New Orleans is pretty famous for being a spooky town to visit. Our trees are draped with Spanish moss, our cemeteries rise above the ground like miniature cities of the dead, fortune tellers set up tables in front of our cathedral, and we have a not-negligible population of voodoo practitioners. Of course we also have about a thousand ghost stories.
And as today is not only Friday the 13th, but the hundred-and-first anniversary of a certain letter proclaiming that all of the citizens of the city must play jazz or die, I thought I’d share a few of my favorite ghost stories.
Starting with that one.
The Axeman’s Night of Jazz
From 1917 to 1919, New Orleans was haunted by a serial killer known as "the Axeman." The Axeman targeted Italian grocers and their families, breaking into their houses in the night and murdering them as they slept. He killed at least six people and left six more severely injured. The crimes were brutal and the killings terribly, but it’s unlikely the crimes would be as infamous today if not for a letter that ran in the Times-Picayune on Friday March 14, 1919.
Dated March 13, “postmarked” from Hell (like a famous letter from another infamous serial killer), it purported to be from the killer himself, stating he would strike again the next week, but that there was a way to save yourself, should you be so inclined:
Now, to be exact, at 12:15 (earthly time) on next Tuesday night, I am going to pass over New Orleans. In my infinite mercy, I am going to make a little proposition to you people. Here it is:
I am very fond of jazz music, and I swear by all the devils in the nether regions that every person shall be spared in whose home a jazz band is in full swing at the time I have just mentioned. If everyone has a jazz band going, well, then, so much the better for you people. One thing is certain and that is that some of your people who do not jazz it out on that specific Tuesday night (if there be any) will get the axe.
Well, as I am cold and crave the warmth of my native Tartarus, and it is about time I leave your earthly home, I will cease my discourse. Hoping that thou wilt publish this, that it may go well with thee, I have been, am and will be the worst spirit that ever existed either in fact or realm of fancy.
You can read the full letter here. Whether the letter was a hoax, a marketing ploy, or truly from the murderer himself, no one was killed that next Tuesday night (although there were three further attacks that year, with no further jazz reprieves). The Axeman was never caught and his identity remains a mystery to this day.
Madame LaLaurie’s Haunted Mansion
You know that one house you do your best to avoid walking past? That one that makes you cross the street, just to get out of view of its empty windows and long shadow? New Orleans has a fair number of these, but the worst is at 1140 Royal Street, where unthinkable evil truly occurred.
The story begins on a spring evening in 1834, when a fire broke out during a party at the home of wealthy socialite Madame Delphine LaLaurie. As the LaLauries tried desperately to save their expensive furnishing—European antiques and priceless artwork, firefighters worked to save any people who were still in the home. When the firefighters broke into the locked attic they made a gruesome discovery, people not in danger of the fire, but of that evening’s hosts: Docteur and Madame LaLaurie had been purchasing enslaved people to perform gruesome "medical" experiments on. I won’t go into further horrific detail on this blog, but suffice to say that when the party guests gathered on the street saw the bodies of the living and dead carried out of the house, they formed a mob and ran the LaLauries out of town. It's said the couple lived out the rest of their days peacefully in Paris. Their former home is said to be haunted by both the LaLauries and their victims, and it hasn't kept an owner for very long. In the late 2000s, Nicolas Cage owned it for a short while, before losing it to taxes.
The Alley of the Singing Monk
You could reasonably assume that an alley called Pirate’s Alley would be haunted by, you know, pirates. Not in New Orleans. Our street—which not only bears the name Pirate’s Alley because of actual pirates that used to hang out around there, but was also once the home of William Faulkner—is haunted by a priest.
After France ceded Louisiana to Spain as result of the Seven Year's War back in the mid 18th century, Spain sent their first governor to New Orleans, ready to impose the rule of the new regime. He was immediately met with rebellion and forcibly sent back to Spain. In response, Spain sent a flotilla and a new—very Spanish—military governor, Don Alejandro O’Reilly, whose first task was to have the five leaders of the rebellion put to death. Which he did. He ordered their bodies to rot at the foot of St. Louis Cathedral, a warning to future conspirators. He was thwarted by a holy man (and a Frenchman), Père Dagobert de Longuory. Father de Longuory refused to deny the men Catholic burial rites. That night, he dragged the bodies down Pirate Alley and buried them in the neighboring cemetery, miraculously eluding the guards. It's said that on foggy mornings, you can still hear him, softly singing burial hymns as he transports the bodies of the dead.
The Bloodthirsty Count
Pictured: not the count
Count de Saint-Germain is a well-known historical figure, an 18th century court charlatan of mysterious origins who both bewildered and charmed European royalty. It's said he came to New Orleans in 1904. In that year, a man named Jacques St. Germain lived on the corner of Ursuline and Royal, and became known throughout town for his fabulous parties. In late November, however, a scandal occurred with a woman jumped off his second floor balcony claimed he attacked her: dragging a knife across her skin and attempting to drink her blood. When police entered his house to question him, they found wine bottles full of blood and mysterious stains under carpets, but no trace of Mr. St. Germain.
The Duelling Oaks
There is a tree, still standing in City Park, known as The Duelling Oak. It was a favorite dueling spot in the city, with ten duels purportedly fought there in a single Sunday morning in 1839. Legend goes, Jose “Pepe” Llulla, one of New Orleans' most prolific duelers, killed so many people under the tree, he had a cemetery consecrated to hold all of his victims (though records show he ended most of his duels before a final blow, and is only known to have killed two people under the tree). After dueling was outlawed in 1890, a reporter for The Times-Democrat wrote: "Why, it would not be strange if the very violets blossomed red of this soaked grass!" People often report hearing the sound of clanging swords and hollow gun shots under the moss-draped branches.
