"Balfazaar ran to Radio Shack real
quick. He’ll be right back." This is the response I
received from the young man working the check-in table at Cirque du Nuit, a
gathering of vampires in the New Orleans Vampire Association (ironically dubbed "NOVA"). This unplanned encounter was but one
of many brushes with the supernatural-infused culture of New Orleans the other
editors of Eagle News and I had on our recent odyssey through the city.
The first night began with the normal
wanderings, getting our bearings on the local scene, when we ran across Bottom
of the Cup Tea Room, a sizable shop (for the area) specializing in psychic
dealings.
"We sell readings, books, and
crystals," the elderly, unnamed shopkeeper told me. "We've been doing
so since 1929."
While I know these things to be
placebos at best, I was compelled to nod my head. It wasn't my place to burst
in, ask questions, and then tell the man he's a fool. Besides, between the tiny
thrift shops and candy stores, the idea of amulets and palm readings just
seemed to fit.
Next up was the aforementioned Cirque
du Nuit. When we were traipsing down Bourbon Street, one of our number stopped
to use the restroom at the Four Points Hotel. When he came back out, he
mentioned seeing signs for a vampire conference. Obviously, it was my duty as a
journalist to investigate. Inside, hotel staff directed us to a far-back room,
where I hesitated. How was I going to interview them? What do you ask a
vampire, and how do you avoid offending them? What are the consequences of
doing so? Luckily, someone came out to assist us. We explained what we were
doing, but he claimed he was "just working the desk." He invited us
in and to stay for Balfazaar Ashantison, head of the vampire houses in New
Orleans. Ashantison is a legitimate, blood-drinking vampire. However, we had
places to go, so I declined and we departed.
I was out walking alone the next day,
when I stumbled upon Maskarade, something of a costume shop for your face. "Shop" is actually a little misleading. With
hundreds and hundreds of different masks, "operation" is more
appropriate.
"We're the only store that has
actual, hand-made masks," store owner Mary Behler said. "I have 45
artists that make masks for me, and they're all U.S. artists. That's the
difference."
Opened in 2001, the store was spawned
from Behler's perfume shop around the corner.
"A friend gave me a beautiful,
hand-made mask as a gift, and I put by my register," she explained.
"Everyday, someone wanted to know where they could find [one]. After
hearing that about ten times a day, I decided I'd give them a place where they could.
“I can tell you that these artists use every medium possible, we
have leather, paper mâché, fabric, feather," she continued.
I became curious about the store's
involvement with Halloween.
"We actually do more in sales for
Halloween than we do Mardi Gras, which is kind of amazing," Behler said.
That night, it was time for the pièce
de résistance: St. Louis Cemetery Number 1. The famous graveyard had been
featured in an array of media, and named by Yahoo! as one of the scariest
places in the world. After dinner, I led EN through the French Quarter, getting
distracted at a crucial moment and missing a turn. As we left the lights of
Bourbon Street, the team began to doubt both my navigation skills and my
sanity. Google maps was consulted and after passing numerous houses decorated
with gargoyles and tombstones and crossing a highway, we got to St. Louis. It
was closed. At that time of night, in the darkness and quiet, I'm glad it was.
Peering through the gate and in the spaces between the vaults is chilling. The
fact that the neighborhood around you is still recovering from Hurricane
Katrina further removes you from any sort of solace. Afterward, we all went for
frogurt.
While I expected all of these small
businesses to be kind of irritated by some kid from a school they've never
heard of asking inane questions, everyone I spoke to was very accommodating and friendly. Sure, maybe it's savvy to put on a kindly
front to a member of the press, but maybe it's just that Southern Hospitality
even lurks in those shadows of the scary and supernatural.
All photos taken by Kelli Krebs
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