Sep 21, 2021 6:59 pm
Derek
You spend a good amount of time toiling over the various maps and documents provided by Mr. Guillory. Experience has taught that it's easy to miss things on municipal property records, which can be densely packed with information. Older documents from the turn of the 20th century can also prove to be messy and illegible. Consequently, you are careful to go over the paperwork slowly and with a fine toothed comb. As you pour through the records, you can hear the rest of the krewe walking the house, and the muffled sounds of Claudine speaking.
Claudine was correct when she said that there were no deaths on the property. You, too, find no indication of deaths in the paperwork. Not that that means anything. There may have been deaths on the property that weren't officially recorded. Likewise, ghosts don't need to die at a specific location in order to haunt it. Anchors are about emotional attachment. One of the house's previous owners could have still become Anchored to the house, even if he or she passed away nowhere near it.
Property deeds indicate a fair share of owners before the Guillory family. The house is old and has been around since the late 1800s. The line of owners stretches back to 1874. The only time that the house stood empty was a fourteen year period between Hurricane Katrina and the day the Guillories moved in.
No record of a burial site on the land parcel prior to the house's construction. Strangely, there are no reports about spooky or odd phenomena: no historical records, no police records, no news reports. It seems like the paranormal activity only began after the Guillories purchased the home. No indication that prior occupants of the house had any paranormal experiences. Then again, it could simply be that the Guillories weren't thorough enough in their research and missed a few things.
One thing that does stick out, however, are several environmental reports dating back to the 1960s. Over the decades, various occupants of the house have complained to the parish government about the discovery of a mysterious substance leaking from the walls. Attempts to identify the substance repeatedly ended in failure, as samples would inevitably dissipate into nothing. Reports described the material as an opaque semi-liquid with a gel-like consistency, and with a foul odor reminiscent of rotting fish or decaying matter. After numerous examinations, the parish determined that the substance was not harmful to the environment or the occupants, and so nothing was done, but home owners continued submitting complaints to the city every few years.
As a Sin-Eater, you know this perfectly fits the description of plasm. You also know that plasm can be generated several ways. Sin-Eaters can produce it. Ghosts leave it behind when they manifest. And it occurs naturally at Cenotes (places with a connection to the Underworld). Cenotes are also commonly known as "low places" since they tend to be found in areas of low elevation, such as caves, subway tunnels, and basements. More than half of New Orleans sits below sea level. Some Sin-Eaters hypothesize that this might be why the city has such an infestation of ghosts - N'awlins is, itself, a massive low place.
Furthermore, you notice something else when examining the home's blueprints. You easily slip back into architect mode as you study the house's most recent floor plans. Those indicate a standard center hall cottage with all renovations included. However, you also find an old blueprint from before the renovations by the Guillories. This print is mostly the same but with one major difference. It appears that the kitchen used to have a trap door in the floor of the pantry room. The door no longer exists in the newer blueprints. Basements are rare in New Orleans, and you know that the house sits on raised piers about five feet high. Many of the houses in the Carrollton neighborhood have them; a countermeasure against minor flooding.
You spend a good amount of time toiling over the various maps and documents provided by Mr. Guillory. Experience has taught that it's easy to miss things on municipal property records, which can be densely packed with information. Older documents from the turn of the 20th century can also prove to be messy and illegible. Consequently, you are careful to go over the paperwork slowly and with a fine toothed comb. As you pour through the records, you can hear the rest of the krewe walking the house, and the muffled sounds of Claudine speaking.
Claudine was correct when she said that there were no deaths on the property. You, too, find no indication of deaths in the paperwork. Not that that means anything. There may have been deaths on the property that weren't officially recorded. Likewise, ghosts don't need to die at a specific location in order to haunt it. Anchors are about emotional attachment. One of the house's previous owners could have still become Anchored to the house, even if he or she passed away nowhere near it.
Property deeds indicate a fair share of owners before the Guillory family. The house is old and has been around since the late 1800s. The line of owners stretches back to 1874. The only time that the house stood empty was a fourteen year period between Hurricane Katrina and the day the Guillories moved in.
No record of a burial site on the land parcel prior to the house's construction. Strangely, there are no reports about spooky or odd phenomena: no historical records, no police records, no news reports. It seems like the paranormal activity only began after the Guillories purchased the home. No indication that prior occupants of the house had any paranormal experiences. Then again, it could simply be that the Guillories weren't thorough enough in their research and missed a few things.
One thing that does stick out, however, are several environmental reports dating back to the 1960s. Over the decades, various occupants of the house have complained to the parish government about the discovery of a mysterious substance leaking from the walls. Attempts to identify the substance repeatedly ended in failure, as samples would inevitably dissipate into nothing. Reports described the material as an opaque semi-liquid with a gel-like consistency, and with a foul odor reminiscent of rotting fish or decaying matter. After numerous examinations, the parish determined that the substance was not harmful to the environment or the occupants, and so nothing was done, but home owners continued submitting complaints to the city every few years.
As a Sin-Eater, you know this perfectly fits the description of plasm. You also know that plasm can be generated several ways. Sin-Eaters can produce it. Ghosts leave it behind when they manifest. And it occurs naturally at Cenotes (places with a connection to the Underworld). Cenotes are also commonly known as "low places" since they tend to be found in areas of low elevation, such as caves, subway tunnels, and basements. More than half of New Orleans sits below sea level. Some Sin-Eaters hypothesize that this might be why the city has such an infestation of ghosts - N'awlins is, itself, a massive low place.
Furthermore, you notice something else when examining the home's blueprints. You easily slip back into architect mode as you study the house's most recent floor plans. Those indicate a standard center hall cottage with all renovations included. However, you also find an old blueprint from before the renovations by the Guillories. This print is mostly the same but with one major difference. It appears that the kitchen used to have a trap door in the floor of the pantry room. The door no longer exists in the newer blueprints. Basements are rare in New Orleans, and you know that the house sits on raised piers about five feet high. Many of the houses in the Carrollton neighborhood have them; a countermeasure against minor flooding.
