Page 36 of Stalked By Shadows
“Why?”
“The Lounge is very sad. It was where a bunch of LGBTQ people died in a deliberately set fire. Even after death they were treated horribly by the police and press. You can still look up some of the really disturbing photos the police took after the fire and let go public with horrible captions in the paper about how they deserved it or something. When I get too close to the building it gives me an overwhelming sense of sadness. I don’t know if it’s psychological since I know all their stories by heart and have seen the photos a dozen times. Or if their fear and grief still lingers. The LaLaurie Mansion is a whole other nightmare,” Micah said.
“I think I heard of the Upstairs Lounge before. In one of those gay history of New Orleans videos I watched right after I moved in with Lukas. I was a bit worried about being dragged out into Jackson Square and burned at the stake for being queer. The pictures were chilling.” Not as bad as what I’d seen overseas, but not much was.
“There is still discrimination by some people as most anywhere in the world. Most are friendly enough. There’s even a sizable Pride celebration in the summer.”
I nodded, having learned a lot of that from Lukas who the department thought was straight, but was likely as queer as I was. “What’s the LaLaurie Mansion?” I tried to recall some of the reading I’d done on New Orleans and couldn’t remember much other than basic founding facts.
“Lots of stories, some photos, but no one is absolutely positive of the truth. Only that the matriarch of the LaLaurie family was known for torturing black people and killing them. Even after slavery ended, she kept them and tortured them. There are pictures of some chains found in the back of her house. There was a fire once, as actually happens here a lot according to history, and those who were chained up, died. There’s a story of the neighbors seeing her chase a servant girl with a knife. The girl jumped from the roof to her death to escape.”
“That’s lovely,” I said, hoping he caught the sarcasm. “Lots of pleasant history here in New Orleans.”
Micah shrugged. “It was founded on blood and to this day that vein continues to flow. It’s why so many people come here trying to experience something paranormal. They can feel the convergence of ley lines and all the paranormal weirdness gathering like a hurricane building. The LaLaurie Mansion makes my skin crawl to even be across the street from it. In everyday life, I avoid it, taking other streets, and for tours I let them get close and stay back. We never linger long. The new owners have invited me to do a Halloween paranormal thing, but I’ve turned it down two years in a row. There’s no amount of money I would take for setting foot in that house. Even standing close to it makes me feel like my skin is writhing. People often try to stop and ask questions, but I hurry them along as a lot of times getting too close makes me nauseous.”
“Wow. Sounds creepy.”
“It looks like a normal house from the outside. Sort of like the Sultan’s Palace. Big with old architecture, but the Palace doesn’t ever feel like much to me.”
“I need to research this stuff,” I said cramming the last of the rice and beans into my mouth. Micah had eaten the meat, but I was okay with sharing.
“Lots of books in my shop. But you’ll probably learn more following me on tours about the little stuff; ghosts in cabs, serial killers, vampires in brothels, and fist fighting prostitutes.”
“Fist fighting prostitutes? Will I be defending you from said prostitutes?”
“She’s never touched me, though people have pictures of her in the French Market. She’s not always there, but I do take people through there a lot as they find her story amusing. In life, she gutted a bunch of men with a butcher knife and there are legends of her demanding people fight her.”
I gaped at him. “This town is really full of crazy dead people, isn’t it?”
Micah laughed. “Live ones too. Bourbon street at night is always insane. And wait till Mardi Gras. I don’t allow people with alcohol in hand on the tour, though it is allowed in open containers on the street. Usually people only try to show up drunk during Mardi Gras, the rest of the time people are sober and ready to be scared with a creepy story.”
“Fuck. This city is so weird.” I shut the container and thought about the previous day. Stress and me didn’t work, but Micah said that wasn’t the norm. If it was, he wouldn’t still be operating a tiny shop, would he? “If you want me to still work with you, we can try again. Sorry if I wig out on your tour, but you should be warned it might happen.”
“Can you tell me if something is bothering you when we’re out? If I don’t feel it, but somehow it feels dangerous or menacing? I wouldn’t want to expose others to that.” Micah leaned over to pull a bag up from where it sat beside his feet. He stuffed the crochet in it. “No matter how much of a scare they might think they want.”
“Sure. Even if I see knife wielding prostitutes?”
“Especially if you see knife wielding prostitutes.”
“But you don’t believe in ghosts,” I reminded him.
“Their existence persists anyway, whatever they are. Maybe they aren’t ghosts but beings from a parallel dimension? Maybe a ghost is really the next stage in evolution for humanity, like a higher presence or something.”
“Who hang around where they died?”
He frowned at me. “There is that. I tend to think those specters are really the residue of emotion. As humans we have an overabundance of emotion all the time. Seems only likely that it all goes somewhere instead of completely stopping. The universe could use that energy for something, right?”
“Sounds like some video game stuff to me. Who knows?”
He sighed and looked down at his crochet bag. “I need to bring this home.”
“Okay. So let me find some comfortable clothes for this awful soup we call weather and we can walk this route of yours,” I agreed.
“You don’t have to walk me home. We can meet at the shop and then go the route.”
“Nah, I need to get more familiar with the city. Can’t do that if I’m only walking a half a block. And I’m excited about the tour. I also got a little lost finding my way home from your place earlier…”
“It’s only a few blocks.”