A Ghost in New Orleans

By Jason Medina

Ray Durante is a paranormal investigator and would-be writer from New York City, who travels to New Orleans, Louisiana, in search of a good ghost story for his upcoming book. New Orleans certainly has no shortage of ghost stories, considering it is one of the oldest cities in the southern United States.

Upon his arrival, Ray wastes no time and begins his research by conducting a paranormal investigation on his first day there. As the days go by, he continues his research and takes a haunted tour that eventually leads to his meeting with a local Creole street musician named Rini.

Rini gradually introduces him to a whole new world, which just may turn his own world upside down. Join Ray on his journey through the haunts of the French Quarter in what will surely become the most intense time of his life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jul 24, 2015
• ISBN: 9781503574922

Jason Medina

Jason was born in April of 1971and raised in the Bronx, New York. He lived with his parents on the second floor of a three family house surrounded by family both upstairs and downstairs from him. Ever since he was a small child Jason always had an interest in telling stories. He wrote his very first comic book-style story at the age of five in his parents bedroom, while he watched television. It was the first of an ongoing science fiction story based on short hairy fictional creatures from another world. They were caught up in an intergalactic war against humans from Earth and another race of beings. Jason went on to do over ten comic stories based on these characters, drawing the pictures to go along with the story. He even won first prize in a book-making contest, while in the third grade.

Book preview

Copyright © 2015 by Jason Medina.

Cover photography by Jo-Ann Santos-Medina.

ISBN:      Softcover      978-1-5035-7491-5

                eBook           978-1-5035-7492-2

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2015 by Jason Medina. All rights reserved. Originally written from May 5, 2012 - May 6, 2012 and from February 19, 2013 - April 5, 2014, and then completed and re-edited between January 11, 2015 - April 30, 2015 by Jason Medina of Tribal Publications, Inc. Yonkers, New York. Published by Xlibris.

TRIBE

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 07/22/2015

Xlibris

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CONTENTS

Dedication

Foreword

Introduction

Acknowledgements

Chapter One Vacation Time

Chapter Two Interlude At A Village Bar

Chapter Three Going To New Orleans

Chapter Four The Upstairs Lounge

Chapter Five The Legacy Of Marie Laveau

Chapter Six Ghostly Tour

Chapter Seven The Girl With The Guitar

Chapter Eight Come On In, The Water’s Fine

Chapter Nine Dinner For Two

Chapter Ten Down By The River

Chapter Eleven The Abandoned Blue House

Chapter Twelve The Story Of Katrina Lebeau, Part I: Born Into Slavery

Chapter Thirteen The Story Of Katrina Lebeau, Part II: The Legend Of Marie Laveau

Chapter Fourteen The Story Of Katrina Lebeau, Part III: Death Of A Voodoo Queen

Chapter Fifteen The Story Of Katrina Lebeau, Part IV: The Reign Of Malvina Latour

Chapter Sixteen The Story Of Katrina Lebeau, Part V: Yellow Jack

Chapter Seventeen A House In New Orleans

Chapter Eighteen Haunted Hotel

Chapter Nineteen The Old Man On The Corner

Chapter Twenty In Search Of Rini

Chapter Twenty-One Talking At Spirits

Chapter Twenty-Two Lunchtime At The Cafe Du Monde

Chapter Twenty-Three A Tour Of The Past

Chapter Twenty-Four Contacts

Chapter Twenty-Five House Of Voodoo

Chapter Twenty-Six Ghostly Vision Of The Past

Chapter Twenty-Seven Ghosts Of The Past

Chapter Twenty-Eight A Spiritual Journey

Chapter Twenty-Nine Journey’s End

Chapter Thirty The Truth Won’t Set You Free

Chapter Thirty-One Wake Up Call

Photo Gallery

About The Author

DEDICATION

This story is dedicated to the unfortunate souls who lost their lives at the Upstairs Lounge during the tragic fire of 1973, the many victims of Hurricane Katrina in 2005, and to my friend at the Jimani, Jonathan Matthew O’Brien, who lived his life from May 25, 1982-September 8, 2014. Thanks for the memories. Rest in peace.

FOREWORD

I f you are one of the unprivileged people, who has never been to the wonderful magical city of New Orleans and you always wanted to know what it is like to be there, then this story was written for you. By the time you are done reading it, you will have either felt as if you were actually there, or you will make plans to visit very soon.

Ray Durante is not too different from your average American male. He works as a security officer for Columbia University in New York City, which is by far one of the state’s most prestigious educational facilities. During his free time, he is a part-time paranormal investigator and an aspiring writer.

With some vacation time coming up, Ray decides to take a weeklong trip down to New Orleans, Louisiana. This would not be his first trip to New Orleans, though. He’d been there a few times in the past. The purpose of this trip is to research the area and conduct a few paranormal investigations at various haunted locations throughout the French Quarter, while enjoying the sights of the Big Easy at the same time.

After one last night of drinking and flirting with women at a local bar in Greenwich Village near his studio apartment in Manhattan, he catches an early morning flight to New Orleans. That’s when the fun begins.

Upon his arrival, he checks into the luxurious Hotel Monteleone, located on Royal Street near the heart of the French Quarter. The hotel is said to be one of the top-rated haunted hotels in town, although he has absolutely no idea exactly how haunted it actually is. He is about to find out first hand, as a series of painful headaches and haunting dreams hint at revelations that could change his life forever.

During his visit, Ray will also spend some of his time touring and exploring the surrounding area, while taking in the sights.

It is around this time when he meets a gorgeous mysteriously fascinating Creole girl named Rini. Rini is one of the many talented street musicians/singers of New Orleans’ French Quarter that can be found on almost every other block usually on Royal, Bourbon, and Chartres Streets, Jackson Square, or along the waterfront.

Upon getting to know Rini a little better over the next couple of days, Ray is instantly swept away in a whirlwind of steamy romance unlike anything he’s ever experienced before. Pretty soon he reaches a crossroad in life, which causes him to question his own lifestyle and way of thinking. He begins to feel as if she has somehow consumed his very soul.

However, he does not completely forget about his original purpose for being in town. Through Rini, he learns the fascinating story of a former mulatto slave girl from the 1800s, who was once a student of the infamous Voodoo Priestess named Marie Laveau. What fascinates Ray even more is that this former slave girl resided in a house within the French Quarter that is still standing, except it is now abandoned and supposedly haunted by her.

Voodoo, ties to Marie Laveau, an abandoned haunted location from the 1800s, and the ghost of a former slave girl…what more could he possibly need for his research? It has all of the perfect elements he requires to write a great ghost story.

Ray is immediately intrigued and knows he must visit this house at all costs. Rini agrees to take him there. When she does, that’s when things really get out of control, as new mysteries unfold. Ray quickly learns his new female companion has a few secrets of her own. His trip soon takes an unexpected turn and in a sense, Rini becomes his personal guide through a spiritual and mystical journey that could possibly cost him a lot more than he’s willing to pay.

Join Ray Durante on this once in a lifetime opportunity to see one of the United States’ most fascinatingly beautiful and historic cities through his eyes. I promise it to be an experience unlike anything you’ve ever had, even if you have been there. Y’all might just like what ya see, hear?

INTRODUCTION

A fter my first trip to New Orleans in 2012, I knew I had to write a story that took place there. It was such a beautiful city ripe with history and intrigue. There was no way I could resist the temptation, especially after staying at a haunted hotel and going on tours of the haunted locations and cemeteries of the city.

There is so much to love about the city. The food is fantastic. The music is great. The people are friendly. However, the look of the city has to be number one on my list. The combination of French and Spanish architecture gives certain neighborhoods a unique feel, especially the French Quarter, or the Vieux Carré, as the locals called it in the past. It is great to look down a street and see lines of multileveled balconies with iron railings for as far as the eye could see. The old horse-head posts, where horses used to be tied are still prevalent on some streets.

Canal Street, which is the border of the French Quarter that separates it from the Financial District, is by far the busiest street. There are dozens of souvenir shops, eating establishments, and hotels lining each side. Also on Canal Street are Harrah’s Casino, the Audubon Aquarium and Insectarium (the name speaks for itself), and a few old theaters and landmarks. At the center of it all are the streetcars that take you west towards Mid-City or eastbound to the riverfront, depending on your destination.

Bourbon Street, which goes north from Canal Street, is basically the party street. Here you’ll find a large assortment of bars, fast-food restaurants, gift shops, and adult locations. Bourbon Street also has its fair share of landmark locations, such as Jean Lafitte’s Blacksmith Shop, which is definitely one of the oldest continuously operating bars in the country. Even the days of the Prohibition Era didn’t slow this place down.

A block east is Royal Street, named for the royals that once resided on this street. Today it is lined with art galleries, restaurants, gift shops, and street musicians on every corner. It is also home to the Hotel Monteleone, which was my first rest stop during my first visit. This luxurious hotel is also known for being one of the most haunted hotels in the city.

Jackson Square is a main tourist hotspot located between Chartres and Decatur Streets near the riverfront. It is also the location of the famous St. Louis Cathedral and the Cafe du Monde. The park at the center of the square boasts a fine bronze statue honoring Major General Andrew Jackson for his heroics during the 1815 Battle of New Orleans in the War of 1812 against Great Britain. His actions during that battle helped change the tide of the war in our favor. In front of the cathedral is usually an array of street musicians and performers. Vendors sell their goods around the park. Horse and carriage rides and tours are also available.

I could go on for hours describing the city to you or you can just read the book and find out for yourself. I sure spend enough time describing it in the story.

Like most places around the world, the people of New Orleans have their own particular way of speaking. This becomes very noticeable during the story. There are quite a few characters that will speak in the same way the locals speak. Some will differ from others.

When reading the dialog for the character of Rini, it is important to keep in mind she is a Creole, who uses Cajun slang with a slight southern drawl. Therefore, her dialogue is going to be very different from what is considered to be the normal English language. For example, when she poses a question it will not be worded in the same manner, as it should be in the English language. Cajuns word their questions almost more like statements with a question mark at the end. Very often, unimportant fill-in words that are taken for granted are completely omitted on purpose, giving it the appearance of illiteracy.

Rini also uses a combination of Louisiana Creole and Cajun slang words when she speaks, which have some similarities to the French and Haitian Creole languages. Throughout the story, I made certain to provide translations whenever feasible, since the protagonist, Ray, will be listening to her from the same point of view as the reader. Naturally, being a native New Yorker, he will not understand much of what she says. It will cause him to ask for explanations from her on occasion. This is actually being done for the sake of the reader.

While most of this story was written purely for entertainment value, it also contains a very well researched and descriptive history on New Orleans’ French Quarter, the tragedy of the Upstairs Lounge, the infamous legend surrounding the mysterious figure of Marie Laveau, and New Orleans Voodoo. I tried not to embellish too much on these parts of the story and mainly stayed true to their history.

Enjoy the free history lesson!

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I want to thank my friend and former co-worker, Ray Durrell, for being a partial inspiration for the main character, Ray Durante, who is more or less a combination of both our personalities. Ray was also instrumental as a consultant for the culture, language, and the town he now calls home. Thanks for giving Jo-Ann and I a fine place to stay during our second visit to the city. You were an excellent host. I also want to thank Ray’s nephew, Chris Retif, for driving us around to the cemeteries in Mid City and for meeting up with us during our third visit in 2015.

Of course, it didn’t hurt for me to visit New Orleans more than once with my wife, Jo-Ann. So far, it’s been three magnificent visits, since April of 2012. We’ve had a great time every time. It is truly a wonderful city. It’s one of the few locations you can fully enjoy without the need of a rental car. You can walk almost anywhere of interest, as long as you are staying in or near the French Quarter. As an added treat, you can ride an old time trolley. While you’re at it, don’t miss out on taking a riverboat ride on the Mississippi River.

I’d definitely like to take a moment to thank the staff at the elegant Hotel Monteleone, who were kind and courteous to Jo-Ann and I during our first visit to New Orleans, as well as the staff at the Sheraton during our third visit; The polite employees of the New Orleans Historic Voodoo Museum for their help; The helpful employees at the Williams Research Center on Chartres Street; Marie Laveau’s House of Voodoo; Reverend Zombie’s Voodoo Shop; The Tropical Isle; The wonderful Café du Monde; St. Louis Cemeteries No. 1-3; St. Louis Cathedral, despite being kicked out once because a wedding was going on; All of my wonderful new friends at both the District Bar and the Jimani, two places where I spent many hours during my second visit to New Orleans. I give my thanks to Ashley Dufresne, Charles Anthony Matt, Kayla Cox, Anna Ebert, and the rest of you. There are way too many to list; Jonathan M. O’Brien, the former general manager of the Jimani, for his extensive knowledge of the Upstairs Lounge and for giving us a tour and allowing us to do our own paranormal investigation. Rest in peace, buddy; Russell from the Court of Two Sisters for being a very kind inspiration; My extravagant and dramatic tour guide, Jonathan, for providing a great entertaining tour, filled with extremely interesting stories and a wealth of valuable information that all went into this story almost word for word; And a great big thanks to everyone else in New Orleans, particularly the street musicians and entertainers for making my visits both memorable and inspirational experiences. I look forward to my next visit with anticipation, so that I could have a delicious burger at the Jimani, another unforgettable slice of pecan pie à la mode from the Court of Two Sisters, and a grilled chicken sandwich from Yo Mama’s. I highly recommend them all!

As usual I must thank my beautiful wife, Jo-Ann, and my parents, Waldemar and Mildred, for their constant patience, support, and assistance with my writing and throughout the lengthy editing process. They have helped me with every book so far. In addition, I’d like to thank my other personal editors and friends, Kelly Seifert and Dawn Legrow. It’s nice to know I will always have a fair helpful audience for my stories, which will provide me with the honest feedback I need to make each story better for the rest of you to read. So, if you find any mistakes, blame them for not spotting them!

Considering the lack of a bibliography section in this book, I should take this opportunity to thank my fellow authors Robert Tallant, Kenaz Filan, Richard Campanella, and Carolyn Morrow Long for the extensive research they did in writing their books. It certainly made my life a lot easier being able to refer to their thorough work. Their insightful and very informative books have been invaluable resources for me, in order to write this story as historically accurate as possible, while still adding my fictional portions to that history.

I believe it is also necessary for me to thank my fans, friends, and family. It is because of those of you, who’ve purchased and read my first two books, and then spread the word to your friends that my fan base continues to grow by word of mouth or through social media websites, such as Facebook. Keep up the good work and continue spreading the word for me. In the meantime, I will do my best to entertain you with fine stories every year for as long as I am capable of writing. I have enough in my head to last my lifetime. Thank you for reading my books and allowing others to know the same pleasure. You all have my deepest and sincerest gratitude. As Tina Turner put it, You’re simply the best!

Finally, I’d like to give special thanks to my regular publisher, Xlibris, for believing in me and giving me the opportunity to share my imagination with the rest of the world. You make this job easy for me. I greatly appreciate your patience and constant interest in my projects. Thanks for making this book and two of my previous books possible, not to mention our future projects, which are already in the works.

Hey, Frank Madsen, maybe we’ll get lucky this time and turn this book or one of my future stories into a movie someday. Keep your fingers crossed!

Despite how it sounded, Ray was completely drawn in by everything she’d told him. It was an incredible story, if it were in fact the truth. He wanted to believe her more than anything, but couldn’t help feeling a hint of doubt, due to his limited belief in the power of Voodoo and the simple fact that she knew way too much about this story than humanly possible. Her explanation didn’t sound convincing enough to him. There had to be more to it, he thought. He tried not to let his true feelings show.

Aside from his doubts, the story Rini told him was still inspirational and quite sensational. It was exactly the kind of inspirational ghost story he’d been searching for, so he could use in his upcoming first novel. In that respect, he was very grateful to her for telling it. All he needed to do was to find some form of verification for it. Surely, there were some official records with Katrina Lebeau’s name.

Finally, he responded, All the mystery aside, that story was absolutely fantastic. I wonder if we can verify any of this information at the Williams Research Center or maybe with whoever is in charge of the records for St. Louis Cemetery.

She smirked, Forget it. I already done checked dat research center place. There ain’t much information on Katrina Lebeau, ’side from her name on the deed of this house an’ dat got misplaced mysteriously. You won’t even find her name on no census reports ’cause she ain’t never spoke with no census people.

Ray wanted to know how it was possible the deed information was mysteriously missing from the research center and how she even knew it was gone, but was afraid to ask.

She then added, "As fo’ the cemetery, her parents was slaves, what was later set free. They was considered property, so there ain’t no records on ’em, far as I know. It all got burnt up with the plantation. There ain’t even no records from when Amos was in the war. Honestly, I looked. When he died he was buried at St. Louis Cemetery, but his crypt got destroyed durin’ dat storm in 1893, jest like I told you. Fo’ some reason the only thing it say there ’bout Katrina’s oven vault, what ain’t got no name on it, is dat it was all filled up, so she ain’t in there alone.

I even checked on the second Marie Laveau’s oven vault, but it ain’t there! They done tore it out an’ moved it to the Girod Street Cemetery, so they could make a new openin’ in the wall next to a new office room. You believe dat? They jest happened to move the same section of wall vaults, where she was placed. Dat can’t be no coincidence! An’ dat ain’t even the worst part! The Girod Street Cemetery ain’t there no mo’ either!"

Ray stared at her in confusion, "What do you mean by it ain’t there no more? Where is it? How on Earth does an entire cemetery simply disappear?" He hated that she changed the subject on him and steered the conversation towards Marie Laveau, but he had to admit, the idea of an entire cemetery suddenly disappearing was intriguing.

She shook her head and shrugged, I don’t know. It jest gone. Go check fo’ yo’self. You ain’t gonna find it. It jest ain’t there.

Well, sometimes they do have a tendency to relocate cemeteries, he suggested. I’ll look into it. He felt confounded by her statements, as he contemplated their shrinking list of options. Another idea came to mind, so he asked, What about her family members in Tennessee?

Again, she shook her head, as she answered grimly, Jolie an’ Ben was both buried at a small family burial ground on the farm. Dat farm’s long gone an’ so’s the burial ground.

He frowned and responded in frustration, Damn it! That’s it. I’m fresh out of ideas. If only there were something we could do or maybe someplace we could go to learn more about these people. His mind searched desperately for other ways they could verify the information, but somehow Rini managed to shoot down most of his research options. Of course, there was always the Internet. It never failed him in the past. Unfortunately, even that had its limits. Besides, his laptop was back at the hotel.

Aha! He pulled out his cellphone from his pants pocket. He could check the Internet from there. Of course, the battery was dead. How fitting, he thought, as he placed it back into his pocket. He was surprised. The charge usually lasted much longer.

For several minutes they both sat quietly, while staring at the fireplace. It no longer seemed as dark, as when they first arrived. He wondered how long they’d been there. It had to be around five in the morning. He checked his watch. He was correct. It was 5:20 am.

Suddenly, he realized his recorder was still on. He was relieved to see it still had some battery power left, but was annoyed for forgetting it was on. Then he realized something phenomenal. He’d recorded the entire story! He instantly became ecstatic, although he tried to contain himself. He decided he’d replay the story at the hotel, where he could take notes on his laptop. He couldn’t be happier.

He felt inspired to ask new questions hoping to get an E.V.P. response. He felt confident he would be able to capture something. It was highly possible he already captured something, while the story was being told. He couldn’t wait to get back to the hotel to find out.

No, he could wait. Right now, he wanted to be with Rini, although she didn’t seem much in the mood to talk anymore. He decided to leave her in peace. In the meantime, he was going to try and reach Katrina himself using his recorder.

He looked at his watch and started a new recording. He stated the date and time, and then asked, Hello, Katrina. Are you here with us now? Can you please communicate with us? You can speak into my recorder, which is this black device in my hand. Please, talk to us. He waited a few seconds for a response, and then asked, Don’t you have anything to say, after hearing Rini tell your extraordinary tale?

He waited a few more seconds and said, I’m so sorry for the pains you’ve experienced, but why did you show Rini your life? You must have had a reason to do so. What was it? He waited a few seconds, allowing time for a response, and then asked, Is there anything at all you need done, which we can help you with?

Rini stirred uncomfortably next to him, as he spoke. Suddenly, she shot straight up from the sofa onto her feet and walked stiffly towards the fireplace, as if in a trance. The flashlight dropped from her lap down to the floor and rolled around in front of the sofa. When it stopped it was facing the fireplace, where she now stood perfectly still. The only part of her body illuminated by the light was her feet. The dim lighting silhouetted the rest of her body.

Startled by her abrupt actions, Ray was distracted from his train of thought. He grew worried, as he watched her inquisitively. He wondered what she was doing and why she was behaving so strangely. It was obvious something definitely wasn’t right. He felt it in his bones.

I have a bad feeling about this, he muttered under his breath.

At that moment, the light from the flashlight began to flicker on and off erratically. Feeling a lump in his throat, he struggled to call out to her, although he could barely get the words out. R-Rini, are you… okay? He swallowed hard in an attempt to push that lump down.

From out of the semi-darkness a female voice responded, but it did not sound like her. It answered in a slightly deeper heavy Creole accent, RINI AIN’T HERE NO MORE!

A shiver raced down his spine and his hairs stood on end, when he heard the chilling voice coming from her direction. He knew they were alone in the house, so the voice had to have come from her. At the same time, it was without doubt not her voice.

His instinct as a paranormal investigator took over. He toughened up and asked in a commanding voice, Who are you? A name popped into his head, as if in answer to his question. Katrina, is that you? He demanded to know.

This time there was no response and for the first time, he wished he were back at the hotel and far away from her.

CHAPTER ONE

Vacation Time

E very year the Mardi Gras festival takes place in several cities across the world, such as Rio de Janeiro in Brazil, Barranquilla in Colombia, Quebec City in Canada, Mazatlán Sinaloa in Mexico, Port of Spain in Trinidad and Tobago, or New Orleans, Louisiana. The carnival festival usually begins in either January or February, depending on when the Easter holiday season falls, and ends on the last Tuesday before Ash Wednesday. That Tuesday is better known as " Fat Tuesday, " which when translated into French means Mardi Gras. It earned the name because it is meant to be the last day of eating fatty foods, before beginning a time of religious ritualistic fasting known as Lent.

Throughout the festival are many parties, dances, concerts, parades, sports competitions, feasts, and all sorts of other fun and exciting activities. Some of the more popular foods eaten during this time of year are pancakes, fried breads, and pastries, especially in Latin America and the Caribbean. Beignets are quite popular in New Orleans and very tasty, too! There is no doubt this festival is one of the most revered celebrations attended by thousands of participants, who usually march or dance through the streets wearing bright colorful masks, elaborate costumes, and colorfully beaded necklaces. It’s an exceptionally popular tradition that draws tourists from all over the world.

New Orleans is probably one of the most likely chosen destinations for Americans to attend the Mardi Gras festival because of its convenient location within the southern Continental United States. It’s become the city’s busiest and most profitable time of the year. It’s hard enough to walk around the French Quarter on a regular weekend, let alone during Mardi Gras season when the crowds are almost ten times larger than usual. After a few days of the festival, the crowds can be quite overwhelming.

Drunken crowds roam the streets in search of the next fun spot of the night. For the tourists, it’s all fun and games. Meanwhile, most of the local businesses rack up on money, especially bars and restaurants. Of course, there is a sexual side to it, as well. Girls are often awarded with beaded necklaces for exposing their breasts, much to the delight of the young men of the college crowds. A lot of couples hook up for what may only be a one-night stand, but that’s generally what they’re looking for at the festival. It is unlikely you will find romance in a party atmosphere.

Ray Durante didn’t mind the crowds, or the parties for that matter. Considering he was from New York City, he was quite used to crowds. It was an everyday thing for him, especially since he lived in Manhattan. However, the crowds he was used to were not nearly as pleasant, as the crowds that flooded the sidewalks and streets of the French Quarter. He especially enjoyed walking through Bourbon Street during Mardi Gras season, as he did today.

He beamed with absolute delight, as he waded through the crowded sidewalks, occasionally stepping onto the equally crowded street to go around clusters of people congregating around street musicians or in front of bars and shops. It was a good thing the streets were closed off to vehicular traffic at a certain time of the day. It helped to alleviate some of the crowds on the sidewalks.

The college crowds that he passed reminded him of being at work, although these college kids had a certain air of freedom about them that was missing in the Columbia University students he was used to seeing each day. No one on Bourbon Street was talking about his or her next exam. Paper bags were not being used to hide their alcoholic beverages. Still, there was the familiar occasional person stooped over a pile of vomit, since there is always that person who doesn’t know his or her limitations.

It was something Ray always found amusing. It’s just another case of kids trying to be grown-ups and not being able to hack it. Somehow it wasn’t as entertaining when it was a grown adult doing the same thing. It was just pathetic and it made Ray feel ashamed for that person. An adult should be responsible enough to know his or her limitations. There is no excuse for such behavior. He tried not to think about it.

Focus on the college crowds. Focus on the college girls. It was something he was forbidden to do back home, but here… it was open season. Every single girl was fair game, as long as she was old enough to be considered an adult. Ray was on the prowl, as his eyes darted from left to right in search of that one girl that would stand out above the rest.

A few feet above the sidewalks, there were more crowds of onlookers gawking down from the tiers of Spanish-style balconies that stretched all the way down each street. Mostly every residential house had a balcony on the second and third floors. This gave those people a great vantage point in which to view the craziness down below from a safe distance.

A perverted notion went through Ray’s mind, which made him smile. Considering the amount of cleavage he was seeing go by, he wondered how the view was from one of the balconies.

Still, Ray was certainly glad to be a part of the craziness down below, as he casually strolled along Bourbon Street heading north away from Canal Street. He only paused occasionally to take in the view and fully enjoy the aromas from the many restaurants he passed along the way.

It was the women that really caught his attention. There were so many beautiful women to gaze upon. That included both locals and the tourists. Some of the local working girls would stand in front of the many strip bars, scantily clad in sexy lingerie with the sole intention of luring potential male customers inside, where they’d spend lots of money ever so willingly.

Ray was very tempted to stop and speak with each and every lovely woman he saw, but every time he started to speak, he’d see a better batch of girls walking by and would follow them instead. He didn’t mind because he knew he was better off not falling for that money-spending trap. Bourbon Street was like a virtual smorgasbord of women. The tourists were always better game than the working girls, or at any rate that’s what he figured. They were definitely less expensive and there were just so many to choose from! He felt like he was in Heaven, especially when one group of girls decided to flash their breasts. Each one received traditional beaded necklaces, as their reward.

Ray only wished he could thank them personally, but he wanted to avoid coming off like a pervert. He just couldn’t stop smiling. Could you really blame him?

He took a sip from a cold alcoholic beverage he was nursing, while he walked. It was served in a tall plastic cup. The drink was a combination of half fruit juice slush and half alcohol. The locals called it a Hurricane. It gave him a nice buzz along with the occasional brain freeze, while keeping him refreshed at the same time.

A medley of live music filled the air around him adding a musical atmosphere that provided him with his own soundtrack. On the corner of Bourbon Street and Bienville Street, a live jazz band played a classic melody by New Orleans’ own Louie Armstrong.

La Vie En Rose. A lovely tune indeed, he thought.

Passersby dropped tips into an open saxophone case, which was sitting on the ground in front of the band. They nodded gratefully, while they played their instruments. Countless musicians struggled to make a living in this way at New Orleans. It wasn’t too different from the musicians Ray would often pass in the subway stations of New York City, which made him at home.

On the next block there was a bar, where a 1980s cover band played an excellent rendition of Misled, a popular song by Kool and the Gang. The doors to the bar were open wide acting as an invitation to all who went by. Ray considered going in, but he was still enjoying his walk too much to settle on a single location. It seemed like there was basically a new song for every block he crossed, which kept resetting the mood for him. He loved every bit of it. Soulfully, he allowed the lyrics to fill his mind and felt in tune with the song that was added to his personal soundtrack.

"Baby, baby, what’s your claim to fame? Got me out of bed, heard you call my name…"

He made sure to take the time to appreciate every ounce of entertainment that was made available to him. He fought hard to avoid the nude dancers’ bars, but it seemed like there was one on every block! It was like a real life Sodom and Gomorra, tempting him more and more with each step he took. He knew very well if he were to go into any one of those bars, he’d most likely end up leaving broke, drunk, and horny. That was a lethal combination, which he already learned to avoid during his younger days. Luckily, his self-control was strong enough to resist his increasing male urges.

In the background, the song continued, "What’s this crazy place you want to take me to? Tell me, what’s the price, if I go with you?"

When he reached the next block, he locked eyes with an extremely fascinating dark-haired beauty. She stepped out through a cloud of cigarette smoke from a gated courtyard on the other side of the street and instantly grabbed his attention. It was like a ray of sunlight bursting through the clouds. Her long curly black hair flowed down to her shoulders and bounced full of life, as she walked. She wore a short white almost see-through dress with a matching handkerchief as a headband over the front of her hair and white sandals on her perfect feet. She had an aura around her, which made her appear more like an angel.

"My heart, my soul, my love… Is that the goal? It’s a thrill then I will. Hey Misled, won’t you be for real?"

Suddenly, someone passed in front of Ray temporarily and blocked his vision for only a split second. It was just enough time because within that brief moment, the girl seemed to mysteriously disappear.

"Misled, Misled…"

Ray raced across the street hoping to find her. Perhaps, she only bent over to adjust her sandals, he thought. When he reached the other side, he was distraught. The woman was nowhere to be found. How could that be? He searched the area desperately, but she was gone.

"Misled, Misled…"

Baffled, he wondered, Where did she go?

"Misled…"

He peered into the courtyard, where she had come from. She wasn’t there either. He turned around and stepped back onto the street without looking. Suddenly, the sound of a car horn forced him to step backwards onto the sidewalk in a hurry. The sound of the horn startled him, but it also snapped him back into reality.

BEEP… BEEP… BEEP!

The sound of the car horn was replaced by the annoying beep of an alarm clock, which woke Ray Durante from his wonderful all too realistic dream. He opened his eyes and realized he was lying on his bed back at his New York studio apartment in the Greenwich Village section of Manhattan. The abrupt reality of his situation was a depressing thought.

He stretched out his arms and let out a yawn, YAWN!

Regrettably, he was only dreaming about being in New Orleans, as he frequently did. There was no doubt it was one of his favorite places in the world. Despite having gone there three times already, he longed to return.

Fortunately, he only had to wait one more day and his wish would come true. He was officially on vacation, as of today and he’d be catching a flight to the Big Easy early the next morning. He could not wait. He found himself feeling the same anticipation he used to feel as a child each year on the night before Christmas. He’d been looking forward to this vacation for months. Once he reserved his plane tickets, the countdown had begun in his mind. Although in his dreams, he was apparently already there.

One more night, he told himself.

Ray enjoyed traveling and leaving New York. He thought about some of the other places he’d visited in the past. Some of them were pretty fantastic in their own right. There were vacations spent in tropical places like Aruba, Puerto Rico, and Florida, while there were other vacations spent at Arizona, Nevada, Colorado, Georgia, Connecticut, Pennsylvania, Massachusetts, Maryland, Washington, D.C., and Canada. However, with as many places as he’s seen there was nowhere that made him feel nearly as welcome and at home as New Orleans, Louisiana. There was just something about places with haunted histories that drew him in and this was one of the best he’d ever gone to, considering its strong ties to slavery, Voodoo, and the Civil War. It was filled with a rich gloomy history, which was perfect for fueling ghost stories.

He blamed television, movies, and books for his love of ghosts. It was a fascination that’s been with him since his youth. He always loved watching or reading anything that had to do with ghosts and haunted locations, especially historic sites like New Orleans, Salem, Tombstone, Gettysburg, and Old San Juan.

He knew it was only a matter of time, before he was walking down Bourbon Street for real. That dream and the girl in it were only a tease.

He sighed and forced himself out of bed, and then went into the bathroom to brush his teeth. When he was done he shaved off his two days’ worth of stubble. He preferred to stay clean-shaven for the most part. It made him feel and look younger, although he was only thirty-five years old. After shaving, he took a refreshing shower and got dressed. Next, he put clear gel onto his jet-black hair and combed it back. He plucked the front of his hair slightly outwards giving it a spiky feathery appearance, the way he liked it. After splashing on some cologne, he was ready to officially begin his last full day in New York.

Today was also his day to prepare his clothing and equipment, so he could pack. It was more than enough time, since he only needed about an hour to get that done. He had already done a load of laundry yesterday. Tonight he planned on heading down to the local bar to relax and have one last drink, while checking out the pretty ladies. Maybe he’d even get lucky and bring one back home with him.

Of course, he tried that plenty of times in the past and it hardly ever worked out that way. Most of the time, he came home alone. Still, he had to try. He was never the type of guy to have a relationship. He preferred the one-night stands because they were a lot less aggravation. Girlfriends were too much trouble for him. They only seemed to cause headaches. Not that he’d ever know.

He based most of his knowledge on his friends’ relationships and on television and movies. It was a stupid way to think, but he didn’t think so. The way he saw it, you could learn a lot from film and from your friends’ mistakes. As far as that was concerned, he had a point.

Ray was single, which is precisely how he liked it. He had never been married and had no children to pass on his legacy, what little there was to pass on. He worked as a security guard on the Upper West Side at Columbia University and had done so for nearly ten years now. It wasn’t a great job, but it wasn’t bad either. It paid the bills.

He had two main hobbies, which he enjoyed doing during his time off from work, especially whenever he was away on vacation. The first was writing. He’d been writing short stories for many years purely for fun. Of course, he hoped to someday become a published author. So far, he wasn’t having much luck in that department. It didn’t discourage him, though. He preferred to focus on historical facts any time he wrote and used that knowledge to tell his stories, which meant each story required a dedicated amount of research before it could be complete. He already had a few unfinished full-length stories that could possibly become novels. As of yet, he still did not have a publisher in mind. He kept an open mind. He was currently working on several different ideas he hoped to turn into his first book… someday.

His second hobby was somewhat unorthodox, but amazingly a lot more popular than it used to be several years ago. He was a paranormal investigator. Yes, a ghost hunter, although he never liked to use that terminology. As far as he was concerned, it was inappropriate. He didn’t really hunt ghosts, although he did search for them. Whenever at all possible, he’d attempt to photograph or record evidence of their existence. That was usually the hard part, although he has captured some good evidence in the past.

The very first night he went out looking for ghosts was his first successful night. He captured an image of a female apparition at a cemetery in Yonkers. He also had photos of apparitions at Gettysburg. His best photo by far was of an ominous entity that looked more like a mushroom cloud of smoke with several faces in it, which he captured at a cemetery, as it rose up from a tombstone. He also had a decent amount of recordings and video that showed proof of the paranormal.

It bothered him that he felt compelled to prove the existence of ghosts to his friends, who were too closed-minded to accept they were real simply because they had never seen any. It is not a requirement for everyone in the world to witness something for it to be deemed real, especially when there are thousands of photos, recordings, videos, and witnesses to attest to their existence. Ray knew it was mainly fear that made skeptics think as they did. They are too afraid and ignorant to accept that something they cannot understand could possibly exist.

Sometimes he did not have the patience to debate with these people. They were usually the same people that also denied the existence of aliens from space. It boggled his mind. From the billions of stars in the sky, how could anyone be so foolish and egotistical to believe that our star is the only one that harbors planets with life on it? He just couldn’t understand that kind of close-minded thinking.

That’s why he usually spent his free time alone. He could enjoy his hobbies without having to explain himself. No one would be there to tell him any different. It was how he liked it.

One of his biggest joys came from learning the history of a supposedly haunted location, and then trying to capture evidence to back up said history. Afterwards, he’d try to turn that information into a ghost story he could write. It was something he’d done, during mostly all of his previous vacations.

In fact, he had well over ten stories written, although they still needed refining and editing. He did whatever he could, whenever he found the time. It was far more difficult than it sounded. A great deal of research was involved in making the stories as believable and as interesting as possible to any potential reader. Unfortunately, his stories were quite a long way from being published or read by anyone.

New Orleans had always been an ideal location for gathering evidence of the paranormal. It was considered by many to be one of the most haunted cities in the world. During Ray’s previous visits, he had successfully taken several photographs with ghostly mists, spirit orbs, and one full body apparition. He also captured a few E.V.P. recordings at one hotel, a restaurant, and at two different cemeteries. The city was a virtual hotspot for ghostly activity.

To clarify, E.V.P. stands for Electronic Voice Phenomena, which when put simply were spirit voices from the other side. Ray usually used an average digital voice recorder to capture them. When combined with headsets and a microphone attachment, he usually got his best evidence. He’d sometimes be able to hear it, while it was being recorded. By wearing headsets, it helped to enhance the sounds around him. The microphone helped with noise reduction by buffering out unwanted background noises.

E.V.P.s could also be captured on video, so he always made sure to have a good high-definition digital camera with him, during his travels. Sometimes he’d have more than one.

Ray put new batteries into his voice recorder and plugged in his two digital cameras to charge up the batteries for his trip. He wanted to be ready to go on an investigation by the time he arrived at New Orleans. He didn’t want to waste any time charging the batteries at the hotel. Using his time wisely was the key to everything.

He would be arriving late in the afternoon. He figured he could catch a cab to the hotel, unpack, and then grab a bite to eat before he did some exploring. He already had a few places in mind to focus his attention on. It helped that he’d been to the city more than once, so he essentially knew most of the good spots to visit. He also knew a good place he could check for research, which he’d make sure to visit.

He only took about a half hour to finish packing his clothes and laptop computer. His various pieces of paranormal equipment would have to wait, until they were done charging up. He packed two flashlights, plenty of extra batteries, and an E.M.F. meter.

The E.M.F. meter is a scientific device used to detect changes in the electric magnetic field at a location or around an object. It is strongly believed it can be used to detect the presence of ghosts.

After Ray finished packing, he made himself two grilled cheese sandwiches for brunch. It was too late for breakfast and it felt too early for lunch. He originally wanted only one sandwich, but had to finish up his bread. Otherwise, he’d have to throw it out. After all, he was going to be gone for five days.

The thought of being away from home for close to a week felt strange, but he knew once he was at the hotel he’d be glad. He loved sleeping at hotels, especially those with haunted histories.

He remembered one time when he stayed at a hotel up in Napanoch, New York. It’s a quaint place called the Shanley Hotel. It was a simple looking bed and breakfast complete with a former bordello. He had some unbelievable personal experiences there and he was able to come home with loads of evidence, including a few E.V.P.s of one of the hotel’s more active spirits, a little girl named Rosie, who drowned in a well across the street from the hotel in the early 1900s.

Ray hoped this trip to New Orleans would be as productive, as the last, if not better. Somehow, he had a feeling he would not be disappointed.

Ray sat down to watch television, as he ate his sandwiches. The Travel Channel was showing a marathon of their popular paranormal show, Ghost Adventures. It was one of his favorite shows. He found it to be both educational and entertaining. He especially liked the older episodes.

He enjoys seeing whenever the team leader, Zak Bagans, would send the equipment tech, Aaron Goodwin, off to investigate a scary area alone. Poor Aaron usually got the crap scared out of him and it always made Ray laugh, although as the seasons progressed it happened less and less. Pretty soon Aaron was no longer just a tech guy, but one of the investigators. Eventually, he was taken more seriously and given proper credit for his work as an investigator, which was great.

Another thing Ray found interesting was whenever a spirit would somehow possess Zak, which happened often. He was usually fortunate enough to recover, before each episode’s end.

What Ray liked most was how the Ghost Adventures Crew went to fascinating haunted locations around the world and how they often used experimental scientific equipment, which he found himself wanting to buy. There was no doubt Ray was a huge fan of the show. He loved it and watched it religiously.

His favorite pieces of equipment used regularly by the show are the Ovilus and the P-SB7 spirit box. The Ovilus is a portable device that basically has a database of over 2,000 words, which are said randomly via a built-in electronic voice. Sometimes the words said are too coincidental, leaving Ray to believe it really is a ghost speaking through it. As for the spirit box, it is basically a radio with no antenna that utilizes white noise as a means for communicating with spirits. Sometimes spirits are able to somehow channel their own voices through it and speak clearly enough to be heard.

Ray already owned a P-SB7 spirit box, but did not have an Ovilus. His spirit box was still fairly new and had not been field-tested, yet. He planned to take care of that during his first investigation in New Orleans. Hopefully, it wouldn’t turn out to be another useless toy like the first EMF meter he bought. That piece of crap lit up at random and didn’t really do anything else. If he owned a cat, he would have just given it to the cat to use as a toy. As for the Ovilus, it was a bit pricey for him. There were a few different versions available. The Ovilus X was used a lot in the older episodes of the show. More recent episodes featured the newer improved Ovilus III. He hoped to order either one as soon as he was able, perhaps after recovering financially from his trip to New Orleans. Most of these ranged from $50-$300, depending on what it was.

Recently, Ray checked out one of his favorite websites and saw that the Ovilus III was going for a couple of hundred dollars. It was the one he really wanted. He’d own one soon. He just had to be patient. For the time being, he’d have to do without it. He didn’t want to rely on it anyway, so that suited him fine. The equipment he had was more than sufficient to get the job done.

He took a bite of one grilled cheese sandwich and followed that up with a sip of chocolate milk. It wasn’t his first beverage choice, but like the bread, he had to finish up his milk or throw it out. It would surely spoil, if he left it in his refrigerator for another five days.

As he ate his meal, he focused his attention on the television. It wasn’t a huge flat screen TV, but it was enough to make him happy. The episode of Ghost Adventures that was on happened to be one of his favorite episodes of all time, which pleased him. In it the team was doing an investigation at a haunted dam, which was supposedly cursed by Native Americans. During the investigation, there were hurricane winds that destroyed a nearby marina. The winds almost took Zak and his crew with