Recently, I got a new job working downtown at River City Consignment, and every day I have to drive by the old Lakemont house. To a non-local, it’s an unassuming antebellum house in a row of unassuming antebellum houses, only distinguishable from the others by the dent in the gate made from a cannonball during the Civil War. If you just so happened to have been one of Mrs. Lewis’s students in high school, you probably got to know that place in extreme detail. She even offered extra credit if you showed up during Halloween when she opened the home for ghost tours.
About a decade ago, I was a regular student in high school trying to figure out what classes to take. I learned from the upperclassmen that Mrs. Lewis’s art class was one of the easier extracurriculars to take. She offered a lot of extra credit and could easily be tricked into talking about her house during class. I was going to be taking a lot of AP classes so I figured it would be worth signing up for it to ease my load. She was a spindly woman, her long blonde hair streaked with silver piled on top of her head in a messy knot. She had plenty of pairs of canvas shoes, all of them splattered in paint. In her classroom was a wall of newspaper clippings some yellowed with age, mostly interviews about her living in the supposed haunted Lakemont house. And she was just as the upperclassmen described. She’d be deep into a lesson about color theory when one of my classmates would ask her if the shade of yellow her house was common during the time of its construction, and she rambled for the rest of the class about the ingredients of paint during the 1800s. Some people hated when she’d go on one of her tangents, but I didn’t care, I had a shit-ton of homework and band practice, I just used the time to study Algebra.
The school year passed, and soon it was autumn. Everyone was worried about midterms and homecoming. One day, she rolled in a TV and VCR. She blew the dust off a tape before sliding it into the player. She noted that it was the first documentary she’d ever participated in. It was done by Mississippi locals fascinated by ghost stories of the south. The whole tape featured different haunted houses in Vicksburg, but the first section was all about Mrs. Lewis and Lakemont. As she recounted the story of the original owners to someone off-camera, I couldn’t help but compare how she looked then to now. She was considerably younger, bright blonde hair cut in a bob and she wore a simple dress as she guided them through the house. I noticed how she watched the tape, despite the difference in her appearance the same brightness was in her eyes as it was all those years ago. That was when it really hit me, this house is everything to her. A weird sense of empathy hit me. We never heard anything about her family and friends, and while she was a good enough art teacher, her work never garnered any huge amount of attention. If there was anything to be left behind as the legacy of her it would be this place.
The narrator told us about the origins of the one ghost said to haunt the place over cheaply-shot stock footage of the house. The original owners were William and Ann Lake, and they moved from Maryland to raise their family. Years later, Mr. Lake was challenged to a duel which Ann witnessed from the bedroom using a spyglass. He lost and Ann never recovered from the grief. She died in the home years later and is said to still occupy the house. She garnered the name “The Perfumed Lady” because she loved to wear perfumes her husband got for her from his frequent business trips to New Orleans. Many people who visited the house said they have smelled them in her favorite areas of house. As the narrator transitioned into another story about a different house, she paused the tape and addressed the class.
“Alrighty class, it’s that time of year. Halloween’s around the corner which means several local homes will be opening their doors for an extra spooky pilgrimage. I will give you sheets that you must have signed by your guide only after you complete your tour of the house. There are four houses this year, you will receive 5 extra points on your mid-term per house or one whole letter grade if you complete the whole thing. You’re not required to visit every house, but if you can only make it to one, I’d wish you make it to mine.” She started passing out the sheet with barely contained enthusiasm. As class ended and we pushed our way into the hall, I watched a lot of my classmates toss the paper in the trash more worried about missing a Halloween party. I couldn’t get over how happy she was to finally have her doors open, how optimistic she was that maybe someone would finally see what she sees in the place. I resolved to at least try to make it to her house that night.
I got roped into helping my cousin take his younger siblings trick or treating, so by the time I got to the Lakemont house, it was later than I planned. He chose to let them try their luck at getting more candy, so I had to take the tour myself. I first noticed the gate; several bars were curved as though they were impacted by something. I walked up the few brick steps and made my way to the door. She had no Halloween decorations and the windows were veiled with thin white curtains through which I could see that her lights were still on, so I took a chance and knocked on the door. She opened the door almost immediately.
“Shawna, welcome! Come in.” I walked in, and the first thing I saw was a cracked mirror by the stairway. “Oh, funny story. The first time this place was open to the public that very mirror cracked on its own. She probably wasn’t very happy to have strangers in her place, but I like to think she’s gotten used to the idea of people coming here.” She gave me a short tour before allowing me to visit the rooms by myself. She didn’t want to potentially influence my experience here. I smiled politely and walked around. I decided to give it ten minutes, then I’d get my signature and leave. Every now and then I’d sniff the air for any perfume, but everything just smelled old, it brought back a distinct memory of hiding in a cabinet at my grandma’s house while playing hide and seek. I got in big trouble because there were a lot of old important things in there that could’ve gotten broken. There was a lovely painting of Willaim and Ann upstairs, I looked at Ann in particular. Based on the lore of this house, she could have gotten a good look at me at his point, so I figured it I’d do the same. I eventually made my way to the parlor, apparently her favorite room in the house and the part of the house most people had smelled perfume. As much as I convinced myself that I came here for extra credit, I couldn’t help but be a little disappointed that nothing happened, it didn’t help that the woman who built up so much of the hype was in the other room. Ten minutes had more or less passed, so I left to find Mrs. Lewis who was sipping tea and reading a book in the kitchen. She smiled at me as I handed her the paper that had no other signatures. “Haven’t seen any of the others yet.”
“No, ma’am. I’ve been on trick or treating duty. In fact, they’re probably outside waiting on me now, so…”
“I understand. So, how’d the house treat you?”
“It’s a nice place. No perfume or shadow ladies lurking about.” Something flashed in her eyes, it felt like disappointment.
“She’s quiet tonight,” she said as she quickly initialed the sheet and handed it to me. She walked me the door. I saw my cousins waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs. I’m not sure why I felt like I had to say something, but I turned to her and said, “You have a lovely home, Mrs. Lewis. I’m sure Mrs. Lake loves to know that someone fills this place with as much love as she did at one time.” Her smiled warmed up a bit, she gratefully squeezed my shoulder before shutting the door, and my cousins and I made our way home.
Hours later, I was dropped off by my cousin. I had a late-night snack and watched the tail-end of some horror movie with my mom. I must have dozed off because I was awoken by her shoving me and telling me to go to bed. As soon as my head hit the pillow, I was out. I don’t know how long I was asleep before I was overtaken by the smell of strong perfume in my room. I opened my eyes only to see I was standing in a black void. I tried to call out, but no sound came out. I started walking. As I walked, I felt my skin tighten and the hair on my body stand. I sped up and my heartbeat raced, even though I couldn’t see them, I felt the eyes in the darkness watching me. I broke off into a full sprint, I didn’t care where I ended up, I just didn’t want to be seen by those hidden eyes anymore. I ran so hard and so long my legs gave out, my head hit the ground and my vision faded. As it came into focus, I noticed a light that slowly morphed into the shape of a house. I knew whose house it was, but I didn’t care, I knew it would keep me safe from the eyes. I burst through the door and shut it behind me, slamming its locks shut. I leaned against the door, the feeling of being watching quickly dissipating. I took a deep breath, my lungs thankful for the air. I walked through the house, and it looked as it did earlier, but still somehow different. I checked all the windows on the first floor, outside was still black as pitch. As I passed the stairs, I saw a figure walk across the walkway. I called out, but I still couldn’t talk. I followed them. I walked into the room with the open door, it was the master bedroom. The curtain fluttered and I walked towards it, the window was slightly cracked, so on a whim I opened in further. As soon as I did, I caught a gust of wind carrying the scent of perfume, completely different from the one earlier and softer, more floral. I felt a presence beside me and turned to see Ann Lake looking out the window from a spyglass. I turned to look out the window and only saw darkness. I looked at her again. She was wearing a casual gown and her brown hair was pinned up. She held up the spyglass just in front of her face, her brow furrowed in focus. She caught me watching her and reached out with her free hand to gently turn my chin towards the window. She held the spyglass up to my face and I carefully took it from her hand. She placed a hand on my shoulder as if to comfort me. Why I wondered. I looked through it hoping to see what she was watching, but when I found out what I regretted it immediately. It was my mother. Still in her work clothes that she was in before I went to bed, before I ended up in this place. She was clutching her chest where blood stained over her heart. She was waving, calling out towards the house, and despite the darkness and the distance, she seemed to know that it was now I that was looking at her. Once she realized, a small smile curled on her lips. She finally collapsed to the ground and the darkness slowly overtook her like a fungus. I watched it consume her, too shocked to do anything else until I heard the first noise I’d heard in a while. A sob. A chest-racking cry. Fingers tightened on my shoulder. Ann was racked with grief. I turned to face her only to see that it was me. I had taken the place of Ann and was now sobbing uncontrollably. A gut-wrenching cry erupted from her. Her fingers painfully gripped my shoulder. I couldn’t do anything as I watched myself disintegrate from the inconsolable loss.
I was pulled into conscious by violent shaking from my mom. It was early morning, she said she heard me crying and came to check on me. My face was wet and shoulder sore. She asked me what happened, and I told her. She spent the rest of the night and I slept like a baby. That morning, I couldn’t get over the dream I had, my mom did her best to cheer me up, even offering to let me play hooky. I turned her down and hugged her and told her I was fine despite it feeling like a lie. She drove me to school, as usual, we said our goodbyes and once the bustle of school kicked in, that nightmare felt far away. Later that day, I was pulled into the counselor’s office to find my dad was also there and it appeared that he had been crying. On her way to work, my mom was in a head-on collision with a delivery truck. She didn’t make it to the hospital. I don’t remember much of the day after that. One thing I do remember is the look Mrs. Lewis gave me in the hall later that week. I lived with my dad after that and found a way to keep the grief from taking over. Although there are days where I get lost in the giant hole it left behind.
Once I knew I’d have to pass that house every day to get to work, I did my best to avoid looking at it. But one day on the way home, I stopped in front of it and stared at the window from that nightmare. I waited to see if I could see her staring out that same spot. Nothing happened. Driving past it has been easier since then, I’ve even visited Mrs. Lewis a few times. I’ve learned a lot about Ann since then, and I have no doubt that the moment her husband accepted that duel she knew in her heart it was the end of them. Ghosts. Even now, I still don’t believe in them. Not really. In the end, it doesn’t matter if she haunts that house or not, or if she visited my dreams or not. Knowing deep down that something is wrong, but not enough to stop it from happening begets a special type of loneliness. If what happened to me was real, maybe she just wanted someone to know what it felt like, to know that she wasn’t the only one. On some level, I can understand.
photo by southernlagniappe
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