Famous Hauntings: The Myrtles Plantation

Since I was twelve years old and I put down the The Witching Hour by Anne Rice for the first time, I've had a love for the South.  The swamps with cypress trees draped in Spanish moss, the balconies jutting over the narrow streets of the French Quarter in New Orleans, the slow dirge of jazz music played on the way to a funeral. The above-ground cemeteries. Sweet tea and humidity and a clean sweat on a spring morning. Gas light and the perfume of magnolia trees on a slow evening stroll through the Garden District. If I lived a past life or three, I'm sure one was[...]