Searching for spirits, I couldn’t see any on the balcony, nor from the windows. I stepped down from Ryan’s truck and closed the door behind me. It felt like my feet were anchored in tar with every step I took toward the dreadful place.
“So, who’s meetin’ us? If the owner isn’t here?” Ryan asked Lovie as he appeared beside me, and wrapped a protective arm around me.
She just shrugged. “Dunno. Guess we’re ’bout ta find out.”
Starting for the front door, but thinking better of it, Lovie turned around and extended her hand to me. When I took it, she closed her fingers around my hand and squeezed it, smiling at me encouragingly. “Jist you remember that I’m here with ya the whole time, Peyton. If it gets ta be too much fer ya, we can always take us a breather. Okay?” It wasn’t lost on me that Samuel suddenly sat up, glanced at the intimidating structure, and in a flash, was gone.
“Samuel just disappeared,” I said.
Lovie nodded and didn’t seem concerned. “He doesn’t like ta accompany me on these types o’ outins.”
“Remember, mon chaton, we do not have to venture inside. You can always forfeit,” Drake started.
“No,” I responded stonily. “We’re going in.”
I nodded to Lovie, and my nerves rose to high alert. As we walked across the sidewalk, a deceased group of nuns paraded right through us, no doubt headed for the Old Ursaline Convent on Chartres Street, which was maybe a block away. It felt like we were walking through an exceptionally cold wind, and the hairs stood up on the back of my neck.
“We just walked through a bunch of nuns,” I said in a shaky voice. It seemed so surreal, like I was in a dream, and my mind couldn’t really accept what I saw as really happening.
Lovie smiled and said, “That’s good luck.”
When we approached the front entryway, I noticed the black wrought-iron gate, which stood about five feet in front of the door and was opened maybe a foot wide. Gripping one of the spokes on the gate, I pulled it all the way open, figuring it was deliberately left unlocked in anticipation of our visit. We walked into the vestibule and Lovie knocked on the door while I admired the beauty of the arched ceiling, which was adorned with squares of floral reliefs. Even the white, carved front door was a work of art, featuring columns on either side of it. The floor was a checkerboard pattern of white and gray squares.
The door opened to reveal a plump African American woman who greeted us warmly with a big smile. “We been expectin’ ya, Ms. Lovie,” she said. “I’m the caretaker o’ LaLaurie. My name’s Hannah.”
Lovie smiled as the woman held the door open for us and we went inside. I hesitated only momentarily but Lovie squeezed my hand and I took a deep breath. I could only hope and pray I wouldn’t see something that would traumatize me for the rest of my life. As the thought crossed my mind, I observed a couple of balls of light emerging from the staircase. One disappeared into the wall beside the stairs while the other floated into the next room.
“Well, come on in,” Hannah said as she closed the door behind us. Then she faced Lovie and ran her hands down the front of her apron, almost nervously. “I had me many a strange experience in this here house, Ms. Lovie.” Then she started to fidget with the ties of her apron. “I was wonderin’ if it might be okay fer me ta tag along witch y’all?”
Lovie turned to face me. “As long as it’s all right with Peyton.”
I nodded, giving Hannah a smile, but was unable to speak. I’d been trying to ignore the sudden heaviness I felt in my stomach. I wasn’t sure if I was channeling something in the house, or if my unexpected stomach upset was purely the aftermath of my hyperactive nerves.
Hannah beamed at me and began nodding her head vigorously. “Ah, thank ye, Miss Peyton, thank ye.”
“Perhaps you can escort us to the rooms where you experienced the most occurrences,” Christopher said, seemingly irritated with the eagerness of the woman.
“’Course I can, Mr. Christopher,” Hannah answered as she led us through the foyer. Its interior doors were painted white and carved with floral patterns. They were breathtaking. The floors were so dark, they almost looked black and contrasted nicely with the off-white walls. Balls of light continued to appear and reappear at random, some blinking and dissolving into the ether, while others chose to follow us, always keeping within a safe distance of a few feet.
Hannah led us up the stairs to the second level as the dread in my stomach continued to expand. I tried to concentrate on the details of the house to briefly ignore my growing fear. Upon entering the kitchen, I told myself to examine the woodwork, which was painted black against the light-peach color of the walls and the marble island. There was a round table in the kitchen, and Louis XVI-style chairs, also painted black to match the woodwork. The chairs were upholstered in a cream fabric, with a repeating black paisley pattern, interlaced with skulls. As I traced the outline of the skulls with my eyes, three small, bluish lights emerged from the tabletop, spinning around one another as they floated up to the ceiling before they disappeared.
“There were rumors back when Madame LaLaurie owned this place, that she chained the cook ta the oven,” Hannah said as she looked at us, nodding her head as if to say she believed the rumors were true. “Some folks say the fire that broke out in 1834 was set by the cook.” She sighed while shaking her head. “I ain’t nevah had no experiences in here though.”
The kitchen opened into the dining room where the walls were painted a light gray with white wainscoting. The silvery silk drapes kissed the dark hardwood floors delicately, but the frieze of angels along the tops of the walls were what arrested my attention. The angels were white, set above a background of gray, which matched the rest of the room.
“Those angels be original,” Hannah offered with a proud smile as we all glanced up at the three-dimensional angels and nodded. Seeing the appearance of something holy in this forsaken place planted a shimmer of hope, which I hoped would soon blossom within me.
The dining room was dominated by an eight-person table painted black, and the seats of the dining chairs were upholstered in faux python skin. We continued through the dining room until we emerged into the hall. I spotted a parlor across the way, which was painted the color of heavy cream. Two armchairs upholstered in another shade of the rich cream color faced a bright-red velvet sofa.
We stepped onto the spiral staircase that led to the third floor. As soon as I took the first step, my breath hitched. I paused and inhaled deeply, trying to fight the sudden feeling of dizziness growing inside me.
“Pey?” Ryan asked, and I felt his hand on my back.
“Ma minette, the spiritual energy here is very strong,” Drake said. “You must not let it overwhelm you.”
“I’m okay,” I said immediately, though my voice sounded rather strained. “I’m just feeling a little bit dizzy, that’s all.”
“We can take our time,” Lovie answered.
Taking another deep breath, I noticed Hannah was staring at me curiously. “It’s jist the spirits,” she said in a low voice. “I feel it sometimes too. It’s like they’re chokin’ me wif their sorrow an’ anger.” She tightly gripped the banister and took the stairs one at a time, huffing and puffing all the way. I couldn’t tell if it was the spirits that caused her such difficulty, or just her lack of exercise.
“Try ta take another step,” Lovie said to me as she held my arm, allowing me to lean on her. I took another step, and another, without feeling any better, but, fortunately, no worse. When we reached the third floor, the constrictive feeling I had in my throat disappeared altogether.
“It’s gone,” I said, rubbing my throat, hoping the discomfort was permanently over.
“Where have you noticed the most ghostly activity?” Christopher asked Hannah, after studying me for a moment or two. He seemed to be trying to decide if I was fit to continue. Apparently, I was.
“Most
ly in the Heaven Room,” Hannah answered. “Lotsa folks say the torturin’ o’ the slaves happened in a shed at the back o’ the house, but I dunno ’bout any shed. I had mo’ scary stuff happen ta me in the Heaven Room than anywheres else.”
I spotted a bedroom that was painted in various hues of blue. An enormous four-poster bed dominated the room, covered in black bed linens that only made the room appear darker. The floor-to-ceiling purple taffeta drapes were drawn closed on the windows, imbuing the room with an even eerier ambiance.
“I done left them drapes open,” Hannah said, almost to herself, as she shook her head. “Seems whenever I do, though, them drapes jist close theyselves up ’gain.”
Two armchairs flanked a large fireplace, which appeared to be constructed of some sort of bluish-green marble. Each of the armchairs was upholstered in bright-blue fabric. “Is this the Heaven Room?” I asked Hannah. My furrowed eyebrows showed my obvious doubt and confusion.
“It would be more apropos to name it the ‘bottom of the sea room,’” Drake piped up from inside me as I nodded in agreement.
“Oh no,” Hannah responded as she continued leading us down the hall. She stopped outside of a small room, which was done up in hues of white and cream. A glass chandelier hung from the ceiling, its ornateness enhanced by the floor-to-ceiling drapes, which were a warm shade of beige. The floor was covered by a soft, white flokati rug. It wasn’t lost on me that Hannah didn’t or wouldn’t enter the room. She chose instead to cling to the railing.
“This be the Heaven Room,” she answered, her voice soft.
I nodded, suddenly feeling the urge to enter the room. I knew the drive couldn’t be coming from me, so I figured the sprits were somehow calling out to me. I couldn’t see any balls of light or anything spectral, just the furniture in the room. Nevertheless, I still felt the undeniable impulse, as though the spirits were pushing me to enter the room.
“Do ya see anythin’?” Lovie asked me pointedly.
I shook my head. “No, but I have an overwhelming need to enter the room,” I answered, knowing the fear had to be evident in my voice.
“The spirits want ta tell ya somethin’,” Hannah said as she nodded several times. “Sometimes I git that feelin’ too, whenevah I’m walkin’ past this room. I gotta fight not ta go inside.”
I didn’t want to find out why she resisted entering the room. I just wanted to get on with my business so I could get the hell out of the LaLaurie Mansion. I vowed to myself, right then and there, that if I was lucky enough to survive this incident, I would never come back. I took a step toward the door when I felt Ryan’s hand on my arm. I turned around and looked up into his caring face.
“You don’t have to do this, Pey,” he said and nodded. “I can tell you’re scared to go in there.”
“But I do have to,” I answered solemnly, trying to smile at him. I removed his hand from around my arm and took a deep breath. With three agonizing steps, I was in the doorway to the Heaven Room. All of a sudden, my breath caught in my throat again and the sensation of complete doom overcame me. I got the distinct warning from my gut that I should stop right now and not go on. But I knew I had to.
With another big breath, I closed my eyes and took a final step, knowing that I would be inside the Heaven Room as soon as my foot touched down. A feeling of numbness started in my toes, working its way up my legs, seizing the center of my body, before maneuvering into my arms and taking over my head. When I opened my eyes, I wasn’t in the Heaven Room at all. I wasn’t sure exactly where I was. Worst of all, however, I was completely alone. Lovie, Christopher, Hannah, and Ryan were nowhere to be seen.
I heard what sounded like moaning. Turning around to confront whatever was making the noise, I almost couldn’t believe my eyes. I gasped as my heartbeat escalated tenfold.
“Mon Dieu!” Drake’s startled voice sounded in my head.
There, chained to the wall in front of me, were twelve slaves. They were anchored to the wall by their necks. I wasn’t entirely sure, but it looked like four of them were dead—they weren’t moving, at any rate. They just hung there, limp and lifeless. The others looked up at me, but seemed to see beyond me, as if I wasn’t even there. One girl was missing her arms; the man next to her was missing an eye and had limbs hanging limply by his side that seemed to have been stretched from his body.
“Oh my God,” I heard myself whisper. I sensed the tips of my fingers as I brought them up to cover my mouth. I closed my eyes, hoping the horrific scene before me would flee once I opened them again. I wasn’t so lucky. Instead, I noticed a mound of amputated limbs in the corner of the room. I never stopped to consider why I couldn’t smell anything as putrid as what I saw. The images before my eyes were so terrifying that I couldn’t ponder much more than the sight of them.
One woman wore an iron collar with spikes all the way around it, to prohibit her from dropping her head. Beside her was a very old woman who had a deep and festering gash on her forehead. She was mumbling incoherently. Every one of the slaves, whether alive or dead, was incredibly emaciated. Their ribs were clearly visible under their skin and their cheeks were hollow and gaunt. The man with the missing eye also had welts that covered his face and body, the scars from having been flayed by a whip.
Unable to resist, I reached out and tried to pull out the chain that fettered the man to the wall, hoping I could somehow free him. When I touched the chain, however, my fingers went right through it. I opened my palm, but it just passed through the chains again. I realized with some shock what was happening. I was visualizing a dreamscape, like what Christopher mentioned would happen, a video of a time long gone that now only existed in my mind’s eye. I swallowed hard as I tried to comprehend what that meant.
Saddest of all, it meant there was nothing I could do to help these defenseless, wretched victims.
I dropped down to my knees, facing the woman wearing the collar. When she didn’t focus on me, I waved my hand in front of her eyes. She didn’t even blink.
“She cannot see you, ma minette,” Drake’s voice sounded in my mind. “These people exist on another plane of being. They are not actually here. They are not real.”
Looking at the woman again, I realized Drake was right. She was simply zoning out on something behind me, something she saw in the distance. I remembered Christopher explaining dreamscapes and the four types of ghosts and figured this must be a case of residual paranormal energy. These spirits were simply reliving the most horrid time in their lives, which was probably also the cause of their eventual deaths.
But residual energy couldn’t help me. I had to find a spirit I could converse with, who might explain what was happening in the spirit world. I stood up and looked at the old woman who continued to mutter helplessly. I figured she was also a lost cause. The man with the missing eye was staring vacantly into the distance.
“Are any of you coherent?” I asked, my voice overcoming my panic. I had to get information, and find out what was in store for us on Tuesday. The only way to get that information was to ask these spirits.
Scanning the room, I tried to see if maybe there was someone else there, someone who could help me get the information I so desperately sought. Unfortunately, there was no one else in the small room.
“He comin’ the second day.”
I heard the voice from the far side of the room, on my right. It was the voice of a woman, but it sounded deep and gravelly, perhaps even pained. I hurried to the corner of the room and dropped down to my knees, spotting a woman looking up at me. She was chained to the wall by her neck, similar to the other slaves, only her hands were also fettered to the floor, held in place by two large wrist cuffs that were bolted to it.
“Mon Dieu,” Drake whispered through my mind.
Her right ear was hanging by a shred and her lips were sewn together, the skin bruised and swollen where what looked like rough twine was used for stitches. O
f course, I second-guessed myself, wondering how it was possible to hear her voice when she obviously couldn’t speak. But when I heard the sound of her breathing in my mind, I realized I was listening to her thoughts.
“Who comes on the second day?” I asked, leaning toward her. I wished there was something I could do to relieve her pain and fear. But that was an impossibility because this was nothing other than a mere whisper from a time long past. I was helpless and there was nothing for me to do but listen to her thoughts.
“He come,” she responded, her empty eyes seeming to look right through me.
“Find out who ‘he’ is, ma minette,” Drake prodded.
“Who is he?” I asked, my voice panicked.
“He a demon,” she replied, her voice eerily calm, even detached somehow. “He evil.”
“Is he coming Tuesday?” I asked. “Is the Axeman coming Tuesday?”
She tried to nod but couldn’t because the iron collar she wore jabbed her in the jaw, forcing her head to face the floor again. “He comin’ ta kill.” Her eyes dropped down to the floor before she immediately glanced up at me again. “He comin’ fer you first.” I felt my stomach drop as I swallowed hard.
“You must find out how to stop the Axeman, ma minette.” Drake’s worry echoed through his voice.
The woman’s eyes narrowed as she studied me. “You the one got away. He comin’ ta finish his bidness.” She was quiet for a few seconds. “He comin’ ta finish you an’ then he goin’ after the city.”
Suddenly realizing this woman might know the answers to many questions I’d wondered about the Axeman, I decided to try my luck. “The Axeman is a demon,” I started. “Does that mean he was released from hell?”
“Yes,” she answered immediately. “He do the bidness of his master down far below.”
“What is his reason for being here?” I continued, shaking my head to convey that I was at a complete loss as to the Axeman’s motives. “Why did he kill all those people almost a hundred years ago and then go silent for so long? And why is he coming back now?”
Once Haunted, Twice Shy (The Peyton Clark Series Book 2) Page 18