A young couple from Colorado joined me this past week-end. They had brought a few relatives with them to enjoy New Orleans. The women, who looked especially young to me, said that both she and her beau worked in a golf course. There was a two story building there, visiting upstairs and golf shop downstairs. There were also offices downstairs, down dark corridors.
The used to work in the store and plenty of the time it was empty. Often they were not behind the desk, but equally often they would here footfalls on the stairs and children's laughter in the stairs and the hallways. They would hurry behind the desk only to realize the were alone in the store.
Apparently they were not the only ones who thought something was amiss in the building. One of the pros had died, had a heart-attack at his desk in a back office. By all accounts he was not a kind person. The administration decided they needed to exercise the place after his death. They called in a professional. They didn't mention if she was a priestesss, demonologist, etc. But she decided to exercise the place with sea salt. The young lady on my tour was her assistant. It is amazing was minimum wage will get a teenager to agree to. But she helped out this professional, got the sea salt and followed behind her. They circled a long drive that curved into a circle with a fountain in the middle. As soon as they sprinkled the last of the salt to complete the circle, a swarm of bees burst from beneath the fountain and chased them away.
In the months immediately following a few tragedies happened on the course. A father was struck by lightening while golfing with his son. No lightening was in the area for a twenty mile radius, just one bolt hit and killed him. Later a women was showing one of her friends how to drive and mistook her distance. When she swung the club back she hit her friend, shattering her face.
No comments:
Post a Comment