Categories > Original > Horror > The LaLaurie House
* Quick A/N* Ok, so this part may seem boring, but I promise that it gets better. It's kind of long (not painfully so, but still extensive) so I decided to break it up into smaller chapters. Enjoy!
The last three days have been the most incredible of my life. Everything that I once knew has been turned upside down. Now, I am running, through the darkened streets of a distant and exotic city, from someone who desires, not only to take my life, but also my very soul. Who knew that two little words could change so much?
"Are you going on the mission trip?"
"Probably not. Where are you going this time?"
"New Orleans."
I stopped dead in my tracks.
"We're going to help clean up a library that was wrecked during the hurricane... Jack? Are you O.K.?"
"I'm going."
That was six months ago. Six months of odd jobs and discreet pleas for pledges from anyone who might help me raise enough cash to go on my church's missions trip. My friends said I was crazy. Why would I voluntarily waste my entire summer doing hard labor in some miserable swamp? Who does that sort of thing? The truth was, I didn't really care about the reasoning behind the trip. I didn't care that I would be helping to rebuild what was damaged by the disaster; helping a community of people who have been suffering since Katrina hit last year. All I cared about was getting an excuse to go back to the city that I have loved, and missed, for so long.
At three o'clock p.m. on Friday, June 9th, I kissed my mother on the cheek, loaded my luggage onto the church's trailer, then joined my friends in the cramped van. Though there was a lot of chatter going on around me, the ride to the airport was a blur. I was excited, nervous, and numb all at the same time, and I couldn't be happier. The reality hit me; I was going back to New Orleans.
We made it to the terminal just in time to catch our flight. The twelve kids, plus our leader, Andy, took over a good deal of our side of the plane, and the minutes before takeoff were spent in general chaos. I managed to snag the last window seat in our section, then pulled out a book for entertainment on the four-hour flight. Chris, a tanned, blond-haired boy, and the youngest of our group, settled into the seat next to me with a sigh and a slight smile. He was always somewhat of a quiet person, but I didn't mind the lack of conversation. On the contrary, I relished these moments of reflection.
It has been over a year since I last stepped foot in New Orleans. Over a year since I last walked down its cobbled streets, mingled with its unique mix of people, or just enjoyed the carefree atmosphere of the place. This had been pre-hurricane, however, so I had no idea what to expect this time. Everyone said that the destruction was extensive, but I had a hard time imagining that beautiful city as anything other than magnificent.
My first visit had come about on a whim. It was spring break, and I just happened to choose New Orleans as my destination for that year's vacation. That was the best decision I'd ever made. That city changed my life, and I secretly mourned every day I was outside of its limits.
The last three days have been the most incredible of my life. Everything that I once knew has been turned upside down. Now, I am running, through the darkened streets of a distant and exotic city, from someone who desires, not only to take my life, but also my very soul. Who knew that two little words could change so much?
"Are you going on the mission trip?"
"Probably not. Where are you going this time?"
"New Orleans."
I stopped dead in my tracks.
"We're going to help clean up a library that was wrecked during the hurricane... Jack? Are you O.K.?"
"I'm going."
That was six months ago. Six months of odd jobs and discreet pleas for pledges from anyone who might help me raise enough cash to go on my church's missions trip. My friends said I was crazy. Why would I voluntarily waste my entire summer doing hard labor in some miserable swamp? Who does that sort of thing? The truth was, I didn't really care about the reasoning behind the trip. I didn't care that I would be helping to rebuild what was damaged by the disaster; helping a community of people who have been suffering since Katrina hit last year. All I cared about was getting an excuse to go back to the city that I have loved, and missed, for so long.
At three o'clock p.m. on Friday, June 9th, I kissed my mother on the cheek, loaded my luggage onto the church's trailer, then joined my friends in the cramped van. Though there was a lot of chatter going on around me, the ride to the airport was a blur. I was excited, nervous, and numb all at the same time, and I couldn't be happier. The reality hit me; I was going back to New Orleans.
We made it to the terminal just in time to catch our flight. The twelve kids, plus our leader, Andy, took over a good deal of our side of the plane, and the minutes before takeoff were spent in general chaos. I managed to snag the last window seat in our section, then pulled out a book for entertainment on the four-hour flight. Chris, a tanned, blond-haired boy, and the youngest of our group, settled into the seat next to me with a sigh and a slight smile. He was always somewhat of a quiet person, but I didn't mind the lack of conversation. On the contrary, I relished these moments of reflection.
It has been over a year since I last stepped foot in New Orleans. Over a year since I last walked down its cobbled streets, mingled with its unique mix of people, or just enjoyed the carefree atmosphere of the place. This had been pre-hurricane, however, so I had no idea what to expect this time. Everyone said that the destruction was extensive, but I had a hard time imagining that beautiful city as anything other than magnificent.
My first visit had come about on a whim. It was spring break, and I just happened to choose New Orleans as my destination for that year's vacation. That was the best decision I'd ever made. That city changed my life, and I secretly mourned every day I was outside of its limits.
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