Ghosts, Gods, & Gangsters of New Orleans

Our ghost tour pauses outside the gates of the Old Ursuline Convent, which has stood here since the early days of our city’s founding. Your guide recounts the legend of the casket girls - young women who traveled here long ago with peculiar chests in tow. According to lore, these cases contained unholy stowaways that still haunt the convent and streets nearby as vampiric beings to this day. As you gaze up at the decaying walls, you might wonder if something cursed still lurks within... Did the casket girls truly first usher vampires into New Orleans? Stand here after dark to hear the story and decide. Before we depart the convent grounds, listen closely for whispers on the wind.

After leaving the convent, we approach a grand, white-columned mansion that once belonged to Civil War general P.T. Beauregard before housing bestselling author Frances Parkinson Keyes. But not all who traversed this historic home's ornate rooms and parlors met a refined high society end. Over a hundred years ago, this was the site of one of the city's most infamous mafia hits. Some believe unsettled spirits still dwell here, caught in a phantom feud that continuously replays itself. As night falls, you may glimpse shadows of the conflict in the windows or hear faint echoes of the assassination that violently ended the rule of a notorious gangster.

We pause outside the imposing facade of the stately Lalaurie residence, once occupied by the influential yet nefarious Madame Delphine Lalaurie, until a fateful day exposed her most insidious secrets. As we stand before the intricately wrought iron balcony, our guide recounts whispered tales of the ghastly revelations of diabolical experiments and unimaginable human suffering within these walls. Some say the anguished echoes can still be heard of those who perished by her philosophies. Others report sightings of the Madame herself, presiding still over her estate after death, denied her proper judgment for the reprehensible deeds committed on helpless souls. But we leave it to you to ponder... Do spirits still linger, or does public imagination haunt these grounds more fiercely than any wayward wraith could? What is evident is that this address continues to profoundly disturb anyone who learns of its history - now including those gathered among us on this tour.

We linger for a moment at the mouth of the unassuming street that now bears little trace of its debauched and deadly past. Your guide casts their lantern light towards what was once Gallatin Street - a seedy, riotous red light district that lured sailors and slummers to establishments promising every illicit desire in the late 1800s. Despite its allure, danger and predation lurked around every corner. Some tell tales of men lured by sirens into darkened dead ends, never seen again. Others whisper of malevolent gangsters hired by establishments that now mask their murderous history with respectable facades. But listen closely near the cracked sidewalks... Do you hear the distant echoes of raucous laughter turn suddenly to screams? Do wafts of lavender perfume mask the coppery scent of lives lost? We leave you to ponder if the spirits of Gallatin Street still lurk where their earthly vices laid them to rest too soon.

Before the sprawling green space of Jackson Square took shape, our guide tells us these very grounds bore witness to some of the city’s most shocking and gruesome public executions. Surrounded by armed guards, prisoners would meet their fate by hanging from a crude wooden structure or more barbaric means based on their alleged crimes. For some, the seconds dragged on in slow, suffocating horror witnessed by jeering crowds. Others faced swifter ends on the executioner’s block in view of the stone cathedral. Though carnival tunes float lightheartedly today, we pause to acknowledge the square’s darker times witnessing the end of convicted lives – no matter the reasons or rights. As we take our leave, glance back and ponder if unrest still stirs spirits to linger along these shadows where public punishments once summoned throngs as macabre entertainment. The grounds hold many secrets and seek souls underneath the serene green space of Jackson Square.

Our guide pauses along the route to indicate an unassuming building that now contains the New Orleans Pharmacy Museum. But they share tales passed down through generations about this site’s shadowy role during the plague years. As infections raged unchecked, rumors persisted of the building secretly housing fringe doctors conducting lethal human experiments to identify vaccines via questionable means. Details remain lacking and facts elusive of who or how many may have suffered within these walls in the name of battling our city’s waves of epidemic onslaughts. Yet eerie stories endure of lost souls seen in the windows, nameless victims stolen away never to return home when promising remedy at an unfathomable moral cost. Disturbing rumors alone leave a lingering vileness around our quiet pharmacy museum that not even formal dedications to medical ingenuity can rinse out.