A Woman of the Swamp

10. The Haunted House

Nick and Shirley pulled up outside of a square, three-story mansion in the middle of the French Quarter. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” said Nick. “Are you sure you’ve got the right address?” He looked up at the old building. A metal balcony wrapped around the upper story and plants hung over the railing. The walls oozed a dark sensation that clung to his skin with prickling persistency.

“What? Expected him to keep a low profile?” Shirley continued past the building, looking for parking.

“Do you have any idea whose house that is?” Not keeping a low profile was putting it mildly.

“Well, according to our records, it’s owned by a Texas oil tycoon.”

“Yeah, of course it does. Last I checked, he bought it from Nicholas Cage.”

“You an expert on Louisiana realty, or just a fan?” Shirley swerved into a parking spot

“And I thought Lopsang was a bad driver. That is the LaLaurie Mansion, Shirley.”

“First, I aced my combat driving course, and yes, parallel parking in the most popular district for this city counts. Second, don’t tell me you believe in the bargain bin haunted history of this place.”

“Bargain bin?! This isn’t History Channel schlock, Shirley. This is THE haunted house. That place is built on blood, death, and torture. It’s like putting up an advertising sign that you’re a vampire. Nicholas Cage is just lucky he’s famous, or the hunters would have been after him in a heartbeat.” Nick drummed his fingers on the dash in a mixture of nervous excitement and abject terror. Dark histories were one thing, The LaLaurie Mansion was another entirely.

Shirley opened a compartment in the driver’s side door and pulled out a matte black pistol. She pulled the slide back, ensuring that the gun was loaded, and pushed it into her jacket pocket.

Nick wished he had brought some weaponry of his own, but unfortunately, he hadn’t been conscious during the packing process. A large harpoon gun wasn’t likely to be all that useful in the close quarters of a haunted mansion, but it certainly would have made him feel better. “You know ghosts don’t care about guns, right?”

“Well, I don’t put much stock in ghosts, so I came rigged for vampire. Those bullets have a hollow tip filled with holy water-infused garlic.”

“If I was your type, I might kiss you, Shirley.”

“How progressive of you?” She pressed a few buttons on the dash, bringing up a small screen with GPS coordinates.

“I thought so. Don’t suppose there’s something in one of these pockets for me?”

“Let me see what we’ve got for you.” Shirley pulled a lever next to the emergency brake, popping open a container where the passenger airbag should have been.

“That hardly seems safe. Were The Sixth Side founders Bond fans?”

“What do you expect? It was founded by men in the late fifties. Spy games were all the rage.”

Nick reached into the compartment and pulled out a single, dull, wooden stake. “Seriously, Shirley?”

She stifled a laugh. “Well, you’re not cleared for firearms use.”

“This is more apt to get me killed than do any good. If he finds a stake on me, I’ll be dead before I have a chance to use it.” He tossed it back in the compartment and banged on the dashboard trying to get it to close.

“Pretty sure they at least dipped it in holy water.” Shirley slapped Nick’s hand like a child. “Stop that, press the wrong button and you’re going through the roof. And no, before you ask, the sunroof isn’t automatic. Trust me, I don’t want to clean it up. Now, quit your bitching, and let’s get moving.” Shirley opened the door and stepped out. As she did, all the panels and compartments in the car receded, becoming the boring center console they had been minutes earlier.

“At least they’re efficient,” muttered Nick, stepping out into the damp street air. New Orleans was always muggy. No matter how hard he tried, there was no way to escape the cloying air that proximity to swamps, oceans, and heat provided. He ran a mental tabulation of everything he had concealed in his pockets, noting the positioning of anything that might ward off the foul beasts they were about to encounter. What he came up with was a single stick of chalk in his right breast pocket, a glass bauble containing holy water and priest’s blood in his left, and a sadly diminished supply of holy powder sewn into the lining of the jacket. Enough to piss something off for a few seconds at least.

Nick hustled to catch up to Shirley, trying to get in a few words before they were too close to the building. “Earlier you said you don’t put much stock in ghosts. Can I get you to clarify that statement?”

“Well, obviously at this point I have to believe in them. Your grandmother was the final straw there.”

“Crazy, old, bat.”

“But I don’t believe ghosts can interfere with the physical world enough to do us any harm. So, when I’m prepping a kit, all I pack for ghosts is a bar of chocolate to numb the fear afterward.”

Nick shook his head. “Well, if that helps you sleep well at night, keep a hold on it. But chocolate isn’t going to help you against much other than lake monsters. Ghosts can rip you limb from limb if they’ve got a mind for bloodshed. Even when they can’t, the real danger is psychological torture and poltergeist-assisted suicide. The spirits here are steeped in years of torture and regret. Unless Jackie has done a studs-out exorcism, we could be in trouble.”

Shirley bristled but didn’t lose her cool. “I’ll keep that in mind. Any tips?”

“Well, we don’t have a proper kit, so just try not to mention anything about slave torture and stay away from dark corners.”

“That’s helpful.”

Nick shrugged but didn’t say anything else. They were approaching the building and Jackie wouldn’t be living there without a few bugs on the perimeter to listen to his guests.

“Alright.” Shirley stopped as they neared the entrance. It was a small alcove in the bottom-floor brickwork with an iron-wrought gate protecting an otherwise plain door. “This is your friend, so I’m going to let you take the lead. But, if I say we leave, for any reason, we leave.”

Nick reveled in her discomfort, if only for a moment. “Don’t worry, Shirley. It’s not my first vampire brunch. Just try to enjoy the food.” He didn’t wait for a follow-up and stepped up to the gate.

Almost immediately, the front door opened and an austere woman in a tightly trimmed suit stepped out. “Mr. Ventner and Shirley of no last name, I presume?”

Nick made a mock gasp. “Didn’t even give them your last name, Shirley? That’s cold.”

Somehow, the woman stiffened more. “I assure you, we know her last name, we’re only providing common courtesy in case there are any prying ears.” She leaned out to look up and down the street as she said so. Satisfied that there was no one else behind them, she unhinged several locks and opened the iron gate. “Please come in but be quick about it. We don’t usually open the house at this time of day.”

Nick didn’t laugh, but he wanted to. Vampire brunches were a bit of a running joke. It was both a sign of good faith and a power trip for the host. If they could have guests over in the daylight, it showed that nothing could touch them. Nick followed the butler into the entryway of the house, anticipation hot on his brain. For years, he had heard stories of what was inside the LaLaurie mansion, but never dreamed he would be able to see it for himself. What greeted him was somehow beyond expectation.

A long, dark hallway stretched out in front of them, swallowing what little light the front door let in. The door shut behind them with a quiet clack and the gloom became absolute. As Nick’s eyes adjusted, he saw candles burning in holders mounted along the hallway. Several doors led off both sides, but all were closed. At the end was a staircase that spiraled upward, leading to the main floor of the house. In every sense, it lived up to his expectation of being haunted as hell.

“Monsieur Jackie will be serving brunch in the dining room on the second floor. The house can be a bit tricky to navigate as he likes to keep it very dark. Stick to the candlelight and you’ll have no trouble finding your way.” There was no air of intimidation or ghostly pallor in the woman’s voice, but the eerie cadence caught Nick off guard all the same. She might not be among the dead, but she definitely interacts with them.

“Will you be,” started Shirley, but stopped as she realized the woman was no longer with them.

“Well, they’ve leaned into the creep factor. Better get moving, who knows what lurks in a vampire’s personal house of horrors.”

Shirley grimaced and whispered. “Shouldn’t we—” she faltered, looking for the right phrasing, “I don’t know, be polite about it?”

“Which part of that was impolite? Jackie is a vampire and house of horrors is almost certainly the aesthetic he’s trying to curate. You don’t black out all the windows of a known massacre site and expect a cheerful review.” Nick started up the hallway, making sure to keep his curious hands off any of the doorknobs.

Shirley noticed his movement. “You alright?”

Elation coursed through Nick’s veins. Every door, every nook, and every cranny held potential answers to centuries-old mysteries. He took a deep breath, removing the excited tremor from his voice before he spoke. “No one knows what’s in this house, Shirley. It’s one of the great mysteries of the United States. Don’t you want to know what dark shit is hiding here? I bet they’ve got entities even Henry couldn’t dream up, and he was massively into opioids towards the end.”

“You realize we are here to stop a dark magic user, right?”

“Oh, a little dabble never hurt anyone…” Nick realized his error immediately and amended: “Well, never hurt anyone smart.”

“Just keep your hands to yourself.”

“I’ll remind you that I’m leading this investigation, Shirley.”

She glared at him.

“But, sure, I’ll resist the urge. For now.”

Together, they ascended the spiral staircase. The floor was made of alternating white and black marble, giving the illusion of movement. The spiral wasn’t strictly circular and made wavy bends as they made their way to the second floor. Wide windows adorned the staircase, no doubt meant to bring some light into the dark place. All were shuttered, painted over in black, and draped with thick curtains.

Nick wondered how hard it would be to pry the windows open if there was an immediate need. “Now, I should warn you, Shirley. Vampires love to begin these things with a flourish. So, try not to go all trigger-happy on our host.”

“Has anyone told you that you’re a terrible partner?” hissed Shirley.

“More than enough people for me to know it’s true.”

They rounded the bend on the staircase and entered a lavish sitting room. It spread out, reaching clear to the other side of the house, and in direct contrast to the cramped hallway below. A tasseled red rug spread across the floor. “Now, that’s just smart decorating.”

She grimaced. The rug’s coloration was blotchy and too close to blood for anyone to tell if the pattern was artistic or the result of repeated, unfortunate accidents.

Candles burned in a chandelier at the center of the room. Beneath it, a few armchairs and a long sofa were set out around a pentagonal coffee table. Recessed storage areas revealed classic party games stacked beneath it as well as a Ouija board. Windows once again lined the far wall, but not even a sliver of light made it through. Vampires were one of the more cautious breeds Nick had ever encountered, and it was for good reason. Years of persecution and being burned alive in the name of a holy ghost tended to make one a shut-in.

“I guess we should have a seat then.” The chandelier was the only illuminated spot in the room. Complete darkness hung over the corners, potentially concealing all sorts of nastiness. While the urge to explore and prod was tantalizing, the idea of being beheaded by a risen Madame Delphine was enough to make Nick stay put. He eased himself into a chair, waiting for a trap to spring.

“Why not?” Shirley sat down, taking the chair facing the way they had come in.

Together, they waited. Somewhere, a grandfather clock ticked, punctuating the otherwise silent household. “Want to know a fun fact?” asked Nick, and didn’t wait for a response. “If legends are to be believed, the walls in this house are so thick, you can’t hear someone in the next room.”

“You really need to redefine your definition of a ‘fun fact’.”

“I could have gone with the fact that there were secret compartments used for hiding dead slaves in about every room, but it didn’t seem like brunch conversation, Shirley.”

She was about to respond when all the candles in the room suddenly went out.

“Remember what I said,” whispered Nick, settling back in his chair.

A spiritual glow illuminated the far end of the room as blue-white flames leaped up in the fireplace. Their dim light revealed a massive portrait hanging on the wall, depicting none other than Madam Delphine LaLaurie. Her eyes burned with white fire. A woman floated through the portrait dressed in white finery. Soot clung to the bottom of her clothing, trailing a fine, black mist behind her.

“Nick?” asked Shirley.

“Part of the show,” he whispered, practically bouncing with excitement. He had no doubt the spirit before them wasn’t actually Madame LaLaurie, but the copy was close enough.

“You dare sit in my parlor and slander my name?” she asked, darting forward, suddenly far closer to Nick than he would have liked.

Nick chuckled and tried to play along as best he could. “I’m sorry, Madame. If I offended you in some way, it wasn’t my intention.” Up close, the spirit looked waxen, and beneath the fire, her eyes were black coals. “As a racist git, I thought you’d be proud of where you hid the bodies.”

“Nick, what the fu—”

“Insolent little shit, aren’t you? Well, I don’t think the new master of the house will mind if there’s only one of you to talk to. You remember how I lost this house, don’t you?”

Nick did, but he wasn’t given a chance to answer before very real, very hot flames leaped up at the side of his chair. Instinctively he checked his wrist and swore a sand grain fell from the top half of the hourglass. Oh shit. The flames rose around him on all sides, making the room suddenly sweltering. Nick reached into the lining of his coat. “Shirley, if you can hear me, might want to duck.”

“I will enjoy watching you burn!” screamed LaLaurie, her voice growing to a fever pitch.

Nick pulled a thread he had looped around his inside pocket. A sewn patch containing holy powder unraveled. The flames took to the substance in an instant, and there was a blinding flash as it exploded.

The ghost recoiled and yelped in pain. “What is this?” she hissed.

“A little nose candy from the divine!” The flames surrounding him dipped and Nick used the opportunity to roll through them toward Shirley. She lay on her back, staring in shocked silence up at the infuriated ghost. Nick wasted no time in pulling the small length of chalk from his pocket and drew a quick circle around them.

Madame LaLaurie charged, pulling a spectral knife from her blouse. “I will end you. You can join the other vi—” She bounced off an invisible barrier with an audible thunk and shot backward across the room.

“It’s a chalk circle, you intolerant cow!” Nick panted. He could still feel the heat of the flames on his skin and the chair he had been sitting in was reduced to ashes.

“If you think a simple chalk circle is going to stop me, you are sorely mistaken!”

Nick stood up to a crouch, knowing he was just about out of tricks. The chalk circle would hold for a while, but not forever.

“I thought this was supposed to be some kind of show.” Shirley was struggling to her feet as well.

“Maybe I offended Jackie and forgot. It’s happened before” Nick’s list of enemies was long and seemed to grow every day despite his best efforts.

LaLaurie charged, her ethereal form streaking across the room and leaving a trail of ash and cinders behind it. Seconds before she slammed into the protective barrier, a man clapped and all the lights in the room came on at once. Madame LaLaurie froze in place, her face still livid and jaw gnashing in effort. “Release me!” she yelled.

“I think you’ve had quite enough fun for one day,” came a silky-smooth voice from the entryway. “Back to holding with you.” The man clapped his hands again, and an electronic whir filled the room.

“Nooo!” LaLaurie’s form blurred and distorted as she was sucked back toward the fireplace.

Nick watched in amazement as she contorted and shrunk, eventually disappearing entirely.

An aristocratic man dressed in a no doubt expensive, but garish suit, stepped into the room. A long, mirrored coat hung off his shoulders to the floor, reflecting light in tiny pinpricks on the walls. White, crusted jewels glittered from gold rings on his fingers. Several multicolored rounds of fabric tied his hair up to an impossible height.

“Hell, Jackie, you look like a walking, goddamned disco ball.”

“I’m glad you appreciate the aesthetic,” called the man, sidling over to them. “It’s a bit of wearable irony that I’ve become quite attached to.” He walked right up to Nick and kissed him forcibly on the lips.

Nick staggered backward. “Nice to see you too. Thought you were going to let the old bat kill us for a minute.” He wiped his lips, trying to get the taste of death off them. The part that bothered him was that it wasn’t half bad.

“Oh, her? She came with the place. Someone figured out how to trap her when they first bought the mansion and now we mostly just bring her out as a party favor. Fitting end for someone so vile.”

Shirley tried to hide a look of disgust.

“You must be Shirley. Quite an interesting background, I must say. Sixth Side sent a thick dossier. Hardly had time to read it this morning.”

Rage and betrayal boiled in Shirley’s eyes.

Nick tried not to feel too satisfied. “Told you, Jackie’s got friends everywhere.”

“And he means everywhere.” Jackie inclined his head, causing the streamers around his hair to fall in a multicolored waterfall in front of his face. “But, enough about me, let’s get some grub and talk business. This one never comes around unless he wants something, and if the Sixth Side is involved, my guess is he wants it bad.” Jackie twirled his fingers and led them out of the room.

“Try simple sentences,” said Nick. “It will make talking easier.”

“I know how to talk,” bit Shirley.

“Well, then let’s be pleasant and enjoy our brunch…”