Categories > Original > Horror > The LaLaurie House
The 'buckle your seatbelts' sign dinged on in the cabin. I must have dozed off. I glanced over at Chris and saw that he, along with the rest of our group, had also fallen asleep. They were all yawning and blinking groggily.
Looking out my window, I saw that the plane was starting its descent towards the tops of the clouds. It was almost night time by now, and the sky was on fire; a sunset so pure that its like can only be seen from such high altitudes. The window turned gray, suddenly, as we passed through a high cloudbank, and when we emerged I saw the most breathtaking sight. A break in the cloud cover revealed the oranges, reds, and purples from the setting sun above us, and the darkness of where the sun had already set on the earth below. It was not absolute darkness, however, as the dark clouds framed the tiny pinpricks of light that made up the busy city below. Tiny highways and buildings could be seen as we circled lower, all clustered around a long bridge spanning the black waters of the Mississippi River. There was the infamous Superdome, and I imagined that I could make out Bourbon Street and Jackson Square.
As the plane turned, I got a broader view of my destination, and though I was hundreds of miles away from Michigan, I felt like I was coming home.
The plane touched down, a smooth landing, and I was off like a bolt. Why was my group taking so long? I waited for them at the carousel, grabbed my bag, then made my way to the front doors where our van would pick us up. I had waited, patiently, all this time to come back, now the mere minutes between me and entering the city itself seemed pure agony.
An excruciating half-hour later, the van pulled up and we piled inside. It was dark out, but the ride to our housing filled me with apprehension. The reality of Katrina began to really sink in as we passed debris-ridden neighborhoods, abandoned buildings, and makeshift temporary houses. Rebuilding seemed hopeless, yet I knew that, somehow, it would happen. I wanted so badly to see the French Quarter, my favorite area of New Orleans, but at the same time, I was deathly afraid of the destruction I might find there.
We sped closer and closer. I couldn't look. Instead, I turned away from the window and focused my attention on what was going on around me.
Ashley and Jill were whining. "Ugh! Why does it have to be so hot? Like, my hair is going to be totally ruined!" one screeched as the other commiserated. Meanwhile, our driver was singing an old blues tune, and the siblings, Chris and Clara, were chatting with their cousin, Joshua. Jason, a tall quiet guy with curly, brown hair, nudged me.
"Are you okay?" he whispered.
"Sure." I tried to smile, but I felt sick inside.
"I think we're almost there." He pointed out the window.
We were driving east down Canal Street, towards the Mississippi River, and were just entering the southernmost reaches of the Quarter. As the van turned left onto Royal Street, I felt relief wash over me. Everything was exactly as I remembered it! Wisps of Spanish moss dripped from the twisted Oaks, tourists and natives mingled on the sidewalks, and old-fashioned gaslights flickered in the darkness. Our van bumped along the narrow, one-way, cobbled street, dodging taxis and pedestrians. Closing my eyes, I sighed and allowed myself to just relax and enjoy the feeling of the warm wind from the open window whip my hair around my face. I was home.
Almost too soon, we pulled up at our destination. My first impression of the place was that it was definitely not what I had expected. The mansion, at least, that's what we had been told we'd be staying in, looked more like a modern bank than anything else. Its dark gray walls towered three stories above our heads, the windows were plain and square, and there was not a bit of ornamentation to be seen. Out of all the beautiful places in New Orleans, why would they choose this place? Our driver turned in his seat, regarding us with a sparkle in his black eye.
"1140 Royal," he drawled, "On the corner of Gov. Nic?"
"That's it," our middle-aged group leader, Andy, replied in his usual jovial voice.
"You sure you got that address right?" He shot Andy a dubious look, who only smiled and nodded in return.
"Well, kiddies, " he shot us a gap-toothed grin, "welcome to the LaLaurie house." Was that a hint of sarcasm in his voice, or was it just my imagination?
After about a half-hour of unloading baggage-- the girls, Ashley, Jill, Sarah, and Megan must have brought an entire department store between them-- we were finally able to enter the atrocity in which we would be staying.
Despite its austere exterior, the interior of the LaLaurie house was a beautifully decorated 19th century mansion. The foyer into which we set our bags had high arched ceilings, and a floor tiled in Italian marble. A gigantic crystal chandelier hung in the center of the room, and along with the cheery-yellow painted walls, served to illuminate the large room with a brightness uncommon for a space of its size. Huge soft-looking suede couches lined the walls to the left and right, and a double staircase occupied the far wall.
"Girls," Andy indicated the left staircase, "and guys to the right."
"Everyone go get settled in, then meet back down here at 10:00 p.m. sharp. If you need anything, my room is right there," he pointed to an inset door between the two stairs.
Twenty-six steps later, the five other males and I reached the men's hall. Four of the seven doors lining the hall stood ajar, and we could see that the one at the far end housed the community bathroom. After a bit of investigation, we found that two of the closed doors were locked, and the other was a laundry and linen room. All three bedrooms-- there would be two occupants per room-- were sparsely furnished with two twin beds, two dressers, a nightstand with a lamp, and a writing desk and chair. The only difference between the rooms was color. Jason and I settled into the far room, which had crimson walls and mahogany hardwood floors. We also had a beautiful view of Gov. Nic Street below. Jake and Ed moved into the room closest to the stairs, decorated in greens and maple wood, and the cousins, Joshua and Chris, took the middle room which had a blue motif and pale wood.
Looking out my window, I saw that the plane was starting its descent towards the tops of the clouds. It was almost night time by now, and the sky was on fire; a sunset so pure that its like can only be seen from such high altitudes. The window turned gray, suddenly, as we passed through a high cloudbank, and when we emerged I saw the most breathtaking sight. A break in the cloud cover revealed the oranges, reds, and purples from the setting sun above us, and the darkness of where the sun had already set on the earth below. It was not absolute darkness, however, as the dark clouds framed the tiny pinpricks of light that made up the busy city below. Tiny highways and buildings could be seen as we circled lower, all clustered around a long bridge spanning the black waters of the Mississippi River. There was the infamous Superdome, and I imagined that I could make out Bourbon Street and Jackson Square.
As the plane turned, I got a broader view of my destination, and though I was hundreds of miles away from Michigan, I felt like I was coming home.
The plane touched down, a smooth landing, and I was off like a bolt. Why was my group taking so long? I waited for them at the carousel, grabbed my bag, then made my way to the front doors where our van would pick us up. I had waited, patiently, all this time to come back, now the mere minutes between me and entering the city itself seemed pure agony.
An excruciating half-hour later, the van pulled up and we piled inside. It was dark out, but the ride to our housing filled me with apprehension. The reality of Katrina began to really sink in as we passed debris-ridden neighborhoods, abandoned buildings, and makeshift temporary houses. Rebuilding seemed hopeless, yet I knew that, somehow, it would happen. I wanted so badly to see the French Quarter, my favorite area of New Orleans, but at the same time, I was deathly afraid of the destruction I might find there.
We sped closer and closer. I couldn't look. Instead, I turned away from the window and focused my attention on what was going on around me.
Ashley and Jill were whining. "Ugh! Why does it have to be so hot? Like, my hair is going to be totally ruined!" one screeched as the other commiserated. Meanwhile, our driver was singing an old blues tune, and the siblings, Chris and Clara, were chatting with their cousin, Joshua. Jason, a tall quiet guy with curly, brown hair, nudged me.
"Are you okay?" he whispered.
"Sure." I tried to smile, but I felt sick inside.
"I think we're almost there." He pointed out the window.
We were driving east down Canal Street, towards the Mississippi River, and were just entering the southernmost reaches of the Quarter. As the van turned left onto Royal Street, I felt relief wash over me. Everything was exactly as I remembered it! Wisps of Spanish moss dripped from the twisted Oaks, tourists and natives mingled on the sidewalks, and old-fashioned gaslights flickered in the darkness. Our van bumped along the narrow, one-way, cobbled street, dodging taxis and pedestrians. Closing my eyes, I sighed and allowed myself to just relax and enjoy the feeling of the warm wind from the open window whip my hair around my face. I was home.
Almost too soon, we pulled up at our destination. My first impression of the place was that it was definitely not what I had expected. The mansion, at least, that's what we had been told we'd be staying in, looked more like a modern bank than anything else. Its dark gray walls towered three stories above our heads, the windows were plain and square, and there was not a bit of ornamentation to be seen. Out of all the beautiful places in New Orleans, why would they choose this place? Our driver turned in his seat, regarding us with a sparkle in his black eye.
"1140 Royal," he drawled, "On the corner of Gov. Nic?"
"That's it," our middle-aged group leader, Andy, replied in his usual jovial voice.
"You sure you got that address right?" He shot Andy a dubious look, who only smiled and nodded in return.
"Well, kiddies, " he shot us a gap-toothed grin, "welcome to the LaLaurie house." Was that a hint of sarcasm in his voice, or was it just my imagination?
After about a half-hour of unloading baggage-- the girls, Ashley, Jill, Sarah, and Megan must have brought an entire department store between them-- we were finally able to enter the atrocity in which we would be staying.
Despite its austere exterior, the interior of the LaLaurie house was a beautifully decorated 19th century mansion. The foyer into which we set our bags had high arched ceilings, and a floor tiled in Italian marble. A gigantic crystal chandelier hung in the center of the room, and along with the cheery-yellow painted walls, served to illuminate the large room with a brightness uncommon for a space of its size. Huge soft-looking suede couches lined the walls to the left and right, and a double staircase occupied the far wall.
"Girls," Andy indicated the left staircase, "and guys to the right."
"Everyone go get settled in, then meet back down here at 10:00 p.m. sharp. If you need anything, my room is right there," he pointed to an inset door between the two stairs.
Twenty-six steps later, the five other males and I reached the men's hall. Four of the seven doors lining the hall stood ajar, and we could see that the one at the far end housed the community bathroom. After a bit of investigation, we found that two of the closed doors were locked, and the other was a laundry and linen room. All three bedrooms-- there would be two occupants per room-- were sparsely furnished with two twin beds, two dressers, a nightstand with a lamp, and a writing desk and chair. The only difference between the rooms was color. Jason and I settled into the far room, which had crimson walls and mahogany hardwood floors. We also had a beautiful view of Gov. Nic Street below. Jake and Ed moved into the room closest to the stairs, decorated in greens and maple wood, and the cousins, Joshua and Chris, took the middle room which had a blue motif and pale wood.
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