The Ghosts Of New Orleans (A PARANORMAL RESEARCH AND CONTAINMENT DIVISION (PRCD) CASE FILE)

by Reid, Terri

  “So, basically whoever is trying to stop me from sending these spirits home is trying to...”

  “Build up an army of zombies,” said Sally, twirling her chair back to Eloise.

  “Okay, Sally, ten million dollar question, why would someone want an army of zombies?”

  Sally shook her head in disbelief.

  “What would you do with an army that doesn’t need food, sleep, and can never be killed?”

  A chill ran down Eloise’s spine. “You could do anything.”

  Sally nodded. “And you would be extremely popular with terrorists who have large amounts of money.”

  Eloise nodded. “So, where do I start looking?”

  “Well, my first guess is to look for anything that has to do with worshipping Yemanja,” Sally offered.

  “And Yemanja is?”

  “Yemanja is the Voodoo Spirit of the waters,” Sally replied matter-of-factly.

  Eloise waited for a further explanation, but none came.

  “Look Sally, I really hate to act dumb and I have always thought that I had a fairly high IQ – but could you just tell me why I’m looking for someone worshipping this spirit?”

  Sally smiled. “Oh, sure. Sorry. In order to become zombies, the spirits and the bodies have to reunite – you know, become resurrected. Most of these bodies were washed out to sea, so in order to get them returned…”

  Eloise nodded. “You would need to get in touch with the spirit of the waters. I get it now. Thanks Sally.”

  Sally grinned, picked up her green drink and took a big gulp.

  “No problem, boss! So, what are you going to do next?”

  “Do we have a voodoo favorite in the area?”

  Sally turned back to her computer and entered a little more information.

  “Well, voodoo is still alive and kicking in the New Orleans community,” Sally commented. “But when I enter both voodoo and Yemanja I just get one name.”

  Eloise stood up and leaned over Sally’s shoulder, “Great, what name?”

  “Maria Leveau, she was the Voodoo Queen of New Orleans,” Sally answered. “She had a home on Rue St. Ann, but now she’s buried in St. Louis Cemetery Number One.”

  Eloise walked over to the counter, picked up her hat and her briefcase and headed toward the door.

  Sally turned around, confused. “What are you going to do?”

  Eloise shrugged. “Do what any investigator does – interviews subjects.”

  Sally looked around and shook her head.

  “Maria has been dead since the 1800s and everyone else is evacuated. Who are you going to interview?”

  Eloise smiled as she opened the door.

  “You forget, Sally,” she said, “I talk to dead people.”

  The view from the driver’s seat of the SUV was eerie, Eloise thought as she traveled up Florissant Highway. Eloise kept her windows rolled up and her door locked. The first to keep out the smell of the rotting wasteland around her, the second to make sure no “unfriendlies,” as Bert and Ernie would say, had easy access.

  The paved highway still had large patches of dried mud across both lanes. Most of the debris had been pushed off onto the shoulder. Beyond the highway were the skeletal remains of hundreds of homes – the frame standing bare against the gray sky or just patches of concrete where homes used to stand. Trees, with their leaves and branches stripped off to the height of 20 or 30 feet until their foliage reappeared above the storm surge line, looked like giant pencils with fuzzy green erasers. The rest of the landscape was a mix of debris and brown mud – there was no grass, no shrubs, no porches, and no humanity.

  The usually blue-green waters of the lakes were a dreary brown with waves slogging up debris and mud onto the shores. Eloise surveyed the horizon. As she drove, tears formed in her eyes. So many people dead, so many more left with nothing, no homes, no jobs, and no homeland. She couldn’t imagine what they had to be going through just trying to look past the tragedy of the day into the brightness of the future.

  Suddenly, Eloise felt a chill run up her spine. She stiffened; her intuition was always a better meter than any of the electronic instruments she carried. She slowly turned her head towards the passenger seat and the old man now seated next to her turned his salt and pepper whiskered face to her and winked. She took a deep breath, clasped the steering wheel tightly and decelerated slowly.

  “Bonjour, ange. Il fait beau,” he said, with a smile that turned his grizzled face nearly into a thing of beauty. He was dressed in faded overalls and a cotton shirt, with a faded bandana tied around his neck. His hands were gnarled and tanned and his face was lined with hundreds of wrinkles that made him resemble a bloodhound Eloise had once seen. His salt and pepper hair was cut in a short crew cut. But the twinkle in his eyes was what put Eloise immediately at ease.

  “I’m sorry,” Eloise replied, slowly moving towards a clear spot on the shoulder and stopping, “I don’t speak French.”

  “Not, French, Cajun,” he said with grin, “I say, hello, angel, nice weather we are having.”

  Eloise grinned. “Yes, today the weather is very nice.”

  “I am Jean-Henri, and you?” he asked.

  “I am Eloise,” she replied.

  “Ah,” he said, nodding knowingly, “Eloise, I am amoureux, in love.”

  Eloise chuckled, “You are a scoundrel.”

  Jean-Henri laughed. “Je fais le mieux que je peux ... I do the best that I can.”

  Then Jean-Henri looked out of the window to the scene before him.

  “There was a tempete, storm, no?” he asked.

  “Yes, there was a bad storm, a hurricane,” Eloise replied.

  He nodded, slowly, still surveying the landscape, “An ouragan.”

  He turned back to her. “Many people,” he paused for a moment to find the words, “Many people die?”

  Eloise nodded sadly. “Yes, Jean-Henri, many people died.”

  He sighed, “I am not ready for the cimetière, the cemetery. I am a fisherman; I cannot stay in the ground.”

  “Do you remember the storm?” asked Eloise.

  “Oui, I was fishing. The sea she is my bele, my sweetheart, but this night she was the diable, the devil. Her waves were high - dangereux.”

  He paused for a moment to search his memory.

  “The wave, she was giant,” he said, “I was écraser, crushed, by the water. I went down…”

  He turned to her, tears streaming down his wrinkled face.

  “Mon dieu, I am not alive!” his voice held a note of panic in it, “Pourquoi? Why? Why am I still here?”

  “Jean-Henri, you just stopped for a while to say good-bye to this place you loved.”

  He shook his head and spoke slowly, with a dawning awareness. “Non, no, I have not come to say au revoir to my home – for it is here, in my heart, always,” he said, touching his chest with his hand. “Non, I have come to have a rendezvous with you, sweet Eloise.”

  “I don’t understand - a rendezvous?”

  Jean-Henri nodded. “Oui, I hear the words from my soul. I hear the cries from my friends. I hear the voices from the graves call out to me to warn you.”

  “What can I do for them, Jean-Henri?” she asked.

  “Out in the gulf there is more danger than you know. There is one who works to trap the souls of my friends, my family. She works with the Diable, the devil; she lost her soul a long time ago. You must be careful, mon ange. You must use all the power you have.”

  Eloise nodded. “I am going to Maria Leveau to seek some information. I promise that I will be careful.”

  Jean-Henri smiled, satisfied. “I feel peace inside me now.”

  “Then now, you can go on to the place you belong. Look around you. Can you see a light?”

  Jean-Henri turned in the seat and looked all around, “Ah, yes, lumière. I see it, the light.”

  Eloise smiled. “That is where your journey takes you. That is where you need to go.”

  Jean-Henri turned
back to her and smiled, ‘Now, one thing before I go. Donne-moi un petit bec doux, cher!”

  He leaned forward a placed a kiss on her cheek. “A little kiss before I go.”

  Then he winked again, grinned and turned and walked toward the light.

  Eloise placed her hand over her cheek and smiled, unaware of the tears sliding down her face. “Au revoir, Jean-Henri.”

  She took a deep breath, grabbed a tissue, wiped her face and blew her nose. Then she put the SUV back in drive and continued towards New Orleans.

  Staying on Route 46, Florissant Highway, she traveled through St. Bernard Parish, witnessing the devastation the hurricane had done to that part of the state. Finally she came into New Orleans. She followed Claude Street west until it dumped into McShane Place. The usually bustling streets were empty except for emergency crews moving supplies. The roads were still laden with debris and many signs were down, awnings tangled, and roofs and windows shattered. Trees were split or toppled over and abandoned cars littered the streets. Eloise turned down a few side streets in order to avoid congestion and questions. Finally, she came back to Rampart Street and to the cemetery.

  She parked her car up on the sidewalk as close to the cemetery gate as she could. She knew that every tourist brochure warned people not to walk into the cemeteries of New Orleans without a large group and tour guide. This was not due to the ghosts or phantoms that might be lurking near the above ground gravesites. It was because you were very likely to encounter thieves, drug dealers, and other ne’er-do-wells. However, Eloise felt that most of those “unfriendlies” had left the confines of the cemetery walls for greater pickings elsewhere in the abandoned city.

  The cemeteries of New Orleans were often called “cities of the dead.” Not only did the tombs look like buildings, but the cemeteries were organized with streets and street signs much like the cities of the living.

  Because the water table in New Orleans was so high, the residents realized early on that they could not bury their dead in the usual manner. After several unsuccessful attempts, like putting rocks on top of the coffins to keep them from rising to the surface, it was decided that above ground tombs would be a better choice.

  However, building an above ground tomb could be quite an expense for a family, so the tombs in New Orleans cemeteries are used again and again. It is common to bury all the members of a family...or multiple families...in the same tomb, with names and dates added to a plaque or headstone as necessary.

  The St. Louis Cemetery #1 was the oldest and most famous of over a dozen above-ground cemeteries in and around New Orleans. Eloise walked through the gate and entered the narrow paths that crisscrossed throughout the cemetery. Over six hundred different edifices dotted the cemetery, their designs resembling Moorish dwellings, temples, chapels, palaces, and mosques. The paths were covered in smooth asphalt and the quiet of the cemetery was broken only by the sound of Eloise’s heels slapping against the ground.

  She turned down a narrow path and gasped softly. The ghost was beautiful. She was tall, with translucent ebony skin, a heart-shaped face and dark, piercing eyes. She was dressed in a soft white floor-length gown Eloise realized was a shroud.

  “So, you are looking for me, perhaps?” the ghost asked in a soft, melodic voice.

  Eloise nodded. “If you are Maria Laveau, I am.”

  “And who would come to see the Queen of Voodoo without a gift?” she asked, raising her eyebrows haughtily.

  Eloise shrugged, “I apologize, I am ignorant to the ways of voodoo and I have come here to learn.”

  Maria laughed and then nodded her approval.

  “You do not seek for yourself, I think, so you do not have to offer a gift to Maria,” she said. “What is it that you desire to learn?”

  “I have a job…” she began.

  Maria interrupted. “I know of your work. The spirits whisper of your works to me,” then she smiled, “Lizzy sends her greetings.”

  Eloise smiled in response.

  “But there is one who does not approve of your work,” Maria stated. “One who wishes to stop you.”

  Eloise nodded. “Yes, I wish to learn how to stop her.”

  Maria tilted her head and stared speculatively at Eloise for a moment. “You do not wish to run?” she asked.

  Eloise shook her head. “No, I wish to fight.”

  Maria started to pace slowly down the asphalt walkway through the white marble tombs, Eloise followed her. “Why do you wish to fight?”

  Eloise shrugged. “Because I don’t like to be pushed around.”

  Maria laughed again and then stopped and turned to Eloise.

  “This spirit you seek is not only evil, but mad. She seeks to enslave the spirits of those who wish to pass. She seeks their power – their energy. She will kill you if you are weak.”

  Eloise took a deep breath. “I have been told that I have enough power to win. I have been told that I must have faith.”

  Maria stopped and considered Eloise’s comments and then looked beyond Eloise towards the walls of the cemetery.

  “You do have the power,” she finally said, “But do you have the courage, I wonder?”

  “I am not afraid,” Eloise stated firmly.

  Maria smiled gently, “Of spirits and death you are not afraid, but perhaps it is of life that you are timid.”

  Eloise shook her head in confusion. “I don’t understand…”

  Maria held up her hand to stay Eloise’s question. “No, this is not the time to worry, this is the time to prepare,” she said, “You must learn about your adversary and you must find where she is weak and strike her there. I will help you if I can, but my powers have become limited because of the pain of my people.”

  “Who am I searching for? Who should I research?”

  Maria started to slowly fade from Eloise’s view, but before she disappeared she whispered, “Lalaurie.”

  “Lalaurie,” Eloise repeated.

  She looked around and found herself standing in front of Maria’s tomb. It was a tall stone tomb, about six feet tall and ten feet long. All around the outside of the tomb there were scratch marks.

  “When others ask a favor, they mark an x three times on my tomb,” a soft voice whispered, “But for you, I grant your favor without such a tribute.”

  “Thank you for the name,” Eloise responded.

  Maria laughed, her voice echoing throughout the empty cemetery. “That is not the favor I give,” she mocked. “The Queen of Voodoo, her favors are always about love.”

  Eloise shook her head.

  “I do not need that kind of favor,” she stated.

  “Do you have the courage?” the voice mocked.

  Maria’s soft laughter followed Eloise throughout her brisk walk back to the cemetery gate, the ever darkening sky hurrying her footsteps. She was nearly out of breath when she stepped out from beyond the gate.

  “There are a couple of issues that we have to work out.”

  Startled, Eloise nearly screamed as she spun around to see Paul leaning up against the side of the cemetery wall.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” she asked, her hand pressed against her heart.

  Paul straightened and walked up to her. “I thought we agreed that we were partners.”

  Eloise shrugged. “I wouldn’t call it an agreement, more like coercion.”

  “Whatever you want to call it – unless you want to be sent back to D.C., you and I work this operation together,” he stated firmly.

  “Fine,” Eloise said indifferently, “Whatever you say, Major.”

  Eloise started toward her parked SUV. Paul was a few steps behind her and when she reached her car, he moved in front of her and leaned against the door, blocking her way.

  “And what does that mean, Eloise?” he asked, “That as soon as my back is turned, you’re out the door working on your own leads?”

  Eloise turned and looked up at Paul. “Listen, Major, I’ve been running my own operations for quite a long time
now. I have never needed a babysitter and I don’t need one now. I will take precautions, if that will make you happy. I appreciate your help, but, quite frankly, I don’t need it.”

  “No, you listen, Eloise, we’ve received three more bulletins about missing women in the New Orleans area. That’s brought the number up to twelve,” Paul said, “These women are missing days and sometimes weeks before the police can even get the information out. They are all close to your age and were all by themselves.”

  “Well, maybe I’ll be lucky number thirteen and you won’t have to worry about me anymore,” she replied sarcastically.

  Eloise nearly stepped back when she saw the anger in his eyes, but pride had her holding her ground. Too late, she realized that she should have run when she had the chance. Paul’s hands shot out and grabbed her arms, pulling her against him. He tightened the embrace and Eloise found herself trapped between his legs and his arms, her breasts smashed against his chest, her arms pinned to her side.

  “Show me, Eloise,” he growled, “Show me how you can take care of yourself in this kind of situation.”

  He turned with her, so her body was now pressed between him and the car. He moved his hands roughly up and down the sides of her body. “Stop me, Eloise,” he breathed, his mouth close to her ear.

  She turned to him and their eyes locked. His hands stilled at her waist and he pulled her even closer. “Don’t stop me, Eloise,” he whispered, lowering his face toward hers.

  She knew he was going to kiss her. She wanted him to kiss her. But she knew it would only lead to more pain. At the last moment, she turned her head to the side. Paul inhaled sharply, turned and walked away from her. She felt her heart break a little.

  “Dammit, Eloise, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that,” he whispered, turning back to her.

  Eloise trembled and closed her eyes, a single tear tracked down her cheek. She felt his finger trace the path of the tear and wipe it gently away. She blinked away the other tears and looked up into his eyes. She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry too.”