BY
ABBYKINSINGER I
PHOTOGRAPHYBY
BRIANSMITH
Awell-knownscaredy-catprowls
fortheghostsofNewOrleans
T
here’sa feelingyougetwalkingdown thedamp
streetsof theFrenchQuarterafterclosing
time.Thebright lightshavedimmed, thestreet
performershave trudgedhomeand theboozy
touristshavepiled theiremptydrinkcups in
thegarbage.At thishour, youwalkpastarow
ofapartments for leaseandnotice thateach
sign ismarkedwitheither“NotHaunted”or“Haunted.”Younotice
thevoodooandvampireshops tucked into theshadowyslivers
betweenburlesqueclubs.There’sa tangibleenergypresent— the
feelingof thingsunseen. It’s in thoseraremoments,when therest-
lessstreetsofNewOrleansaredead, that theyaremostalive.
Thoseare themoments thatIcamehere for.
I lobmybagagainst thehotelcheck-indeskandwipearunaway
beadofsweat frommy temple. “Danggirl!Whatdoyouhave in
there?”myphotographerandmuch-appreciatedghostskeptic,
Brian, asks. “Stakesandsilverbullets?”Iconsider the legitimacyof
suchapotropaicmagicandwishI’dat leastpackedacloveofgarlic.
Iscareeasily. In10thgrade, acoupleof friends jumpedout
atmewithamaskandacamera, andmyreactionwassoex-
treme that
America’sFunniestHomeVideos
paid500bucks for
myInternet-prolongedhumiliation. (TheGIFfilestillpopsup
onmyFacebooknews feedat leastonceayear: “LOL!HAHA!
REMEMBERWHENUGOTSCARED&HITURFACE???”Ghost
emoji, ghostemoji, cry-laughingemoji.)
But fear is forconquering, andascaryNOLA tripwasonmy
bucket list.ForhomebasewechoseBourbonOrleansasourbest
bet forahauntedhotel in theQuarter.Onceaconvent, thespot
AMERICANWAY
OCTOBER2015
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