Midnight Mardi Gras

Mardi Gras in New Orleans. The biggest party of the year. But unlike everyone else visiting New Orleans this time of year, I'm not here for the party. I'm here to see the other side of the city; the darker, more elusive side. New Orleans doesn't reveal that side of herself to everyone, but tonight, I think I'll find what I'm looking for.

My name is Max Kensington. I'm what most people would refer to as a ghost hunter. I've traveled all over the country investigating allegedly haunted sites. It's my passion. Those who try to discredit ghost hunting would say that I'm a fool and that this is my obsession, but they don't understand what it's like to do what I do. They've never held in their hands evidence of life after death.

My dream paranormal investigation has always been New Orleans. The history of the city, the mystery that lurks around every corner, the whispers of voodoo rituals long since ended, they've all seemed to call me to New Orleans. Now I find myself in the Crescent City on the night of Mardi Gras. While the partygoers will be getting to the bottom of many bottles, I will be chasing spirits of a different kind. And I'll be doing it in the famous Saint Louis Cemetery.

Just because I'm not here to party doesn't mean I want to completely ignore the festivities. I stop by Canal Street to take in the parade. As the floats pass me by, I'm entranced by the masks the people wear. Ghastly faces, skulls; they seem to stare through me with their lifeless eyes. It's almost as if they're beckoning me to that cemetery, beckoning me to discover them, to hear their voices crying out from the next world. This city seems to have a fascination with the dead. It's easy to see why. Even at a party, the dead are all around you.

I figure I'll relax a little before the investigation and stop by the party on Bourbon Street. I don't stay long. I like inebriated women exposing themselves for small plastic beads as much as the next guy, but it's not exactly a great prologue to the investigation. Tonight, after all, is very serious business. I'll be investigating the cemetery where the famous voodoo priestess, Marie Laveau, is buried.

I have to be honest with myself: voodoo is the reason I'm here. The extra danger excites me, makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up just a little more than the average haunted house or local cemetery. Voodoo is all around New Orleans and if I want to find the spirits of voodoo rituals, Saint Louis Cemetery will be the place to do it.

I arrive at the cemetery at about ten-to-midnight. It's very important that I begin the investigation at midnight. It's a concept I first learned of in the film Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil. The first half of the midnight hour is used to do good magic, the second to cast evil magic. My theory is that I will get different evidence based on when I do the investigating.

I start at midnight, the half hour for good. I begin looking for electronic voice phenomena, or EVPs. I hear what sounds like voices a couple times, but nothing too substantial. The rest of the half hour passes without any significant disturbances.

It's now 12:30. Time to seek out the "evil" spirits. People would say that I'm playing with fire and that I won't like what I find. I'm not worried about that, however. No one has ever made a great discovery by being cautious. I can be one of the all-time great ghost hunters if I can find evidence of a voodoo spirit.

Suddenly it seems as if there's a bitter chill in the air. The sounds of Mardi Gras seem distant and forgotten. It has to be just my imagination. I know what I'm looking for is potentially dangerous and it's playing tricks with my mind. Calm down, I tell myself. A ghost hunter has to stay alert.

Just then something catches my eye on the screen of my infrared camera. It looks like the silhouette of a woman peeking out from the side of one of the famous European style tombs. I rush over there and see something. Can it really be the voodoo queen herself, Marie Laveau?

The figure darts inhumanly fast between the tombs. I chase her as quickly as my legs will allow, the fear pumping adrenaline through my veins. I turn the corner and am stopped dead in my tracks: five male figures are slowly making their way towards me. They are pale, their eyes colorless. The female figure is standing behind them; she seems to be directing them towards me. Voodoo priestesses were famous for concocting potions that could turn the living into zombies. My God, this can't be real.

The fear has completely overtaken me now. I run like lightning to the cemetery gates. What sounded like whispers are now full blown screams. I can hear my name over and over again. "Max...Max...MAX," they scream after me. I can hear the beat of ritual drums. I have awoken something terrible here. The drums are deafening. The living dead are closing in on me. I'm almost there. I just have to run a little further.

I run and leap out of the gates in fluid motion. I've made it out alive, but that does not quell my fear. I run like a madman through the streets back to my hotel.

After a largely sleepless night, I leave the city. I try to review the evidence on the plane ride home, but I must have dropped my camera and voice recorder trying to escape the cemetery. I come away with no evidence, only the fears that will haunt my mind for the rest of my days. New Orleans is a city full of mystery, but I found out trying to solve those mysteries can change your life forever.