Last night, I told some of my fellow tour guides about this blog, and, bless their hearts, they sent a story my way. This gentlemen was not on the tour last night but was considering it for later in the week. (Last night LSU played Alabama for the championship and this translates to myself and the tour group -- 6 foreign students, and 2 disinterested wives -- tiptoeing around the French quarter peering into every bar we pass to see if a fight has broken out, nothing like the double or triple digits that normally show up for a ghost tour.) Nonetheless, this gentlemen wanted to share his story with us. Really, it’s his sister’s story.
She worked for a historic house somewhere in New Jersey along the Pennsylvania line, or maybe vice versa. A farm house Washington may or may not have stayed at during the American Revolution but certainly his officers did. Every night she had to close up. She would lock the door, deadbolts, chains, bars, top bolts, bottom bolts, and ten minutes later she would go upstairs to the office and wrap up the day’s books. Well, one night she was doing this and while sitting at the desk she could see someone out of the corner of her eye, standing in the far corner of the room. Unsure, she continued her work. Finally, she knew she would have to turn and look; at the same time whatever it was realized that it had been seen. Just as she turned, the figure bolted down the stairs and she ran after it. She could hear footfalls on the stairs, but when she got to the front door it was wide open and no one was anywhere in sight.
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