Categories > Original > Horror > The LaLaurie House
At breakfast, the next day, everyone looked exhausted. The boys had dark circles under their eyes, and the girls attempted to stifle their yawns behind napkins. In all, it was not a good way to start off a hard day of work. Andy was the only one of us who seemed fresh and awake.
"What? You all stay up telling ghost stories?" Weary looks all around indicated that his brand of humor was not appreciated at the moment.
The short walk to the Lafayette Library was also spent in silence, save for a few short remarks regarding the heat or the sights around us. My enthusiasm of the day before was renewed as I drank in my surroundings, and by the time we reached our destination, I was awake and feeling rather good.
Seeing the library, it was clear that our work was cut out for us. The water line on the building's facade was at least three feet high, and mold was caked in the grout of the bricks. Upon entering, the scent of mildew and rotted paper assailed us like a smack in the face. More than a few made gagging noises and gratefully accepted the paper masks that Andy was passing out. From the hallway to our right, an old, stooped gentleman shuffled towards us.
"Hello, children," he said in a quiet, yet pleasant, voice. "My name is Julien, and I was... am... the head librarian here at Lafayette. Now," he paused and peered at us over his half-moon bifocals, "are you ready to work? Good. You will all be given a section to work on. The shelves have already been set up properly, and the floors are clean. It will be your job to sort the salvageable books from the unsalvageable. Record the ones that must be disposed of, and place the others back on their proper shelves. I think that will keep you all busy enough for today, so we'll save the cleaning of the structure, itself, for Monday. If you have any questions, please do ask."
Chris and Jason were sent over to 'fiction,' Jake got 'health and medicine,' Joshua and Ed headed toward 'history,' and I started work in 'biographies.'
Throughout the course of the afternoon I sorted through piles about various American presidents and authors. The work proved to be quite mindless and boring, but I was endlessly amused by the shrieking coming over the stacks from the 'geography' section every time Jill, Ashley, and their cohort, Megan, were forced to touch a 'slimy, gross, unsanitary piece of filth.' The others seemed to be doing alright. I heard nothing from the guys, and Sarah, Jenny, and Clara were amusing themselves by reading ridiculous passages from books in the 'romance' section.
I had just finished organizing a particularly dull series on French delegates of the 19th century when I saw it. 'It' was a small book bound in green leather that I had not noticed before. The title was extremely faded, but unmistakable: 'The LaLauries: a Legacy of Evil.' I froze in my place. The words of the van driver from the night before came back to me as clearly as if he were whispering them in my ear. "Welcome to the LaLaurie house." Could it be a coincidence?
It was almost time to wrap up for the day, so I shoved the volume into my back pocket and hurried to finish the last of my work. With the manuscripts on Talleyrand, Balzac, and Voltaire in place, I went to track down Andy and Julien to report that I was done.
Since the next day was Sunday, and we would have the day off, we were allowed to go out, in groups, into the city. Jason, his girlfriend, Clara, Chris, and I decided to get something to eat at a local po-boy shop before exploring the Quarter. When we were full and sated, I started us out heading North on Royal Street. We spent a good half hour looking in the shop windows-- they were all closed for the night-- and enjoying the cool breeze coming from the river. The air seemed to wrap itself around us, and the gentle wind was just brisk enough to be refreshing. This is what I needed!
We eventually found our way to the infamous Bourbon Street. Mardi Gras 24/7 - 365. Bars, nightclubs, and other, more unpleasant, venues, all within the shadow of the towering St. Louis Cathedral. How ironic. Everything was chaotic, pulsing, and fascinating, but there are only so many drunken, staggering, idiots that we could tolerate in one night before losing interest. Trying to escape the mob of tourists, we took a right on St. Peters and found ourselves face to face with St. Louis itself. The cathedral towered above all other structures around it. A great, gothic, building with immense archways and high towers pointing towards the sky. Wrought iron gates and old-fashioned street lamps surrounded the place, sending the alley around it into flickering shadow, and I could see that fortune tellers and palm readers had set up their tables close by. There were benches set up in the alley by the steps of the church, and there we took a rest, content to watch the people strolling in Jackson Square before us.
Soon, I started noticing the drooping eyes and sleepy yawns of my friends, so, even though I wanted to stay out later, I turned us in the direction of 'home.'
When we arrived back at the LaLaurie house, it was only around 11:00 p.m. Even though I was running on very little sleep, I felt wide awake. There was no hope for sleep yet, so I headed for the community bathroom intent on a hot shower. I turned on the water and was getting ready to step in when I heard something fall to the floor. It was the book. I had almost forgotten about it. I kicked it out of the way, threw the rest of my things on top of it, then stepped under the torrent of scalding water. I let it run until the water went cold, then draped myself in a white, fluffy, bathrobe that hung on the back of the door. Though the mirror was fogged up and the room was filled with steam, goose bumps began to rise on my arms. Why was it always so cold in here?
Using a towel, I wiped at a portion of the mirror. My normally pale face was beet red from the intense heat of the shower, and my long, black hair clung to my forehead and cheeks. Our of the corner of my eye I saw a shadow dart across the bathroom and disappear behind the shower curtain. When I went over to investigate, however, the tub was empty save for a half-used bar of soap.
Whack!
Something struck me on the back of my head. I fell to my knees on the moist tile, and my hand instinctively reached up to feel for injury. It came back red. I could tell that it wasn't a big cut, but it stung! Groggily, I looked around for my mystery assailant. Again, I found myself alone in the bathroom. Feeling more than a little anxious, I gathered my possessions and quietly padded back to my bedroom.
The lights were all on, but Jason was lying on his bed, a bible resting over his chest, sound asleep. I grinned. Time to do a little reading of my own. After changing into some soft pajama pants, I sat down at the desk and began to inspect the mysterious little green book. The leather was brittle and cracked in places, and dust seemed to be permanently caked on it. The title looked to have been branded, or burnt, into the leather, but it had significantly faded with age. I turned the book over in my hands. What was that little stain in the bottom corner? I swiped my finger over it, fresh blood. So that's what hit me... but how? I remembered it falling onto the floor... I opened the book and began to read. There I sat, immersed in the story that was unfolding before me, late into the night.
The tale was that of Dr. Louis LaLaurie and his wife, Delphine McCarty LaLaurie. Delphine was a socialite, and in 1831, she and her husband bought a mansion at 1140 Royal St, on the corner of Governor Nicholas. On the surface, these seemed like completely respectable citizens. Delphine reveled in maintaining a position in the center of the social circles in New Orleans, and enjoyed throwing lavish parties. In addition to being renowned for her extravagant balls, everyone commented that she had the best behaved slaves in Louisiana. Even the haughty upper-class citizens had nothing but good things to say about the LaLauries. Despite their congenial outward attitudes, this was a deeply disturbed couple.
In the spring of 1833, Delphine had planned what was to be the finest soirée the city had ever seen. She catered the finest cuisine that money could buy, and her slaves had made sure that all of the china and silver were cleaned and polished to perfection. She even ordered a lavish gown, direct from Paris, for the occasion.
As party guests arrived, Delphine remained in her room, preparing herself for her grand entrance, and it was customary for her to make her appearance well after the guests had arrived. It seemed that being fashionably late gave her the opportunity to make the biggest impression and receive the most attention.
Madame LaLaurie had long raven hair that her slaves would tediously style on top of her head. On that fateful night, her hair was being combed by Leah, a twelve-year-old slave girl. As Leah combed the Madame's long tresses, she accidentally hit a snag, pulling Delphine's hair. In a fit of rage, Madame LaLaurie reached into a drawer and pulled out a bullwhip. She began to chase the child around the room in an attempt to beat her, and cursing at her in French. Leah ran out into the hall and through a door that led to a small balcony that hovered over the back courtyard. Desperate to escape the imminent beating, she climbed onto the balcony railing, lost her footing, and plunged to the courtyard below. Her body hit the ground just as a prominent guest was stepping out of his carriage.
Unable to conceal the crime, charges of abuse were brought upon Delphine LaLaurie. At court, Mrs. LaLaurie was charged with a fine of only three-hundred dollars, a mere slap on the wrist for a woman of her wealth. Soon the unfortunate incident was forgotten, and life returned to normal in the LaLaurie household.
On April 10, 1934, however, Delphine LaLaurie had yet another incident take place during a party. A fire broke out in the kitchen of the home. The mansion, typical of architecture at the time, had a separate kitchen from the main building. When the fire brigade entered the kitchen through the courtyard, they were shocked to find two slaves chained to the stove. These slaves inevitably directed officials to a small crawlspace in the attic where, they promised, one might find the LaLaurie's 'vile little project.' The door was bolted and locked from the outside, yet screams and moans of pain could be heard within. The fire brigade used a battering ram to knock down the door of the room, and as it flung open, the seasoned firemen, who had no doubt been exposed to death before, literally fell to their knees, retching at the sight that met their eyes.
Once composed, they entered the room. There, inside, were at least a dozen slaves that had been the obvious victims of very crude medical experiments. Some were chained to the walls, maimed and disfigured. Their faces had been battered, making look them more like monsters than human beings. One woman, had managed to break free from her shackles, and, instead of being relieved that someone had come to rescue her, she ran in fear of further torture. Another victim, had been locked in a cage that some described as barely large enough to accommodate a medium-sized dog. When the cage was broken open, the rescuers found that the she had all of her joints broken and reset at odd angles. She resembled a human crab. Body parts were in jars on shelves in the room, and the stench of death and fear permeated everything.
As the survivors were being removed to a local hospital, a mob of party guests assembled outside, outraged at what had been going on within this house under their very noses. They had had no idea what kind of monsters the LaLauries were. Before the angry crowd could ransack the house and find the LaLauries, the couple slipped out through the back door and disappeared toward the river. Many believed that the LaLauries went back to Paris, where they had originated. Later evidence suggests that they settled on the north shore of New Orleans, just a few miles upriver.
As I sat back and rubbed my tired eyes, I felt sick to my stomach. How could anyone be so depraved? 'Evil' is a strong word, and I had wondered before if the title of this narrative was exaggerating a little, but I had no doubt now that that was the perfect word to describe the LaLauries. The thing that puzzled me, thought, was that the title also said that theirs was 'a legacy' of evil. Did that mean there was more to it? I resolved to research more at the library on Monday, but for now, I was exhausted.
"What? You all stay up telling ghost stories?" Weary looks all around indicated that his brand of humor was not appreciated at the moment.
The short walk to the Lafayette Library was also spent in silence, save for a few short remarks regarding the heat or the sights around us. My enthusiasm of the day before was renewed as I drank in my surroundings, and by the time we reached our destination, I was awake and feeling rather good.
Seeing the library, it was clear that our work was cut out for us. The water line on the building's facade was at least three feet high, and mold was caked in the grout of the bricks. Upon entering, the scent of mildew and rotted paper assailed us like a smack in the face. More than a few made gagging noises and gratefully accepted the paper masks that Andy was passing out. From the hallway to our right, an old, stooped gentleman shuffled towards us.
"Hello, children," he said in a quiet, yet pleasant, voice. "My name is Julien, and I was... am... the head librarian here at Lafayette. Now," he paused and peered at us over his half-moon bifocals, "are you ready to work? Good. You will all be given a section to work on. The shelves have already been set up properly, and the floors are clean. It will be your job to sort the salvageable books from the unsalvageable. Record the ones that must be disposed of, and place the others back on their proper shelves. I think that will keep you all busy enough for today, so we'll save the cleaning of the structure, itself, for Monday. If you have any questions, please do ask."
Chris and Jason were sent over to 'fiction,' Jake got 'health and medicine,' Joshua and Ed headed toward 'history,' and I started work in 'biographies.'
Throughout the course of the afternoon I sorted through piles about various American presidents and authors. The work proved to be quite mindless and boring, but I was endlessly amused by the shrieking coming over the stacks from the 'geography' section every time Jill, Ashley, and their cohort, Megan, were forced to touch a 'slimy, gross, unsanitary piece of filth.' The others seemed to be doing alright. I heard nothing from the guys, and Sarah, Jenny, and Clara were amusing themselves by reading ridiculous passages from books in the 'romance' section.
I had just finished organizing a particularly dull series on French delegates of the 19th century when I saw it. 'It' was a small book bound in green leather that I had not noticed before. The title was extremely faded, but unmistakable: 'The LaLauries: a Legacy of Evil.' I froze in my place. The words of the van driver from the night before came back to me as clearly as if he were whispering them in my ear. "Welcome to the LaLaurie house." Could it be a coincidence?
It was almost time to wrap up for the day, so I shoved the volume into my back pocket and hurried to finish the last of my work. With the manuscripts on Talleyrand, Balzac, and Voltaire in place, I went to track down Andy and Julien to report that I was done.
Since the next day was Sunday, and we would have the day off, we were allowed to go out, in groups, into the city. Jason, his girlfriend, Clara, Chris, and I decided to get something to eat at a local po-boy shop before exploring the Quarter. When we were full and sated, I started us out heading North on Royal Street. We spent a good half hour looking in the shop windows-- they were all closed for the night-- and enjoying the cool breeze coming from the river. The air seemed to wrap itself around us, and the gentle wind was just brisk enough to be refreshing. This is what I needed!
We eventually found our way to the infamous Bourbon Street. Mardi Gras 24/7 - 365. Bars, nightclubs, and other, more unpleasant, venues, all within the shadow of the towering St. Louis Cathedral. How ironic. Everything was chaotic, pulsing, and fascinating, but there are only so many drunken, staggering, idiots that we could tolerate in one night before losing interest. Trying to escape the mob of tourists, we took a right on St. Peters and found ourselves face to face with St. Louis itself. The cathedral towered above all other structures around it. A great, gothic, building with immense archways and high towers pointing towards the sky. Wrought iron gates and old-fashioned street lamps surrounded the place, sending the alley around it into flickering shadow, and I could see that fortune tellers and palm readers had set up their tables close by. There were benches set up in the alley by the steps of the church, and there we took a rest, content to watch the people strolling in Jackson Square before us.
Soon, I started noticing the drooping eyes and sleepy yawns of my friends, so, even though I wanted to stay out later, I turned us in the direction of 'home.'
When we arrived back at the LaLaurie house, it was only around 11:00 p.m. Even though I was running on very little sleep, I felt wide awake. There was no hope for sleep yet, so I headed for the community bathroom intent on a hot shower. I turned on the water and was getting ready to step in when I heard something fall to the floor. It was the book. I had almost forgotten about it. I kicked it out of the way, threw the rest of my things on top of it, then stepped under the torrent of scalding water. I let it run until the water went cold, then draped myself in a white, fluffy, bathrobe that hung on the back of the door. Though the mirror was fogged up and the room was filled with steam, goose bumps began to rise on my arms. Why was it always so cold in here?
Using a towel, I wiped at a portion of the mirror. My normally pale face was beet red from the intense heat of the shower, and my long, black hair clung to my forehead and cheeks. Our of the corner of my eye I saw a shadow dart across the bathroom and disappear behind the shower curtain. When I went over to investigate, however, the tub was empty save for a half-used bar of soap.
Whack!
Something struck me on the back of my head. I fell to my knees on the moist tile, and my hand instinctively reached up to feel for injury. It came back red. I could tell that it wasn't a big cut, but it stung! Groggily, I looked around for my mystery assailant. Again, I found myself alone in the bathroom. Feeling more than a little anxious, I gathered my possessions and quietly padded back to my bedroom.
The lights were all on, but Jason was lying on his bed, a bible resting over his chest, sound asleep. I grinned. Time to do a little reading of my own. After changing into some soft pajama pants, I sat down at the desk and began to inspect the mysterious little green book. The leather was brittle and cracked in places, and dust seemed to be permanently caked on it. The title looked to have been branded, or burnt, into the leather, but it had significantly faded with age. I turned the book over in my hands. What was that little stain in the bottom corner? I swiped my finger over it, fresh blood. So that's what hit me... but how? I remembered it falling onto the floor... I opened the book and began to read. There I sat, immersed in the story that was unfolding before me, late into the night.
The tale was that of Dr. Louis LaLaurie and his wife, Delphine McCarty LaLaurie. Delphine was a socialite, and in 1831, she and her husband bought a mansion at 1140 Royal St, on the corner of Governor Nicholas. On the surface, these seemed like completely respectable citizens. Delphine reveled in maintaining a position in the center of the social circles in New Orleans, and enjoyed throwing lavish parties. In addition to being renowned for her extravagant balls, everyone commented that she had the best behaved slaves in Louisiana. Even the haughty upper-class citizens had nothing but good things to say about the LaLauries. Despite their congenial outward attitudes, this was a deeply disturbed couple.
In the spring of 1833, Delphine had planned what was to be the finest soirée the city had ever seen. She catered the finest cuisine that money could buy, and her slaves had made sure that all of the china and silver were cleaned and polished to perfection. She even ordered a lavish gown, direct from Paris, for the occasion.
As party guests arrived, Delphine remained in her room, preparing herself for her grand entrance, and it was customary for her to make her appearance well after the guests had arrived. It seemed that being fashionably late gave her the opportunity to make the biggest impression and receive the most attention.
Madame LaLaurie had long raven hair that her slaves would tediously style on top of her head. On that fateful night, her hair was being combed by Leah, a twelve-year-old slave girl. As Leah combed the Madame's long tresses, she accidentally hit a snag, pulling Delphine's hair. In a fit of rage, Madame LaLaurie reached into a drawer and pulled out a bullwhip. She began to chase the child around the room in an attempt to beat her, and cursing at her in French. Leah ran out into the hall and through a door that led to a small balcony that hovered over the back courtyard. Desperate to escape the imminent beating, she climbed onto the balcony railing, lost her footing, and plunged to the courtyard below. Her body hit the ground just as a prominent guest was stepping out of his carriage.
Unable to conceal the crime, charges of abuse were brought upon Delphine LaLaurie. At court, Mrs. LaLaurie was charged with a fine of only three-hundred dollars, a mere slap on the wrist for a woman of her wealth. Soon the unfortunate incident was forgotten, and life returned to normal in the LaLaurie household.
On April 10, 1934, however, Delphine LaLaurie had yet another incident take place during a party. A fire broke out in the kitchen of the home. The mansion, typical of architecture at the time, had a separate kitchen from the main building. When the fire brigade entered the kitchen through the courtyard, they were shocked to find two slaves chained to the stove. These slaves inevitably directed officials to a small crawlspace in the attic where, they promised, one might find the LaLaurie's 'vile little project.' The door was bolted and locked from the outside, yet screams and moans of pain could be heard within. The fire brigade used a battering ram to knock down the door of the room, and as it flung open, the seasoned firemen, who had no doubt been exposed to death before, literally fell to their knees, retching at the sight that met their eyes.
Once composed, they entered the room. There, inside, were at least a dozen slaves that had been the obvious victims of very crude medical experiments. Some were chained to the walls, maimed and disfigured. Their faces had been battered, making look them more like monsters than human beings. One woman, had managed to break free from her shackles, and, instead of being relieved that someone had come to rescue her, she ran in fear of further torture. Another victim, had been locked in a cage that some described as barely large enough to accommodate a medium-sized dog. When the cage was broken open, the rescuers found that the she had all of her joints broken and reset at odd angles. She resembled a human crab. Body parts were in jars on shelves in the room, and the stench of death and fear permeated everything.
As the survivors were being removed to a local hospital, a mob of party guests assembled outside, outraged at what had been going on within this house under their very noses. They had had no idea what kind of monsters the LaLauries were. Before the angry crowd could ransack the house and find the LaLauries, the couple slipped out through the back door and disappeared toward the river. Many believed that the LaLauries went back to Paris, where they had originated. Later evidence suggests that they settled on the north shore of New Orleans, just a few miles upriver.
As I sat back and rubbed my tired eyes, I felt sick to my stomach. How could anyone be so depraved? 'Evil' is a strong word, and I had wondered before if the title of this narrative was exaggerating a little, but I had no doubt now that that was the perfect word to describe the LaLauries. The thing that puzzled me, thought, was that the title also said that theirs was 'a legacy' of evil. Did that mean there was more to it? I resolved to research more at the library on Monday, but for now, I was exhausted.
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