VOODOO ON THE BAYOU

by LadeeAnne

Rated: E · Book · Other · #1787311

Ghostly tale about a mysterious, Creole woman who made New Orleans famous.

Author's Note
Anne P Murray~copyright 2011 LadeeAnne

No study of ghostly tales or strangeness in New Orleans would be complete without mention of Marie Laveau, the unchallenged "Queen of Voodoo" in New Orleans.
This mystical religion of Voodoo, is as big a part of New Orleans as jazz, Cajun food and Mardi Gras.

Before you start thinking that Voodoo is something of the past, you as a reader should be aware that the religion is as alive today as it was in the days of Marie Laveau. There has been no practitioner of Voodoo greater than she and no look at the religion in New Orleans would be complete without a mysterious glimpse of the woman who made it so famous, and the ghostly tales which keep her memory alive today.....

About Voodoo

The actual religion of Voodoo, or “Voudon”, originated from the ancient practices of Africa. Voodoo came about most likely in Santo Domingo (modern day Haiti) where slaves devoted rituals to the power of nature and the spirits of the dead. The term “voodoo” was probably adapted from the African Fon spirit, “vodu”.
For many enslaved Africans, such spiritual traditions provided a means of emotional and spiritual resistance to the hardships of life. In time, slaves from the Caribbean were brought to New Orleans and they brought Voodoo with them.
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Part 1 ~
The Year Of 1845

He was casually walking one evening in a bustling place called New Orleans in the year of 1845. Nonchalantly strolling down Bourbon Street, a street lined with beautiful homes; graceful verandas; elegant parlors…..
And Marie Laveau

His name was Moine Baptiste, a black, French Creole. A man who lived for his music, Quadroon balls, the blues, jazz, and places where he and Charlie would play their rip-roarin' music in the place called……
"The Big Easy".

“Charlie the Sax” was Baptiste’s long, time friend, since he first started playing the saxophone at the tender, young age of eight years of age.
Moine Baptiste, Plessy Ferguson and all the guys played their Cajun, jazz and blues music at Antoine’s Bar, The Maison Bourbon Jazz Club and the Funky Pirate; all popular clubs in the French Quarter on Bourbon Street in those "Big Apple" years in New Orleans.

Over on the tree lined street called Esplanada Avenue, the most elegant street in the French Quarter, was an elusive, secret Bordello called “LaBranche House”, where all the affluent and wealthier men would quite often frequent.

Baptiste was very familiar with LaBranche House where all the women, “knew him all too pieces”.
Needless to say, that was where Baptiste met all his women and spent most all of his money.

Chapter 2

The French and Creole children, also called “Gens de Couleur” or more commonly known as “the free people of color”, would casually roam the streets in the town, sometimes walking down by the graveyard near Bayou Street. They had been told many a time to steer clear of Bourbon Street, a street with a sordid reputation of burlesque clubs, all night parties and…..
Marie Laveau,

It was Baptiste's normal manner when taking his nightly walks, to keep a stealthy watch out of the corners of his eyes; something he learned to do a long time ago when strolling along the sidewalks in New Orleans, and in particular, Bourbon and Bayou Streets in Congo Square.

You see he’d had a few encounters with Marie Laveau. Baptiste had a great deal of respect for Ms. Laveau, along with a healthy amount of cautionary fear.

This mysterious, Creole woman often used her Voodoo to manipulate, acquire power and upon occasion, bless those she liked with good luck and prosperity; she also was quite adept in conjuring up her many powers in matters of the heart. Of course all for the right amount of currency.
She accumulated a great deal of wealth, by using her learned skills of Voodoo and Mojo.

Marie's hair was long and black; she was both feared and respected. Ms Laveau had olive colored, Creole skin. Her black, piercing eyes were sharp as a razor’s edge; almost magnetic, if she stared at you for very long.

Chapter 3

Baptiste had called upon the Voodoo Queen a few years back, when he was down on his luck….
and down on his luck with all the women in his life.
Why, it was almost to the point that Baptiste had all but given up on the possibility of being happy and contented.
He was a man with a few vices. However, they were vices that basically only harmed himself and his property. The rather normal vices of men in those days; too many women, too much gambling and too much booze.

However, in most all venues of his life, whether it be business or personal, Baptiste was a very reputable man, who wouldn't think for one minute of harming another person, be it either man, woman or a child. Baptiste would never have taken advantage of people.
So in that respect, Baptiste was quite an honorable and noble man. He was always a true gentleman, when it came to his treatment of women. He treated them with kindness, respect and dignity.
His main problem was, he liked too many women; too many all at the same time. He spent too much of his money on his women, which left him broke, lonely and somewhat unsatisfied with the way his life was going.

Baptiste was a man with a robust charisma of Creole and French charm. Yet he had an air of reserve and dignity, with a bit of naughtiness that shone quite brightly in his chocolate, brown eyes. He was remarkably handsome, with dark brown, wavy hair; a well chiseled bone structure in his cream colored face, with full lips and a well toned, slim, masculine body. He dressed with an air of dignity and refinement; a rather dashing, composed persona of a true gentleman.
His composure, presented itself as that of quiet, self assurance imbued with a quiet confidence. A total gentleman all “on one stick”!
He usually carried a cloak, which if necessary, was used to provide a cover for his damsels in distress. He normally wore a waistcoat or vest, the customary top hat or derby for men of that era.
Of course, Baptiste always carried his customary, walking cane, which held a small sword he could withdraw; just in case it was needed for self defense purposes.
This became the ubiquitous, popular image for a gentleman in that epoch of time.

As I previously said, Baptiste's main problems were; he liked too many women!
He spent much of his money on his many ladies, spoiling them with parfum, jewelry and lovely, little trinkets; but most of all with his disarming charm.

However, this left Baptiste somewhat broke, lonely and somewhat discontented and dissatisfied with his life. To Baptiste, it seemed lacking in quality.

Chapter 4

On one particular evening, after playing his normal gig with Santi and all the guys, Baptiste was feeling slightly tipsy from all the booze he'd drank that evening. Whiskey flowed and poured freely, in that part of town called The Big Easy, which was a part of New Orleans steeped in history, lore and many mysterious legends……..
And Marie Laveau.

Baptiste and his old friends Pressie, Erasme and Santiago had played their music long into the night at their favorite hot spot called the “Old Tin Pan Alley”.
Santiago was Baptiste’s oldest and dearest friend; that is except for Charlie, his sax.

Santi, as Baptiste liked to call him was 87 years young. People always talked about Ole’ Santi and his ragtime music, as far back as Baptiste could remember. Santi was also a Black Creole. He lived in the French part of town down by Canal Street, a part of town where nearly everyone played some sort of musical instrument whether it was some kind of musical horn or a worn out washboard and a pair of raggedy, taggerdy old spoons.
Even at the age of 87 years, Ole’ Santi could still play the ‘britches’ off almost every other man in The Big Easy.
His sweet, blues music would make you cry and smile all at the same time.
He would strike up one of his old favorite tunes like “Didn’t He Ramble” and all the people would leave their worries behind, particularly when he blew the last chorus in a high register. The people would clap and dance to Santi’s smooth, trusty old trumpet, that he called ‘Miss Sally’ or his jarring, rambunctious old worn out ragtime piano, that quite literally shook the roof off many an establishment whenever Ole’ Santi would play. Santi was always the ‘Biggest and best toad in the puddle’ when it came to playing his music. Baptiste would soon learn to play a very close runner up to Santi, thanks to all the love, devotion and time he spent on and with Baptiste.

It was Ole’ Santi who took Baptiste under his wing when Baptiste was only 4 years old.
Baptiste’s Pappy always had a thirsty throat. He died of the drink when Baptiste was only 3 years old, leaving he, his Mam’ and baby sister Cecile (Ce-Ce) all alone to struggle for themselves.
Times were very hard, little Baptiste tried to help his Mam by doing odd jobs, but at the young age of 3 and 4 years of age, there wasn’t a whole lot that lil’ Babby could do. Ce-Ce liked to call her big brother Babby.

One afternoon Babby was standing on the corner of Decatur and Canal Street holding his little, wooden shoe shine kit that he’d made of an old cigar box.
In his chubby, little hand he held a sign he’d painted all by himself, (with a little help from his Mam) that said:

“Babby’s Shoo Shin” 2 cents pleze”

Even back then, Baptist, “Lil’ Babby” had such a charming, easy manner about him, it just made you want to hug him. Ole’ Santi was one of those who did just that. He hugged Lil’ Bappy, right then and there on that very spot. Ole’ Santi put his arms around Bappy’s little shoulders and gave him the biggest, warmest hug Baptiste had ever felt. Right then and there on the corner of Decatur and Canal Streets.

Santi had never married nor did he have any children of his own own (not that he knew of anyway)
He took little Babby under his arm and became like a loving, teaching father figure to Baptiste.
He taught Baptiste how to play ‘Charlie’, which was Santi’s first musical instrument. Santi had learned to play ‘Charlie the sax’, as a young lad of about six years of age.
When Baptiste turned five years old, and about as tall as ‘knee high to a jackrabbit, Santi gave him “Charlie the sax”. It was Santi’s most treasured, beloved possession. He really cared a whole lot about Lil’ Babby, to have given him such a priceless, precious gift as his own ‘Charlie’.
It was quite a sight to see those two; one little boy and one old man, trudging along down the banks of the Ole’ Missisip’; their fishing poles in one hand, and Old Charlie in the other, talking together like only, two, men friends can do; sharing their secrets and Santi’s loving, fatherly advice.

They’d sit there for hours on the banks of the Ole’ Missip’ with their fishing poles, made of old tree limbs and tied with raggedy, old red bandanas. They’d stick their poles in an old, rusty tin can with a small hole punched in the top to hold the poles, just waiting for a wiggle and a bite, while Santi taught Lil Babby all the things he knew about playing’ the blues and ragtime on their trusted Old friend Charlie.

That’s not all Santi taught Baptiste. As Baptiste grew older and wiser to the many escapades of New Orleans, he started wondering about all the women he’d see Santi cavorting about with. One pretty little thing after another.

The year Baptiste turned 17, after a couple of years of persintently asking Santi question after question after question about women; “What do they do? What are they like? How do they smell, etc and etc.”, Santi decided it was about that time in a young man’s life when he needed to learn a few more lessons other than playing music on Old Charlie. After talking it over with Baptiste’s Mam', Santi took Baptiste in tow and they went on down to the LaBranche House down over on Esplanada Avenue.
Baptiste learned quite quickly and eagerly from Santi and all the ladies down at LaBranche House.
Baptiste ascertained all the debonair skills of charm, wit, and gentlemanly skills, how to entertain, but most of all, how to love many women, too many women. Thus his fall; too many ladies, spending too much money, too much gambling and too much drinking.

However, Baptiste and Santi were two of the most favored clients of the LaBranch ladies. They were treated equally with love, special favors and all the ladies tended to their needs both inside LaBranche House and outside as well.
Things were very comfy and entertaining at LaBranch House, except for a few uncomfortable peculiar things and events.

Whenever Baptiste and Santi visited LaBranche House, they always noticed there were strange, inexplicable events taking place in the elaborate, old house.
Among those strange events were unexplained footsteps, in a blocked off part of the upstairs attic in a remote part of the upstairs portions of the house.
There were voices and many unexplained events in those empty, attic spaces.

The eerie, haunting voices of children laughing, accompanied by invisible tiny feet that sometimes left footprints on the old clapboard, wooden floors. Sometimes out in the courtyard, Baptiste would see grayish colored images floating eerily across the gardens. Strange activity began to occur in the old kitchen pantry, with many of the utensils and glasses just completely disappearing.
Even tablecloths and linens were found bundled up in the old fireplace grate, completely untouched by burn marks.
One morning Baptiste and Santi had gone into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee when a creepy feeling started the hairs to stand up on the back of both their necks.
They both looked up at the same time and standing there, with her hands braced on her hips, was a vaporous gray figure of a woman with no legs. Her hair appeared to be pulled back into a bun off the sides of her face. She was wearing a scarf around her neck, called a tignon.
It was a seven knotted handkerchief.
In her long, fingered hands she carried a rather elegant broach, hanging by a long, silver chain. This broach resembled the figure of a small child lying in the arms of a woman.
Santi had lived so long; he wasn’t scared by much of anything anymore. He thought he had pretty much seen it all. But that morning, he and Baptiste looked up at the same time into the burned out eyes of that eerie figure standing there and almost got stuck in the doorway trying to get out of that room at the same time.
It was rumored that the LaBranche House was once a place where slaves were kept chained up in their quarters, in the top portion of the house and the attic. The main ‘ghost’ that seemed to haunt and wander about the most was that of a little girl slave who, in order to escape the beatings of her mistress, climbed to the roof and jumped to her death in the courtyard below.

Many times after Baptiste would leave LaBranche house he could feel one ghost in particular. It, or shall we should say 'she' seemed to want to follow him about on his nightly strolls down on Bourbon and Bayou Streets. It was the figure of a woman ghost, with no legs.
It was the one that had scared the Be Jesus out of him and Santi in the pantry that morning.
She would only follow Baptiste on Saturday evenings when he’d take his evening stroll. It seemed rather odd to Baptiste, the only nights she followed him was on Saturday nights. Since it was just the head and torso of this ghostly women, with the knotted handkerchief around her neck, carrying
a peculiar, odd broach in her hands seemed to make it even more eerie and bizarre.
Baptiste was oft’ tempted to give up his Saturday night strolls entirely.
With all the rantings and ravings of ghosts and uncanny things that
‘go bump' in the night’ that were talked about so freely in the LaBranche House, it was no, small, wonder that Baptiste had taken it upon himself to engage Marie Laveau to assist him with her Voodoo skills to acquire some sort of ability to understand and relieve himself of this unwanted spirit.
For some odd reason, Baptiste chose to call this ghost Elena.
To put it frankly, where that name came from, Baptiste really had no idea. No idea whatsoever!
But in no time shortly....
Baptiste was surely going to find out.
He wasn't going to believe, nor did he want to believe, what was about to unfold, unravel and twist their fabric into his life in forgotten realms he was completely unaware of and hauntingly unfamiliar with!

(to be continued)

The tomb of Marie Laveau in St. Louis Cemetery No. 1.is visited by devoted followers who still religiously leave offerings at the door of her tomb!

© 2011 Anne P Murray ~LadeeAnne

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