“You might’ve heard of a woman named Marie Laveau. She is hands-down the most infamous voodoo priestess who ever lived. She was a Catholic her entire life, brought up her children as Catholic and everything. They were all baptized at St. Louis Cathedral in Jackson Square. To this day, eighty percent of all voodoo practitioners here in New Orleans and in Haiti are Catholic.”
“No way. That was so smart of them!” the woman says, and before she can ask any more questions, we all come to a stop as Ronnie turns to face us and holds up is hands.
“Now, here is probably the one most of y’all have been waiting for.” He gestures toward the massive corner mansion we’re standing next to, and everyone starts to mumble to each other, obviously confused.
Erin winks up at me, smiling and elbowing me gently as she lifts her chin toward Ronnie, who begins his tale.
“Looks a little different than the home they used in American Horror Story, no? If you look just across the street there—” He points to a familiar looking building. “—that is actually the place they used as Madame Marie Delphine MacCarthy Blanque LaLaurie’s house in the show. Easily one of the cruelest and most sadistic women in American history, she was played pretty much spot-on by the amazingly talented Kathy Bates in Season 3, Coven.” He drawls out the last word, and I get chills of excitement, glancing down at Erin with a giddy grin on my face like it’s Christmas morning.
“The real Madame LaLaurie was born in 1787. She was part of New Orleans’s elite, wealthy beyond compare. As many manipulative sociopaths are, she was known to be kind and sweet. That is, to her social equals. According to British writer Harriet Martineau, The lady was so graceful and accomplished, so charming in her manners and so hospitable, that no one ventured openly to question her perfect goodness.
“Not too long after her third marriage to the less wealthy Dr. Louis LaLaurie, she had built a lavish, two-story mansion on Royal Street in New Orleans in her own name. This home—” Ronnie sweeps his arm out to the gray monstrosity next to us. “—which is actually the rebuilt version, quickly became known as the grandest in all of the French Quarter. But on the opposite end of the spectrum, her slaves were noted to look haggard and sickly.
“Rumors started to spread about her cruelty to her slaves, and not long after, multiple complaints were filed. This happened across several years. One infamous story about her was when she flew into a rage when a twelve-year-old servant girl named Lia accidently pulled on a tangle while brushing Madame LaLaurie’s hair. As Lia ran from her uncompromising, whip-wielding owner, Lia chose to jump from the roof to her death.”
There’s a gasp throughout the crowd, including one from me, and when I glance down at Erin, she’s watching me with an amused glint in her eye.
“How are you smiling right now? You have no soul. She was twelve,” I hiss quietly.
“I’ve heard this story so many times I could tell it forward, backward, and upside down. I guess I’m jaded. Also, I’m a tad tipsy. But it’s fun getting to see your reaction to hearing it for the first time.” She shrugs.
I shake my head at her before my eyes are drawn back to Ronnie as he continues his tale.
“Witnesses later reported seeing LaLaurie burying the girl’s mangled body, so she was given a fine of $300 and was forced to sell her other nine slaves. This was actually a big deal back then. Seeing as this was the South during slavery times, punishments against owners who treated their slaves badly was extremely rare.
“But alas, like rich people everywhere during that time, she was able to buy her way out of trouble. And that wasn’t the end of her slave ownership. Obviously, or we wouldn’t be standing here nearly three hundred years later, telling these stories about her. Marie’s family members simply repurchased the slaves and, to the slaves’ utter horror, they got sold back to LaLaurie.” Ronnie shakes his head, a sad look crossing his face. “Can you imagine being one of those slaves? You think you’ve finally escaped this evil woman, hoping to be sold to anyone else, because anything would be better than this crazy bitch. And just when you believe your luck has changed… you’re sold back to the one person on earth you’d rather die than be owned by.”
I lean sideways to whisper to Erin, “Damn, that sucks.”
She giggles. She actually… giggles, and I turn my shocked face toward her.
“Just wait,” she says ominously, and gives me an evil grin.
“You know, you’re a little scary right now,” I tell her, even though secretly I think she’s fucking adorable. I’m sure the first time she heard these tales, it freaked her the hell out, but living here in New Orleans and hearing them over and over again, she’s become desensitized to it all.