So, apparently, my house is haunted.
From what I’ve read and heard, that’s not all that unusual in New Orleans. In this city, the past is closely intertwined with the present. You can walk down a residential street and stumble upon a massive walled graveyard, full of white tombs stained black with grime and age.
It would be fair to say that the city of New Orleans made me believe in ghosts. In no other place have I ever entertained the idea that ghosts could possibly be real. But the spirit of this city challenges my conception of reality. If you don’t know what I mean, come for a visit sometime.
So let me tell you about my ghost.
My roommate heard rumors from neighbors on our street that our place is haunted. She asked our landlord about it, and he told us that two different people staying at our apartment alone, on two different nights saw the same image; a middle-aged woman, brushing her hair.
He also reported that on a night that he slept alone in the apartment, he woke up in the middle of the night to the smell of someone making strawberry pancakes. That tidbit of information seems less convincing to me than the first… but perhaps it’s worth mentioning?
All right, it gets even weirder: another one of my housemates had a dream about a middle-aged woman brushing her hair BEFORE we told him the story.
And when a friend stayed in our apartment, she swore that someone brushed her hair off her face in the middle of the night.
So, when I am in the place alone at night, I am now afraid to look into mirrors for fear of what I will see. I sleep with my feet beneath the blanket because I’m afraid someone will grab them. And I am terrified, absolutely terrified, of being alone in the dark.
What does one do with a ghost? Befriend it? Hold a seance? Hold an exorcism? Burn white sage and run up a ridiculous energy bill for fear of the dark?
Hope it will make you strawberry pancakes??