When I first began talking to people about their experiences with ghosts, I was surprised by how many stories involve smells. A lot. This spring a woman from Gulfport came on an evening tour. She was very familiar with New Orleans, as her nephew used to live here and she would come all the time to stay with him and party in the French Quarter. He was very fond of Patchouli, and after he died she would sometimes go into a room in her house, where he always staid when he visited Gulfport, and she would smell patchouli in the room. She would walk out of the room, close the door and walk back in and the sent would be gone.
At another time she and her family were sitting at her dinning room table talking. Across the room was a sofa and behind it a table with lots of family pictures. The conversation moved along until it came to her nephew. They heard a slapping sound and looked across the room. His picture had fallen over on the table.
At another time she'd come home from work and found a picture of the two of them, having a good time together, on the floor. No one had been in her house that day, but that morning the photo had been sitting high on a shelf with a mug in front of it. The mug was in the exact same place.
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