have to postpone a week.

I want to pose a question here. Story of the Day is fun and interesting, and we love reading these urban legends, but it's simply a fact that Louisiana will run out eventually. Whether that's next week, or next year, it's uncertain. My question for you, is would you like for us to expand Story of the Day to include urban legends and stories from other States and Countries, or should it stay entirely from Cajun Country until we're out, and then end? It's up to you guys. What do you say?

[cajunmysteries]

Story of the Day

Hello everybody, Terri here.

Today I bring to you the story of a Louisiana supernatural event experienced by National Geographic's "Digital Nomad", Andrew Evans. This story immediately became one of my favorites, but it's a long one.

In an unnamed house in an unnamed town in a state named after King Louis XIV, I met a ghost

We were never introduced properly - in fact, the housekeeper denied any and all ghosts the minute I walked in.

"Oh no, it's not haunted - at least I've never seen anything." She announced as she led me through the grand entryway and into the hallway dressed up with fall flower arrangements. The century-old house was massive - one huge square room after another, and each one decorated with antique parlor furniture, huge potted plants, heavy-framed mirrors and paintings, and crystal chandeliers that hung like glowing, upside-down wedding dresses.

It was a beautiful Southern mansion that like so many in Louisiana, now functions as a luxurious bed-and-breakfast. The housekeeper showed me my suite for the night - a tremendous king-size bed that weighed a few tons, smothered in a pile of pillows and with more white lace and satin than a royal christening.

I set my bags down on the floor and took in the size of the room - an immense place, cathedral-like.

"You'll be staying alone in the house," the housekeeper added, "There are no other guests tonight."

I was afraid that would be the situation, It's not the first time in my travels that I've been the sole inhabitant of some over-sized historic property. I'm used to it, though it's not always comfortable.

:As long as you say it's not haunted," I joked, but the housekeeper did not laugh. In fact, she looked a little concerned.

"No, it's not haunted," she reassured me, but two seconds later, she began to elaborate. "Oh, there are stories, but nobody's ever seen anything." She paused, "I've never seen anything."

I asked her to tell me more about the "stories" and out of the housekeeper's mouth tumbled one Grade A Southern ghost story. Apparently, the Cajun family who owned the house two owners ago reported the ghost of a little girl who, when she was alive, used to get locked up in the wooden closet under the stairs. Locked in the dark she would kick and scream against the door, a habit that she carried on into her next life.

Despite closing that door every night, the Cajun family noticed the closet door would always be wide open in the morning. Eventually, they began leaving little toys inside the closet at night to appease the unhappy little ghost.

The housekeeper told me this as if it were perfectly normal - and in my travels I've gathered that ghosts are pretty normal in Louisiana.

"Last year we had a Halloween party in the house and a lot of people dressed up as the ghosts that haunt their own houses. Guess what my costume was?" The housekeeper was suddenly cheerful again, "I dressed up as the little girl from under the stairs!" She wore a short black dress, put her hair in pigtails and walked around with an armful of toys.

I think I could have handled just about anything - if the housekeeper had told me that someone had hung himself in the foyer, or that the mansion was under some swamp curse, or that it was built on top of some old French cemetery - well, I would have coped fine with any of those.

But no - instead she was describing a bothered little girl ghost trapped in a closet with an armful of old-fashioned toys. Now that was super creepy.

The housekeeper offered to spend the night in the house as well, but I said no - I'd be fine in the house alone. At least, I thought I'd be fine.

Honestly, I thought very little of her ghost stories. I've traveled to enough odd places and gathered my own private collection of unexplained phenomena that I prefer to keep private and unexplained. I wasn't ready to add an old Louisiana mansion to my list - it almost seemed too banal.

My Cajun housekeeper was friendly and welcoming. She showed me around the town and introduced me to nearly every person we ran into. I ended up having dinner with her and her husband at the local seafood restaurant and for hours we swapped stories and laughed.

"In Louisiana, you're a friend until proven otherwise." That's what everyone had told me and I had found it to be quite true. From the minute you met someone, they were genuinely warm and hospitable.

It was only when she drove me back to the house that the housekeeper mentioned the ghost again

"Oh, you're gonna hear things tonight. You will," she laughed nervously. Her approach had changed from a few hours earlier when she flat-out denied any kind of haunting.

I laughed it off and waved goodbye to the two of them as they drove away, then unlocked the door with my key and entered the house alone.

A few lights had been left on in some of the rooms and I did not feel the need to start walking around the huge house to turn them off one by one. Instead I made my way to my first-floor bedroom and then into the bathroom where I changed for bed and brushed my teeth.

That's when I felt it - that really dreadful sensation of being watched by someone else. I felt coldness on the back of my neck and my spine tingled. I stared at my face in the mirror but there was nothing else there - no apparitions or vague reflections. I left the room and then shut the glass-paneled bathroom door, certain that I was simply scaring myself.

I sat down at the table, opened my laptop and began answering e-mail. It was a quarter 'til eleven and the glow from my computer pulled me away from any fears and kept my focused on the mundane realities of our digital lives. At eleven o'clock the noises started.

Sh-sh-sh, sh-sh-sh-sh.

A pair of feet shuffled across the bathroom floor. I turned towards the door I had just closed. It was still closed - the only entrance into that room. The noise repeated itself - a pair of feet shuffling across the floor then stopping right at the other side of the bathroom door.

My fingers froze on the keyboard and I tried to think rationally. Certainly, the sounds had come from someone walking, and it was from inside the bathroom.

Yes, I was scared. My mind went through all the other things that might be making the noise - someone else entering the house, some (very large) wild animal scurrying about - but no, those had been feet pattering along the floor.

That's when I crawled into the giant bed and took up my defensive position, armed pitifully with my cell phone and laptop.

At midnight, I heard a loud thump upstairs. Then another followed by another. Soon there was clatter all about - dull thuds, a few bangs, followed by the sound of someone (or many?) walking around on the second floor. I remained frozen in my bed, tweeting my terror out into the great digital cloud.

"There are strange noises coming from upstairs." I was using Twitter to document the paranormal even that was unfolding around me.

Yes, I was terrified. I hadn't taken the housekeeper seriously and now it was nearly midnight and I was stuck in a giant bed in a giant mansion that had suddenly come alive with strange noises.

No, They were not simply "old house" noises that old houses make. There was no air conditioning or heat running. It was not simply the humid air turning cooler and the house settling back into its foundations, as many Twitter followers tried to explain to me. I was confident that I was the only person in the house, and yet the sounds from upstairs has me convinced someone else was moving around up there.

A few minutes later, I heard the sound of someone running down the stairs. Whatever it was had joined me on the first floor. I stared at the bedroom door, then reverted to Facebook chat for some kind of small comfort.

I chatted with friends in different countries, explaining my dilemma - that I was wide awake in a house which was most likely haunted by a traumatized little girl and that honestly, this was the kind of adventure on which I'd be happy to take a pass.

Eventually, the footsteps went back up the stairs and the clatter intensified. I wanted to laugh - but couldn't - as I read my Twitter friends arguing about the existence of ghosts, all the while I was listening to what sounded like bowling balls rolling around on the floor above me and doors slamming shut.

Via social media, I began to get a flood of real-time advice on how to deal with my real-time haunting. Some said to confront the "thing", others said to call the police and report intruders, a few insisted I turn on the TV, some said to pray to St. Michael, others said St. Joseph was better with this sort of thing. The Hindus in India said to burn incense. My friend who's a nun in Europe told me to leave the house immediately (which did not make me feel better about my situation).

I don't remember sleeping much, but eventually my body grew so tired that I lay down, wrapped up like a mummy in my blankets. The house became silent once more, and for several hours I listened to the stillness, still terrified but hopeful that the worst was over. All I had to do was make it until morning.

I awoke at around 4 a.m. to the sound of tinkling glass, which grew louder and louder. It was the sound of crystal glasses clinging against crystal. Then somebody was stacking china.

My mind reflected on everything I had heard through the night. I mentally begged the ghost(s) to shut up so that I could get some sleep. I thought of the last family who had lived here, how they had appeased the ghost with toys. I had no toys to offer - the only thing I had in my bag was a small harmonica that I had recently purchased. For a second I was relieved, as if I had something positive to offer the ghost, but then I realized that if I suddenly heard a harmonica playing in the darkness I would probably die of cardiac arrest.

And so I stayed in bed until morning, not sleeping and not moving. I waited until I heard the housekeeper arrive and begin preparing breakfast back in the kitchen - only then did I crawl out of bed, open the bathroom door, take a shower and get dressed. I took my bags out into the car, then re-entered the house through the kitchen.

The housekeeper acted nonchalant. She gave me breakfast and chatted about the weather until I finally interrupted. I told her what happened - all the different sounds that I had heard, and how I had been kept awake for most of the night.

She responded with a few confessions. "You know, my son won't even set foot in the house. He'll come to the door but won't ever cross into it." As a teenager, he played with the owner's son inside the house and had one creepy experience that kept him away ever since. The housekeeper also told me about her little niece talking alone upstairs, chatting with some unseen friend. Then she told me about the "professional" ghost hunters who had come in and recorded floating orbs and EVPs and plastered the images all over the internet - all the ghost buster stuff that's lately become so popular on television.

And yet she would never admit that she had any proof of anything. She needed the house not to be haunted, which made sense to me. (If I worked all day in a big old Southern mansion, I would not want it to be haunted either.)

Still, as we talked, the housekeeper repeatedly acknowledged the very real possibility of some kind of ghost, as well as the owner's own understanding that the house was special. Perhaps that's why she keeps telling people the house is not haunted.

"If there is something in the house, then we don't want the wrong kind of people coming in and provoking it - we don't want anyone bothering it." That seemed the right attitude, although I am personally unacquainted with Southern ghost etiquette. Yet I was surprised by the housekeeper's duality on the subject.

All that I know is that I stayed alone in that house all night long, during which time I heard a lot of unexplained noises.

Yes, perhaps my mind played tricks all night, maybe giant raccoons were wearing people slippers and running up and down the floors. maybe the neighbor kids snuck into the house and played tricks on me.

Or maybe, just maybe, there was a ghost of a little girl, who escaped her prisoner's closet beneath the stairs and ran amok all night, jostling the crystal and china, then giggling to herself as she scared the crap out of that tall Yankee gentlemen holed up in the guest room.

[cajunmysteries]

Paranormal Activity Caught on Tape Inside a New Hampshire General Store?

Have you ever been in one of those moods where you just want to stuff your face with whatever junk food you have lying around. That’s why I don’t fault the poltergeist in this video for breaking that glass cake display. It probably really wanted cake, but there wasn’t any, so it got mad and knocked the glass cover onto the floor. This peculiar video was shot on March 10th, 2014 at the Ellacoya Country Store in Gilford, New Hampshire. Employee Heidi Boyd, who was the only person in the store at the time of the incident, says that she was in a nearby room when she heard a big bang. She walked around, looking for where the sound may have come from, and that’s when she found a shattered glass cake display on the floor.

Lisa Giles, the shop’s manager, said that Boyd texted her “in a frantic” mood after finding the broken display. Even though it didn’t make sense as to how the display got knocked over, this isn’t the first bizarre incident that’s occurred at the store, which was built back in 1745. Since the shop opened in 2002, things such as a ghostly man standing in the doorway and mysterious whistling have been reported by employees. Store owner Steve Buzzota went to check the security camera footage and that’s when he saw the cake display being knocked off the counter by an unseen force. Since the video was posted online, they’ve gotten a lot more onlookers, but Steve says that business hasn’t necessarily increased. A medium, Karen Tatro, and a parapsychologist, Bryan Bonner of the ‘Rocky Mountain Paranormal Society, went to the store, and Karen says she felt something strange vibes almost immediately. Bonner said that while the footage is interesting, he isn’t ready to say that it’s paranormal. Giles says there are plans to have some paranormal researchers come to the store and examine the building.

Usually with these kinds of poltergeist video, the object that was knocked over was usually right by the edge and people end up saying that vibrations may have caused said object to fall over. However, with this video, the cake display was in the middle of the counter and was clearly knocked over. Some have speculated that a string was attached to the display and the window opposite of the counter. People then theorize that someone opened the window, which would then yank to display off the counter and send it crashing to the floor. Boyd has disputed this theory, saying that the windows can’t be opened. If that’s the case, then I believe that this video does show real poltergeist activity. I don’t see how the display may have accidentally fallen over. It really looks like it was pushed over. The building is very old, so it may be possible that a ghost could be haunting the place. So, those are my thoughts on this video, but what do you think? Does this video show real paranormal activity, or is this just a publicity stunt?

——————

Now it’s time for some shameless self promotion! If you liked this post and want to see more posts like it EVERY DAY, then be sure to click that follow button!

Check me out on: Twitter I My Personal Tumblr I Wattpad I Goodreads

Thanks for reading and have a great day!

[cajunmysteries]

Story of the Day

Hello all, Terri here

Today's story has multiple versions, including a sing-song version. We're unsure who told this version. Once upon a time there was a man and a woman who had twenty-five children. They were very poor; the man was good, but the woman was bad. Every day when the husband returned from his work, his wife served him dinner, but always meat without bones.

"How is it that this meat has no bones?" he asked.

"Because bones are heavy, and meat is cheaper without bones. They give more money for the meat."

The husband ate, and said nothing.

"How is it you don't eat meat?"

"You forget I have no teeth. How do you expect me to eat without teeth?"

"That is true," said the man, and he said nothing more, because he was afraid to grieve his wife, who was as wicked as she was ugly.

When one has twenty-five children, one cannot think of them all the time, and one does not notice when one or two are missing. One day, after his dinner, the man called his children to him and he counted them, but there was only fifteen. He asked his wife where the other ten were. She answered they were with their grandmother, and every few days she'd send one more to give them a change of air. That was true, every day there was one more that went missing.

One day the husband was at the threshold of his house, in front of a large stone which was there. He was thinking of his children, and he wanted to go and get them from their grandmothers, when he heard voices that were saying:

Our mother killed us,

Our father ate us.

We are not in a coffin,

We are not in holy ground.

At first he did not understand what this meant, but he raised the stone, and saw a great quantity of bones, which began to sing again. He then understood these were the bones of his children, who his wife killed and fed to him. He became enraged, so angry that he killed his wife; buried his children's bones in the cemetery, and stayed alone at his house. From that time he never ate meat, because he believed it would always be his children he would eat.

[cajunmysteries]

Story of the Day

Hello! Daniel here.

Today's story of the day is about one infamous Jean Lafitte. It's a bit of a short one, told by one Velma Duet.

Let me tell you about Jean Lafitte. It's said that his pirates are still guarding his treasures. He's got treasures on a lot of these little offshore islands, and there's a man that lives in Golden Meadow, he's still alive; he had a little trawl boat. He went trawling one day, and there's this little island with a beautiful oak tree on it. Every now and then, he'd stop and he'd sit under the oak tree. Well, one day, he did once more. He stopped his boat there, and he went to sit under that old tree. But as he approached it, he saw one of Jean Lafitte's pirates, and the pirate told him to get off the island, now!

So he went back to his boat, but he panicked, and he lost his mind. When his friends came and found him, he was all cringed in the corner of his boat. He was shaking, shaking. He'd totally lost his mind. He went to Jackson, and he stayed there in the mental hospital for a couple of years. He's still alive today, but that's what he told them when they found him- That there was a pirate under the tree. I suppose it's possible that it's true.

[cajunmysteries]

Story of the Day

Hello everyone, Daniel here.

Today's story was told by one Loulan Pitre, from Lafourche Parish, about the Great Hurricane of 1893, which devastated Louisiana.

     One man, he was about twenty-four, maybe younger, and he had just been given up for lost. And this goes six, seven days after the storm. They'd just about accounted for everybody they'd hoped to find. And a lot of people had gone up on the rooftops into the gulf a mile or so, but they got picked up. But this fellow, no. And nobody had seen him during the storm. Lo and behold, about three weeks later, he comes in - in one of those freight boats that was hauling ice, and food to Grand Isle for these people that had been hurt bad. He's a passenger and he makes his way back to Cheniere.

     "Hey, what in the world happened to you?" He was asked.

     "Well," he said, "I'll tell you what. I spent seven days on a door and a door frame, floating lying on it."

     "And, well, how did you survive?"

     "Well, I kept hearing this singing." He said they had some mermaids or something singing all the time. "And it kept me alive."

     And they laughed, you know?

     And he said, "No, no, I saw them. They were singing just for me, they'd come there and swim around and sing."

     And one day, he was semiconscious, and he heard some racket, and there was a bunch of Portuguese, and the little yard boat was picking him up. And it was a Portuguese sloop that had seen him on that door and stopped. And that sloop was loaded with salted pork going into New Orleans. And that's a "Miracle" he got saved.

[cajunmysteries]

Hello everyone, Daniel and Terri here.

We had a request today from one of our viewers from Reddit, asking for more information on a phenomenon known as the Silk Lady of Madisonville, Louisiana. We tucked into a bit of research, began taking notes, and quickly realized there wasn't much on the internet about it. Our books, however, gave us accounts from one Peter Gitz, who afterwards became the mayor of Madisonville itself! That said, his was the only accounts we could find, aside from a passing mention on a ghost reporting website. We've learned that Madisonville, which is only about an hour's drive away from us, has a museum open only on the weekends with an exhibit dedicated to this entity in their basement. We plan to head over there this weekend and kill three birds with one stone.

First, we plan to head to the museum, which is only open from 12-4, and check out the exhibit, if anything just for fun.

Then, we hope to have some sort of contact with Peter Gitz, be it an interview in person, or some sort of phone conversation or email.

Finally, a local Paranormal Investigation crew that we have contact with has requested inclusion in the trip in return for use of their expensive as hell equipment. Despite our potential skepticism about the background of this particular story, it can't hurt, and could possibly be very fun to have someone with experience in this sort of thing come along.

I say Skepticism, by the way, because from what we've found, there's quite a bit of baseline information missing from this story. For example, there doesn't seem to be any indication from anyone as to why this entity may exist, and do what it does.

Also, we're going to be visiting the local library, as seems to be a habit we're forming, and we plan to speak to the residents of Madisonville to get a bit more information from the source. Should anyone be from the area, and be interested in an interview, be it in person or through email, and regardless of personal experiences or passed down stories, please contact us via the Ask page, or directly via our email: cajunmysteries@gmail.com

Time for closing statements! Daniel: I look forward to visiting the area, from what I can see on google it's a beautiful town with a lot of history. Even if we can't find anything about this story, it'll be an amazing trip. Terri: I just want to know "Why?"