The courtyard of my apartment

Do you believe in ghosts?

In New Orleans they are par for the course. Plenty of well known haunted houses exist here, including the infamously haunted LaLaurie House and “Sultan’s Palace.” There are many tourist ghost tour operations around and things like magic shops selling ghost removal kits. Everyone, it seems, has their own personal ghost stories. My friend Jason told me of an albino African American apparition that used to appear in his doorway and on his stoop late at night in the neighborhood known as the Marigny. Another woman I met simply said, “yeah, all the houses are haunted here, even more so since Katrina. That hurricane stirred shit up, especially in the Quarter” Apparently, I am living in a very busy ghost town, in a busy ghost era in the center of the busiest ghost neighborhood of all.

The reasons for the belief that New Orleans has been repeatedly called “the most haunted place in the United States” are complex. Perhaps it is the restless spirits of the Native Americans who originally used the swampy land where the city now stands as a sacred burial ground. Or perhaps it is because of the mayhem and death caused by pirates, thieves, murderers and the like who were some of the first settlers in the early 1700s. The history of slavery, from the slave trading ports here to the deplorable living conditions for the many slaves were forced to stay might also be a big cause. In addition, settling a swamp before modern sanitation methods existed meant the death rates were quite high – floods, lack of clean water, fatal diseases like small pox and diphtheria as well as malnutrition all play a big part in the darker history of the region. And let us not forget several large fires that have killed many residents over the years, especially in my French Quarter neighborhood.  Add a dose of civil war chaos and destruction, and good old fashioned Southern pathos and Tennessee Williams like Southern family dysfunction, and voila, you have the makings of a haunted city like no other.

But heck, what did I know? I’m just here for a work project and to get away from quiet, cold rainy Portland for a bit.

So when my Portland neighbor, Isabelle (an ex-New Orleans resident), gave me a tip on a possible short term furnished apartment in the French Quarter at a very reasonable price, I jumped on it. Only in New Orleans for a few weeks, I need a central landing pad that is safe & clean, furnished, centrally located and not too expensive. With the enticement of a “beautiful courtyard” in an old 18th century building, and a tremendous recommendation from Isabelle, I said yes, sight unseen.

My street in New Orleans

Charming and a bit rustic, my apartment at 727 Ursulines (between Royal and Bourbon), is just about everything I could want in a short term rental: It’s quiet, it has wonderful French doors that lead out to a semi-private patio, is in walking distance of everything, there is WiFi and I have a fully stocked kitchen, linens, a TV, etc. Plus, there is the courtyard, and it certainly does live up to my expectations. Filled with a large bubbling fountain, patio table and tropical plants including giant banana trees, this apartment is the type of place tourists covet and local residents admire. Honestly, it reminds me of a rental I stayed at once in the South of France, even down to the terra cotta tiled floors and funky shower.

Except one tiny little issue: The apartment is haunted.

Yes, you read right, haunted.

Ok, you might be rolling your eyes just about now, thinking, “yeah Lizzy, woo-woo, new age whatever…” But anyone who knows me knows I am first and foremost a pragmatist. I mean, I have an advanced degree that includes the study of economics, statistics and things like rational planning theory for Christsakes. I’m not taken to fits of ritual nor do I have much interest in the occult. I have also been an avowed atheist since I refused to be confirmed in my family’s church at age 13 and I tend to smirk at the notion of a “higher power.” God Bless You, you people that do, but it just ain’t for me.

Ok, ok, I’ll admit that once upon a time when I was young and impressionable, and thanks to Leonard Nimoy’s 1970s “investigative documentary” TV show on the paranormal, In Search Of, I thought Sasquatch lived in my suburban backyard and that the neighborhood hippies were actually a group of wiccans and warlocks. Due to books like these found in my elementary school library, I was also pretty sure that if you lived in the Victorian era, you simply lived with spirits and fairies the same way you might live with say, an ill mannered French Bulldog or rowdy pet monkey. But hell people, I was 8 years old and it was the 1970s. ‘Nuff said. Yet many people I know do believe in ghosts. Enough people that sometimes I too have to wonder: maybe there really is a shadow world out there where things can not be explained by science alone? Maybe spirits really do exist? Then there are situations like the one I am in right now, where something weird and spooky is definitely going on.

It all started on my second day here.  I travel so often that I have some standard things I do to feel more civilized and relaxed while on the road: I always unpack my suitcase and neatly hang and fold my clothing. I always like to set up a little office since, for all intents and purposes, wherever I rest my head becomes my office. I also like to rearrange furniture, buy groceries, put my books in order – you know make myself at home.

And that’s when the trouble started at 727 Ursulines.

The apartment, while cute, is a just a little “off” anyway. It has thick stone walls and is surrounded by a two story brick wall on one side and the rest of the solid two story house on the other. I get zero cell phone reception unless I step out into the middle of the courtyard. The TV only gets Three channels and the WiFi ranges from strong to suddenly dead. Yes, I am in media hell. That in and of itself is the scariest part. Especially scary considering I own a communications company. I need to communicate with the outside world.

My apartment is set in the back of the property and New Orleans is filled with places like this one. Sometimes they were used as slave quarters, which certainly has all the makings for some unhappy unsettled spirit business. Or perhaps this apartment was used as part of the Ursuline Convent which is located just two blocks away. It is a very real possibility that my house was used as overflow for the convent as a place for sad nuns, orphans, the mentally deranged, or punished servants. Who knows what evil deeds, tragic deaths, torture or plain unhappiness has occurred here over the past 200 plus years?

I would like to be able to tell you grandiose things are happening here with the ghosts. You know, things like dripping from the walls, Ghost Busters style ectoplasm flying around, or that a Vampire occasionally appears at my door to bum a cigarette. However, the hauntings simply a bit more subtle.

Exhibit A. The creepy soldier and horse statue

The first clue was the weird statue on the mantel in my bedroom. (See Exhibits A and B). It’s about 9″ tall and 14″ in length and is some sort of soldier on a horse. It’s supposed to be folk art I think, but is pretty creepy, especially the dark beady little eyes on the thing. Well, three times now I’ve gone to sleep with the statue sitting as a profile facing my bed, only to wake up to see that it has been moved so that I get a good old view of the horse’s ass (and the soldier’s). I take it as an other worldly form of being given the middle finger. Maybe the mantel slopes so that it slides over in the middle of the night? Nope, tested it. I put a round pen on the mantel in the same place as the statue, jumped around and nothing rolled off. That mantel is solid.

Exhibit B: The ghosts move the statue like this

Then there has been the bed slat issue. The beds are those old wooden twin beds you might have slept on as a kid, and they very much remind me of ones in my Nana’s house in North Carolina. Still, I’m a grown woman who is used to spreading out on a big queen sized bed. After the first night of uncomfortable sleep with my feet and arms all akimbo and hanging off the sides, I felt like I was sleeping in a nunnery. So, in order to feel more comfortable I pushed the two beds together. While rearranging the furniture I did notice the beds have some wooden bed slats underneath to keep the mattresses from falling out. I also made sure the slats  were secure. Two hours later I’m in the living room and BANG: A bed slat falls to the floor. Ok, no spirit there, but perhaps I jostled one loose when I moved the beds? So after replacing the dropped slat I checked them again. All the others were tight and secure. Only a matter of an earthquake would move them. Then like clockwork, two hours later, BANG again. Ok, this is getting weird. A vibration on the ground? Nope. This house is solid. I’m on ground level, with a stone foundation and heavy set terra cotta tiles on top. Then again, two hours (this time I’ve got a timer set). BAM! Only one at a time, and every two hours on the dot. Definitely weird. Once again, three times something was disturbed, just like the statue.

Then there is the case of the missing hair ties. I brought 6 hair ties with me and I always keep them together in one place: a little travel kit in the bathroom. I take them out one at a time when I am wearing one, but I always put them back in the same place. It’s that “art of travel” I was telling you about. I have a very set routine of how I keep my stuff, mainly to assure I don’t leave anything behind. So when I came home from an afternoon outing and proceeded to get “prettified” to go out for dinner, why were three out of six hair ties missing? Am I losing it? I searched and searched in my purses, in my suitcases, all around the bathroom, the bedroom. Nothing. It wasn’t until the next day that I found them. One hair tie was on the shelf in the closet next to my pajamas and two were hidden behind my little travel jewelry box on the mantel. Oh that mantel again. That could be the epicenter for the weirdness.

Oh, yeah, and I forgot: Since I’ve been here, every night at three in the morning, like some weird internal alarm,  I wake up. I don’t know why or what wakes me, but suddenly, blink, there I am wide eyed. And I usually sleep like a log through the night with no problems. This is especially true because I’m hearing impaired anyway and I can sleep though just about any noise. Something just isn’t right here. At one point I woke up, clapped my hands loudly and said, “Stop it!”

But the hauntings have continued.

This is when I started complaining to friends, but not in a scared way, just more annoyed than anything. One friend, an avid Ghost Hunters fan said, “Scratch your back with barbed wire! Really give them a show!” Yet another friend said, “have a seance!” Um, perhaps I can look up “Seance Services” in the phone book? I wouldn’t be surprised if they have have those listed here in in New Orleans. Nothing surprises me here really.

Still, I think I have come to believe this house has spirits. Not malicious ones, just pesky ones. The one thing I do know is they absolutely don’t like it when I bring a gentleman friend home. “Oh yeah, this place feels haunted,” Mr X said on his first visit, not even batting an eye. It was only after a few minutes sitting in the living room while we were talking and drinking wine, that the ghosts decided to let us know how they felt. The living room overhead light dimmed. Not flickered, dimmed. Even though all the other lights were fine, even though the dimmer switch was turned up, even though there was no breeze, no pulse, no other reason. The light stayed dimmed that way for a good few minutes and only happens when he visits. Or perhaps since they dimmed the lights in such a romantic fashion, they might like it when I bring him home. Who knows?

Regardless, I am learning to live with my new ghostly roommates. I’ve found lighting glass encased candles before bedtime seems to calm things down so I can sleep through the night. I just wish, like all good roommates, the ghosts would do their share of housework and do the dishes.

Stay tuned…