When I first met my husband he didn’t believe in ghosts. He once told me, “when you die you’re dead. You go to heaven or the other place and that’s the end of it.” This was soon resolved after a trip home to visit my family, when we stayed in the house where I grew up, which is of course, haunted. No, this isn’t a story about that house–I’m saving the best for last!
The following fall, in celebration of our anniversary, which is at the end of October, we took a trip touring the plantations in Louisiana from Baton Rouge through St. Francisville which included a stop at The Myrtles. The Myrtles has a long and complicated history and was built in 1796 by a man from Pennsylvania who came to Louisiana to escape a death sentence after the Whiskey Rebellion.
The most famous ghost of the Myrtles, is Chloe, a murdered slave. She was alleged to be the mistress of the master of the plantation during her life, and when she was caught eavesdropping on her master, he cut off her ear as punishment. According to local legend, she baked a cake laced with oleander to poison the mistress, who she then planned to nurse back to health and regain favor with the family. Unfortunately, the plan did not work. The mistress and her two daughters died. The other slaves, fearing retribution from the master, hung Chloe in the oak tree in the courtyard.
On the day I visited the Myrtles, the house was alive with energy. The group was small and as we passed through the entryway a mirror pushed out from the wall and banged back to get our attention. A moment later I saw a figure of a young woman in the mirror who appeared to be pressing against the glass from the inside out! As the group turned to see what the noise was about, a palm print appeared on the mirror. Feeling a little dizzy, my husband and I left the tour and went outside for some fresh air. Deciding I want to take some pictures of the house, he waited with me until all of the tourists had vacated the porch and I took several shots with a disposable camera I had bought that morning in St. Francisville.
Yesterday, when I wrote this, I tried three times to load the picture to the blog and the entire file was lost, including the picture.
So, as much as I’d like to share that picture with you, I don’t think my ghost wants it to happen!
But I did take full frontal picture of the house, which is lovely. In my shots, the two rockers to the right of the front door are occupied by a man in a white suit, with two little girls on either side of him. He has one of his arms around each young girls waist. They are wearing white dresses, and they appear as if they are being shot with black and white film. The man appears to be smiling as are the girls, one about seven and the other approximately ten years old. Apparently they like having their picture taken. The odd part is the group begins to fade out at about thigh level. Perhaps with so many photo opportunities they were running low on energy?
If you’ve visited the Myrtles you know the beauty of the area as well as the house. Its history is complicated and sometimes tragic. Since I was unable to up load my photo, I will provide a photo from their site, and hopefully a link.
And this maybe one reason ghost hunting has become so popular.
Pictures taken from the front of the house often show a young boy running across the lawn in a line horizontal to the front porch. My picture was taken dead center, with my husband and I standing by the tree you see in this photo.
There are many sites with orb and ghost photos from The Myrtles. I have never seen another picture like mine, with the Colonel and his daughters. And sadly, you’re not like to see it either, since I was unable to load it a fourth time and lost the blog copy in spite of saving it manually every two minutes.
I don’t think these ghosts want my readers to see that picture. Sorry!