The Good, the Bad, and the Gwen | ✔️

26 - A Good Legend Never Dies

The thing about New Orleans is they don't bury their dead.

During my ghost walk through the French Quarters, I learned that if you dig even a few feet into the earth, the hole will fill with a swampy sludge because the water table is that high. So if you attempt to bury anything—be it a beloved family pet, or even Great Aunt Bertha—they're likely to pop right up through the soil.

Since most people get a little weirded out by the idea of decomposing corpses rising from their graves, early settlers decided to create above-ground tombs after the many methods they used to keep their dearly departed where they belonged failed. So, when Hartley suggests a ghost hunt, I naturally assume we'll head toward the graveyard—but leave it to her to have a much more elaborate scheme in mind.

Sully obviously shares the same assumption. "This isn't the way to St. Louis Cemetery," he points out once we turn away from downtown.

"The cemetery?" Hartley says the word 'cemetery' as if it tastes sour on her tongue. She glances over her shoulder. "That's a little too easy, don't you think?"

Sully and I exchange a look.

"Gwen can go to a cemetery any time she wants. But how many times will she have access to an abandoned plantation?"

"Uh, Hart," Sully says slowly. "We don't have access to an abandoned plantation. That's called breaking and entering."

Nick releases a huff from the driver's seat as if Sully just made the most obvious observation in the world. Which he did, I suppose.

Hartley glares at Nick before returning her attention to us. "Carpe diem. Am I right? What better way to experience New Orleans than to go on an authentic ghost hunt? And I don't mean one of those cheesy numbers you pay some idiot dressed as a vampire for. I mean a real one. In a real haunted house." She turns forward in her seat, her blonde curls blowing wildly as she leans toward the open window.

Now, I'm totally down with listening to ghost stories and maybe even participating in a professionally-lead hunt or two. But breaking into a plantation that's probably hundreds of years old feels a lot like crossing some sort of metaphysical line. Something that's never ever meant to be tampered with. Like it's begging all kinds of evil forces to wake up from beyond and play. I clasp my hands tight to my lap and lean back in the seat, my heart pounding out a crazy rhythm against the center of my chest. Sully gives me a reassuring, if slightly unsure, smile and nudges my knee, but even the caress of his skin against mine isn't enough to chase away the mounting unease.

The road Nick turns down follows the bend of the Mississippi River and grows increasingly rural the farther we drive from town. About thirty minutes later, enormous plantations come into view, gothic-looking mansions nestled between patches of spooky, moss-draped trees. Most of the properties appear lived-in with inviting lights radiating from every window, but the one we pull into is nothing more than a forgotten shadow against the star-studded sky. A fine mist inches over the sprawling lawn, adding to the creep factor.

I shift in my seat as the car crawls down a path cutting through the center of the yard, the branches of ancient oak trees creating a canopy over the top of us. Colorless shacks line the far perimeter of the estate, barely bigger than the tiny shed behind my house in Ohio, the one that stores our lawn mower and other garden necessities. A wave of awe crashes over me as I realize what they are—the four grim walls slaves were forced to call home. Physical remnants of a dark and ugly past.

Nick curves around the side of the mansion and parks in the rear, far enough back that we're invisible from the road.

A stretch of silence passes as we take in the three-story structure. At one time, it must have been stunning, but now it sits dilapidated and near-paintless behind a tangle of overgrown brush. A balcony runs along the entire width of the second floor with most of the wooden spindles still firmly in place. The windows, on the other hand, aren't nearly as lucky. Several are boarded up and the ones that aren't have sustained a great deal of damage. The scene looks straight out of a horror movie—one that doesn't end well for the idiot teenagers planning to break inside.