My sister’s friend, she’s in her late thirties, and we call her Sam. She’s from Jamaica too but she lives in LA. She and her best friend, once a year travel to somewhere cool together. And at the end of last year, around November, they travelled to New Orleans together. And there’s this street that’s a well known street in New Orleans, I forget the name of it but I could ask my sister, where really pretty houses are that have been there for a super long time, it’s just one street with really old houses. And so they were just looking around touring the area, it’s near Bourbon Street. And they drove upon one really pretty house, it stood out from the rest of them because it just looked so well kept, well taken care of, it looked like somebody lived there.
Do people live in the houses?
Some of them. This one there was no car in the driveway, none of the windows were open. And the door was like a wooden double door, and the top of the door had like glass, about three quarters of the door was glass, so you could kinda see through the house, and it was all empty. And so they drove upon the house, and then all of a sudden, both of them started saying they don’t have a good feeling, like the house is beautiful but they just don’t feel like they should be here, like they’re infringing on somebody’s personal life and personal property. And okay, Sam is the most non-believer of all the non-believers. You know, she’s like the atheist of believing in ghosts. And she just kept complaining that she felt down in her emotions, she just felt weird, and she got super antsy and like, I don’t want to be here because I don’t want to get them mad, I don’t want to get them mad. And her friend was like, who are you going to get mad? Like what are you talking about the house is empty, it’s clear that nobody lives there. And Sam was like somebody’s there and I know. Like with conviction she was just like we are not supposed to be here. Somebody’s not happy with us being here. And her friend was like what are you frickin talking about, this isn’t like you to say any of this…and then her friend started being like you know I think you’re right, like I think we shouldn’t be here. And this is while they’re talking in the car, and how my sister described it was like, this is where the car was, and this is where the front door was, so it wasn’t a long driveway. So they looked back, at the house, and they saw a little boy…I hate telling this, don’t you ever think that when you tell these stories it sounds just ridiculous? They saw like a little boy in an army uniform, like a khaki button up with badges and buttons. And they said it was evident it was a boy’s face because he had little blonde hair, he had baby blue eyes, his face was super young, but they both said they saw him perfectly, in the doorway. And they were like…he couldn’t be that tall for us to see him in the doorway, and both of them saw him.
So they saw him through the glass in the door?
Through the glass, and then they just started freaking out. They weren’t scared, they were just like holy shit, and both of them saw him. And they were like, it wasn’t only me, she’s my witness, it was there. And then they left, and they were like we’re researching this, find out the history of the house, the history of this street, everything. And it turns out that that house was a refugee house for people during World War II, and the little boy was one of the ones who lost his dad. His dad was a soldier. So they think the little boy was wearing his dad’s uniform. And they said that when they looked up the story and everything, multiple people had, when they see that house…like they weren’t the only ones who reported that story, like they read others, and the little boy is there to remind people to never forget them, that there’s a history here and don’t forget this history, it’s alive and well. Okay so the story has a twist, you’re gonna be like what the fuck. After they researched, it blew their mind, they wanted to go inside and look around. They came back and they couldn’t find the house. They could not find the house for the life of them, they drove up and down the street and they were like this is where the house was. The house wasn’t there. I swear to god. They couldn’t find the house. They were on the exact same street, and they couldn’t find it anywhere.
And after that, Sam was like I will never doubt anyone’s story ever again. She was like I feel like a dumbass telling this story.
This is a third hand account of someone’s personal experience. Clearly the ghost story was compelling enough for the informant’s sister to tell her, and for the subject to tell her friend. An additional aspect that enhances the belief in this legend is because both the friend and the sister know the subject’s reputation as a general non-believer of all things spiritual or having to do with legends. We might also infer that the subject is a good story-teller, or purveyor of folklore, because it seems as though the account is very detailed, specific, and compelling. It could also be the case that all three of the people in the line who have told this story are good storytellers, if indeed the story and its details have remained intact. There is also the possibility that either the second hand account or third hand account was embellished or changed, depending on their memory of the account they heard, how they interpretted the story, and the nature of how they tell stories. The account is also reinforced by similar stories on an internet database, where other people have had similar experiences. Adding to this the fact that the subjects didn’t know this history or the legends surrounding this house until after having had their own experience, so they had nothing to influence or bias their experience, and you get a pretty compelling and chilling account.