The Jar of Nephren-Ka

Lafon Boys Home

New Orleans, Louisiana: 7:48 PM, Sunday, June 24th, 1984

I followed the Rolls through Nola to the edge of the bayou, right on the very outskirts of east New Orleans. Here, Chef Menteur highway was cracked and pitted, and vegetation threatened to overrun the road at every side if water didn't do the job first. The only buildings out this way were the occasional trailer or corrugated metal industrial building.

However, off in the distance, I could see some larger, two-story structure, almost obscured by an old forest on the right side. The Rolls got closer and slowed down, pulling into the cracked concrete drive and stopping at a rusted iron fence suspended between two old brick posts.

I kept going, not slowing down, and as I approached, Barnes exited the Rolls and walked to the fence. A quarter mile away, I turned into the empty driveway of an old trailer and killed my lights. I pulled my binocs and watched Barnes.

He was fiddling with a chain on the gate for a moment, and then the chain was loose and falling to the ground. Barnes stuck the lock in his pocket and spread the gate wide. He then returned to the car and pulled it through.

I watched for a few more minutes to see if he came back to lock the gate, but he didn't even shut it. I put the cruiser in drive and made my way back up the road.

As I neared the entrance, I eased off the gas and let the cruiser coast down a little, giving me some more time to view the entrance without flaring my brake lights.

A crumbling concrete drive led between two weathered brick posts, which were themselves connected to a brick wall colonized by ivy. Inside the wall were many large trees planted in even rows, with smaller trees and shrubs randomly dotting the landscape, choking off what was probably once a beautiful, expansive yard.

Following the drive with my eyes, I saw it ran for perhaps 200 yards, then it connected to a circular turnaround. In the center of the turnaround was a statue, though it was impossible to make out details in one brief glimpse.

Behind the statue, standing two stories tall and still possessing a regalness despite its state of decay, was a wide, two-story, brick colonial structure. It didn't look like a house, more like an institution or hospital.

The weathered brick facing of the building was punctured by a large double door under a stone arch. Sixteen multi-paned, sliding windows graced each side of the doorway, eight per floor, and six grand, white concrete columns supported the roof over the expansive porch.

I drove past and looked for a turnoff to park in. After about a quarter of a mile, I found an access road that went deeper into the bayou, muddy tracks running down a slope and off into the weeds.

I eased the cruiser down into the track, hoping tonight would not end with it stuck in the sucking clay mud. Once I stopped the car, I jammed my weapon into my holster and put on my fatigue jacket. Then I gathered up my things, shoved them in a duffel bag, and exited the vehicle.

The ground was firmer than I expected, easing my anxiety somewhat, and I began my trek through the borderline swampland towards the structure, keeping hidden from the road but careful not to venture too far in. I'd never fought a gator and wasn't in the mood to cross that item off my list tonight.

The moon was just a tiny sliver in the sky, and the lack of light made for slow going, even after my eyes had adjusted. I plodded along, using touch and hearing as much as sight. The insects were eating me alive, and occasionally something large and loud would buzz my head, causing me to violently flail at it just to make it go away. I hated large insects; large, flying, biting insects especially.