“What’s evil?”

“These beignets,” Aunt Elise had commented with a discernible twinkle in her eye.

And it was true. They were sitting in The Morning Call restaurant in Metairie. He was only ten at the time, and Aunt Elise had taken him out for breakfast one Saturday morning. In this city, there had always been a rivalry between the Cafe du Monde and The Morning Call. Even with his limited years, Jared knew that Aunt Elise fell into The Morning Call camp, although it meant going out of her way into the Metairie strip mall where it was currently located.

The beignets were particularly warm and decadent that morning, matching his frothy cup of hot chocolate, even though Morning Call was known for its coffee. His addiction to that beverage would come, not too many years later.

“I’m serious,” he said while shoving one end of the warm sugary doughnut, which he had himself buried in powdered sugar, into his mouth. Why had he asked that question? Maybe he saw a reference in a comic book or on a TV show, or perhaps it had simply popped into his head. But whatever the case, he knew Aunt Elise would have an answer for him.

She frowned, “You want to really talk about evil, Jared?” She asked as one of her well-sculpted dark eyebrows shot up.

“Yes, I want your take.”

She smiled. They did get on. Caroline could be prickly with her sensitive nature, but Jared was different. He could let things just roll off of him, kind of like Aunt Elise did. But then, of course, that was before his dad died. And when that happened, all of the world did shift a bit.

“Hmm, hefty conversation for a Saturday morning amid a pile of powdered sugar. Well, the evil you run into mostly is the people-kind. People who choose to follow a path of evil do bad things. With that, there’s free will, so long as you have your eternal spirit still housed in that flesh you call a body, you have a choice. Anyway, you can choose differently. So, I would call that category those who choose to do evil deeds.”

“And that is all evil is?”

And he remembered her staring at him oddly, and he knew, even then, without a doubt, she was considering, considering if he was just way too young to be told what she was thinking.

“No, that’s not all of it, Jared,” she said, raising her coffee cup to her lips. “There is real evil in the world, bent on causing and creating pain, chaos. Sometimes in places, sometimes actually walking around, looking like people, sometimes just beyond what we can actually see.”

The strange sternness that had crept into her at this proclamation he found chilling. Perhaps he shouldn’t have asked because, as they say, ignorance is bliss. But not asking, well, that wasn’t who he was, not even back then. “How do you get rid of it?”

And her eyes became very hard when looking at him. He remembered that look well because the truth was that she kind of scared him that day. “Sometimes you just can’t.”

*

He should have known. And he should have stopped things. But he was distracted, distracted by the strange vibes he was feeling in the Quarter tonight. Distracted by the strange pull he was feeling to the girl walking beside him, confused by the ghost tour guide who was not acting like any sort of guide he’d ever seen before.

But once he realized they were walking down Governor Nicholls Street, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach took over. Crap.

“Where are we going?” Alina whispered beside him. He could hear something distinctly in her voice, almost a panicked quality.

“Somewhere we shouldn’t be going,” he murmured to the frightened girl next to him.

Jared wasn’t thinking, just acting instinctively. Before they reached the corner of Governor Nicholls and Royal, he somewhat aggressively grabbed Alina’s hand and pulled her across the street so that at least they wouldn’t be standing directly in front of it.

He wanted to keep walking, keep walking as far as he could, but instead just forcibly planted his feet on the corner.

Across the road, Jessie and Zayne were staring back at them in befuddlement.

Then Zephyra turned, facing them with a big smile on her face. “Come on. It’s not going to bite.”

“What is that?” Alina almost hissed beside him.

“It’s the LaLaurie house,” he said with no emotion.

And the only response he heard from Alina was, “Shit.”

*

“What does it feel like?”

“Hands,” she murmured. “When it’s really bad, it feels like hands reaching out and grabbing me.” Buna’s well-wrinkled face remained stoic in expression as she gazed at her. She sat next to her on the bed, patting her arm gently.

Alina had awoken that morning from a terrible dream where phantom figures were pressing in on her, covering her mouth, and pinning her down, causing a sort of paralysis that prevented her from calling out for help.

But evidently, she wasn’t nearly as mute as she believed herself to be in the dream because her grandmother had responded to her screams.

“I don’t understand it. It felt so real.”

Buna continued patting her gently. “You’re very sensitive, Alina. And unfortunately, that makes you a target.”

“A target for what?”

She pursed her lips a bit, “For lost spirits looking to steal your spiritual energy.”

*

She couldn’t look away, couldn’t unsee the ominous three-story mansion with its large balconies and stucco gray brick exterior perched on the corner of Royal Street.

“Come on,” Jessie called from where she, Zayne, and Zephyra Sharpe stood directly in front of the oppressive structure. “Zeph is about to tell us the grisly history of this place.”

Anyone worth their salt in New Orleans already knew the horrific history of the LaLaurie house, with its grisly mistress Delphine LaLaurie, who chained up her slaves and tortured them horrendously. “I-I can’t go there,” she whispered shakily to Jared. “I feel like I’m gonna be sick.” It was already happening, the unrelenting headache emanating from the very center of her forehead, and that feeling, just like in the dream of fingertips pressing into her arms, tendrils wrapping around her back, trying to drag her closer. “Oh God, they’re not going inside.”

“No,” he said sternly beside her. “It’s privately owned.”

“Look, we’re going to take a walk,” he called to the rest of the ghost tour group, who were staring at them with confusion. “Alina isn’t feeling well. Where are you headed next?” He said pointedly to Zephyra as pointedly as he could from across the street.

It was so odd. Her face under the streetlights seemed so animated, but also reminded Alina of some strange Mardi Gras mask, blatantly false. “The Corn Stalk Hotel, right down Royal. We should be there in fifteen or twenty minutes,” she called to them loudly.

Beside her, Jared gave a thumbs up, and Jessie looked at them both a little glumly. “Feel better, Alina,” she said before turning back to Zeph and Zayne.

“Come on,” Jared said, grasping her hand again and leading her down the sidewalk on Royal Street.

There were people about. It wasn’t deserted, but it felt deserted. It felt cold, and it was, freezing. But a different kind of cold, as though it had seeped inside her. He was still holding her hand, odd, maybe she should say something about it. But she didn’t, or rather, she couldn’t. It was the only thing that felt warm, warm and steadying.

“You know, we can cut this whole thing short right now,” he said. He sounded angry. Or was it frustrated?

She wanted to reply, but her voice wasn’t working. And she could still hear them, the voices from that place, moaning, some screaming from pain, from torture.

*

“Sometimes it’s spirits or ghosts, but sometimes it’s imprints. The negative energy was so strong that it left a sort of 3D movie, visuals, sounds that are replayed over and over again.” Her mother’s voice talking to her, another time, another place.

They were walking slowly. “Alina, are you okay?”

Her head still hurt, and she wanted to vomit, but other than that, everything was delightful.

“Just feeling sick,” she muttered.

“Come on. I’ll get you a coffee,” he said, continuing to pull her along and making no motion to let go of her hand.

*

They settled outside the CC’s on the corner of St. Phillips Street. Jared had left the shaken Alina sitting at one of the patio tables while he went in and acquired two cafe mochas and two almond cream-filled croissants. Maybe it was a little over the top, but desperate times—

Damn, it still rankled him. Peter had assured them there would be no LaLaurie Mansion on this tour. But it seemed their quirky tour guide had gone rogue. It was possibly the most heinous haunted home in New Orleans, the site of murder, torture, and that depraved woman, Madame Delphine LaLaurie, at the heart of it.

Was it really haunted?

Of course, maybe, or marked irrevocably by evil, filled with dark imprints that could never be washed away. In his opinion, it should have been torn down and the earth scorched. But he had no idea if even that would be enough to eradicate all the negative energy surrounding the place.

“New Orleans is a very old city, and the French Quarter is an area of such concentrated living, good and bad. The energy there can be profound at times and also overwhelming. You have to be careful.” That had been Aunt Elise’s advice, but also echoed by his mom, and occasionally even Caroline.

And here he was in the thick of it, bringing coffee to a girl who looked about as traumatized about it as he felt.

He put the coffee and croissant in front of her, and she stared blankly at him. “My aunt always says caffeine and sweets help on occasions like this.”

“Jessie said we weren’t going near the LaLaurie mansion.”

“Yeah,” he said, sipping his coffee, glad they’d added the whipped cream. “That’s what her dad said, too. I think Zephyra does what she wants, even if it’s off script.”

She still seemed a little dazed, but she grabbed the coffee and took a big gulp.

Jared was definitely feeling all sorts of things. So much had come from just touching her, holding her hand. Flashes, so many flashes of her life, her family, and what he could only phrase as her visions, intense psychic visions that hallmarked her young existence.

She’d reached out and took a piece off the croissant and put it in her mouth, still seeming dazed. It was clear that just being in the proximity of the LaLaurie Mansion had hit her badly. Heck, he could still feel his skin crawling from it. He dearly hoped Jessie was enjoying her wonderful birthday gift.

“Thanks, Jared,” she said with distraction. “This is helping.”

“I can take you home, you know,” he stated emphatically.

She hesitated, weighing things he imagined. “I’m worried about Jessie.”

“Jessie, she’s not like you,” he said flatly.

She took a moment before answering, “Like me?”

He leaned back in the black wrought iron chair, considering, considering the ramifications of what he said next. “Chances are, none of this stuff will bother her. Though she probably won’t feel great, being exposed to so much negative energy.”

Her green eyes seemed to widen a bit. And he knew why. They were getting into it now. “Negative energy?” she repeated his words once again.

“Yeah,” taking a sip of bittersweet coffee. “I know you’re some kind of a sensitive Alina, a psychic.”

“What makes you say that?” almost in a whisper.

And then he finally came out with it. “Because I am too.”

Copyright © 2026 by Evelyn Klebert