I had a game in Baton Rouge this weekend with the Knockouts of Houston Roller Derby. [[Last weekend we were in New Orleans for a bout!] Instead of staying in any old hotel near the actual game venue, our coach suggested a haunted plantation that was about half an hour away. WHHAAAAT. Yes, please. I don’t spend too much time thinking about ghosts and the supernatural, but I am kind of a scaredy cat. My biggest fears are burglars, and ghosts. I even remember having a horrific nightmare when I was a kid. We were trying to hide because some people had broken into our home – but they were flying around like ghosts. The story ends with me running into my parents’ room, terrified. HA.
A group of 6 of us planned to stay at Myrtle’s Plantation in St. Francisville, Louisiana. I read a few of things online about it being one of the most haunted places in America, as well as articles rebuking most of the “history.” Regardless of what I read or didn’t read, we hyped it up enough that my hands were shaking upon arrival. Our cottage was across from the main property. Supposedly there’s an older man that haunts the place…but we didn’t see him. I may or may not have heard him around 4:30am, but that’s about it.
Main property, from behind.
Main property, from the front.
Myrtles Plantation is famous for the mirror above. People have identified children and others on the stairs in some photographs.
There are only a couple odd things that happened. Obviously they could be pure coincidence, but what’s the fun in that? 🙂
When we returned after the game, I tried taking a photograph of the front of our cottage with my Instax. There was a relatively new roll of film in the camera [I had taken two photographs and had 8 remaining]. The flash went off, and there was some clicking going on inside the camera, but the film didn’t come out. I tried again…same process. Drat. The next morning, we went for breakfast in the oldest part of the house. I was using my digital camera to snap some photos, and as I was serving myself some coffee, the strap came undone and my camera fell to the floor. Weird.
On the way back from breakfast, I noticed that one of the patio’s pretty heavy wrought iron chairs was next to the bridge. And while I was photographing another older cottage [“The Caretaker’s Cottage”], the girls that had stayed the night walked up behind me and told me that the iron chair sitting at the foot of the stairs wasn’t there last night, either. Yes, someone could have moved them around, but it seems like a bit of an intrusion. Their cottage is surrounded by a little gate that you’d have to enter in order to move a chair around in the first place. A few minutes before departing, a few of us were taking photographs at the gazebo, on the other side of the bridge. Chair number three was spotted facing the water. What. That’s a long ways to drag a dang chair. A wrought iron chair. So whatever, I might sound crazy, and I don’t know what I believe, but these random chairs everywhere definitely caught my attention.
Whether anything went down or not, I had a blast with my derby sisters and coach on the plantation and would do it again. The Ghostbuster’s song was kind of a theme of the weekend [along with Wiggle and Turn Down for What…haha] and brings a smile to my face when it pops up on my playlist. We are very lucky to have had this experience and I would do it again. 🙂