The witching hour - By Anne Rice Page 0,326

spilled, or their brushes somehow got knocked in the dirt. “It must have happened six times,” said Davey Molloy, “that my paint just went right over, off the ladder, and poured out on the ground. Now, I know I never knocked over a full paint can! And that’s what she said to me, Miss Carlotta, she said, ‘You knocked it over yourself.’ Well, when that ladder went over with me on it, I tell you, that was it. I quit.”

Davey’s brother, Thompson Molloy, had a theory as to who was responsible. “It’s that brown-haired fella, the one who was always watching us. I told Miss Carlotta, ‘Don’t you think he could be doing it? That fella that’s always over there under the tree?’ She acted like she didn’t know what I was talking about. But he was always watching us. We were trying to patch the wall on Chestnut Street and I seen him looking at us through the library shutters. Gave me the creeps, it did. Who is he? Is he one of them cousins? I’m not working there. I don’t care how bad times are. I’m not working on that house again.”

Another workman, hired only to paint the black cast-iron railings, reported the same “goings-on.” He gave up after half a day during which time debris fell on him from the roof and leaves constantly fell into his paint.

By 1935, it was common knowledge in the Irish Channel that nothing could be done “on that old house.” When a couple of young men were hired to clean out the pool that same year, one of them was knocked into the stagnant water and almost drowned. The other had a hell of a time getting him out. “It was like I couldn’t see anything. I had a hold of him, and I was hollering for somebody to help me, and we were going down in all that muck, and then thank God he had a hold of the side and he was saving me. That old colored woman, Aunt Easter, come out there with a towel for us and she hollered, ‘Just get away from that swimming pool. Never mind cleaning it. Just get away.’ ”

Even Irwin Dandrich heard the gossip. “They’re saying it’s haunted, that Stella’s spirit won’t let anyone touch anything. It’s as if the whole place is in mourning for Stella.” Had Dandrich heard of a mysterious brown-haired man? “I hear all kinds of things. Some say it’s Julien’s ghost. That he’s keeping an eye on Antha. Well, if he is, he isn’t doing a very good job.”

Shortly thereafter a vague story appeared in the Times-Picayune describing a “mysterious uptown mansion” where no work could be done. Dandrich clipped it and sent it to London with the note “My Big Mouth” in the margin.

One of our investigators took the reporter to lunch. She was happy to talk about it, and yes indeed it was the Mayfair house. Everyone knew it. A plumber said he was trapped under that house for hours when he tried to fix a pipe. He actually lost consciousness. When he finally came to himself and got out of there, he had to be taken to the hospital. Then there was the telephone man who was called to fix a phone in the library. He said he would never set foot in that house again. One of the portraits on the wall had actually looked at him. And he thought sure he saw a ghost in that very room.

“I could have written a great deal more,” said the young woman, “but the people at the paper don’t want any trouble with Carlotta Mayfair. Did I tell you about the gardener? He goes in there regularly to cut the grass, you know, and he said the weirdest thing when I called him. He said, ‘Oh, he never bothers me. He and I get along just fine. He and I are just real regular friends.’ Now, who do you suppose this man was referring to? When I asked him he said, ‘You just go up there. You’ll see him. He’s been there forever. My grandfather used to see him. He’s all right. He can’t move or talk to you. He just stands there looking at you from the shadows. One minute you see him. Then he’s gone. He don’t bother me. He’s all right by me. I get paid plenty to work there. I’ve always worked there. He don’t frighten me.”

Family gossip of the period