It was a humid, warm night in the French Quarter of New Orleans. A young girl with long dark auburn hair woven into tight braids sat in a rocking chair on her porch. She played with one of her dolls, combing the course stiff hair over and over. From the corner of her eye she noticed a rat, not an uncommon sight in Louisiana, in the alleyway beside her neighbor’s home. She left the porch walking briskly to see the creature. Only, as she got closer she realized this was not a rat. It was a stream of blood flowing through the alley. She went around to the side of the house where the Romeo pillars rested. Blood was dripping down the metal poles, she moved her eyes, following the stream of blood again. A man rested on the pavement. His intestines were lying beside his body. His eyes were open, looking straight into the little girl's soul, as if he were asking for help. Her jaw fell to the floor. She looked up at the balcony, a haze of a large woman appeared. Glowing red eyes staring back at her. From the echoes of her screams, emerged police sirens.
Virgil climbed out of his police car. He approached the vibrant yellow tape and glanced at the little girl sobbing next to her parents in the ambulance. She was being questioned on what she witnessed in the dark and gloomy night. Virgil crouched under the tape, pulling it up slightly to get under it. Once he was on the other side he walked over to one of the deputies.
“Why do you think the neighbors called them ‘Romeo pillars?” One of the deputies questioned.
Virgil, being a walking encyclopedia, answered in a heartbeat. “Back then fathers wanted a way to keep boys from climbing into their daughters room. They put these sharp spokes protruding from the top of the pillar there,” He stopped and pointed up at the house, “so that when they lost their balance, they’d end up like the guy on the floor over there, aka ‘Romeo.’” The group of police offices all turned to look at the body on the pavement.
One of the officers responded, “You know, aren’t you one of those ghost hunters? Why are you here, this is a crime scene.”
Virgil stared at the cop. “You don’t know of this house? The story behind it? I was called out here by your boss. This is the house of Madame Marie Laveau. She tortured slaves in the attic of this very house. There have been various reports of screams in the night and dark shadows creeping through the house.” He paused to point toward the little girl sitting in the ambulance. “The story that little girl shared earlier? That must be true. I am here to see if Madame was really the one that pushed that man off the ledge.”
The officers looked at each other. One of them near the back murmured, “This guy is nuts.”
Virgil looked around and rolled his eyes. He tugged at his onyx leather jacket, making the collar stiff and stand up, and walked into the house. The deputy that doubted his story and beliefs, followed after him.
They climbed the steep stairs of the home, creaking with every ounce of pressure placed with each step. Virgil walked slowly around the room. It was very musty, you could see the granules of dust floating in the air. A miraculous handmade wardrobe stood in the corner. He carefully walked over to it. He stared at the wardrobe following the striations all the way down to the floor. A small piece of paper, stained sepia from age, stuck out from beneath closet. He knelt down and picked it up. He studied it, astonished at what he saw. It was a photo of Marie Laveau. She had wavy hair that barely went past her ears with a  stern look on her face. Her hands were placed on her knees, on top of her beautifully made gown. He stood up and placed the picture on the table next to him.
Virgil turned to look at himself in the large mirror that stood on the wall next to the wardrobe. He stopped. He felt a weight pressing on his chest. He turns around, and there in front of him were the glowing red eyes the little girl saw. She lunged towards him. Grasping his biceps and shook him like a leaf. Virgil squinted his eyes. She howled in his face “LEAVE HERE NOW.” In a voice so hauntingly deep it shook his core. She let go and disappeared in the shadows of the house.
Virgil braced himself and looked at the floor, speechless. The deputy looked over at him and said “why do you look so pale?”
Slowly turning his head toward the deputy in disbelief he whispered, “you didn’t see her?”
The deputy looked at him in shock. “All I saw was you holding your biceps and was shaking. I almost called the paramedics up here but you snapped out of it.”
Virgil could not believe he did not witness Madame. He shook his head. He walked briskly out of the house.
The deputy shook his head and laughed. “What a wack job.” He looked into the mirror, feeling the scruff of his after shave. A drop of blood fell onto his forehead and dripped down his face. He slowly touched his face and stared at his hand. He slowly raised his head, looking up at the ceiling. Glowing red eyes peered at him through the wall. She said five words to him. “The blood of a slave.”
He screamed and fell to the floor. She flew down to the floor and grabbed his ankle. The deputy could barely hear through the sound of his own shrieks. She drug his body to the balcony and threw him off. She cackled and disappeared into the haze of the full moon.