The Myrtles Plantation: Louisiana’s Most Haunted House
In the humid twilight of St Francisville, Louisiana, where Spanish moss drapes like spectral veils from ancient oaks, stands the Myrtles Plantation—a grand antebellum mansion whispered to be the most haunted house in America. Visitors arrive expecting faded elegance, but many leave unsettled by fleeting shadows in the parlour, the faint cries of children echoing from upstairs bedrooms, and a persistent chill that defies the sultry air. Built in the late 18th century, this sprawling estate has accumulated a tapestry of tragedy: murders, epidemics, and restless spirits that refuse to fade with the passage of time. What draws paranormal enthusiasts and sceptics alike is not just the architecture, but the persistent reports of apparitions, poltergeist activity, and inexplicable phenomena that have made the Myrtles a cornerstone of American ghost lore.
The plantation’s reputation stems from a series of harrowing events tied to its former inhabitants. Legends speak of a slave named Chloe, whose vengeful ghost is said to roam the halls, alongside the spectral figures of two young children who drowned tragically. Handprints appear on windows, portraits’ eyes seem to follow guests, and the grand mirror in the foyer—rumoured to trap souls—is perpetually veiled at night. These tales are bolstered by modern investigations yielding compelling evidence, yet they coexist with rational explanations rooted in the house’s bloody history. As we delve into the Myrtles’ shadowed past, the question lingers: are these hauntings the echoes of genuine unrest, or the embellishments of a site thriving on its macabre allure?
Steeped in Southern Gothic atmosphere, the Myrtles invites scrutiny. Its 110-foot-long veranda overlooks manicured grounds, but beneath the surface lies a chronicle of loss that began over two centuries ago. This article unravels the estate’s timeline, dissects the key hauntings, examines investigations, and weighs competing theories, offering a balanced portrait of a place where history and the supernatural collide.
A Storied Past: Construction and Early Ownership
The Myrtles Plantation was established in 1796 by General David Bradford, a Pennsylvania whiskey rebel who fled west after the 1794 uprising. He named it after the abundant creeping myrtle bushes carpeting the grounds. Bradford’s daughter, Sarah, married his business partner, Judge Clark Woodruff, and upon Bradford’s death in 1808, the couple expanded the home into its present Federal-style grandeur with Greek Revival touches. Greek columns flank the entrance, and intricate cornices crown the structure, evoking a bygone era of cotton wealth and hidden sorrows.
Tragedy shadowed the Woodruffs from the outset. In 1817, their newborn son, David, succumbed to fever. Undeterred, they had four more children, but misfortune persisted. During the 1820s and 1830s, the plantation thrived as a sugar and cotton operation, reliant on enslaved labour. Whispers of unrest among the workers set the stage for the most infamous legend: that of Chloe.
The Legend of Chloe: Poison, Revenge, and Eternal Restlessness
Central to the Myrtles’ hauntings is the tale of Chloe (or Cloe), an enslaved woman gifted to Sarah Woodruff by her husband. According to oral tradition passed down by locals and former caretakers, Chloe eavesdropped on Judge Woodruff’s business dealings to secure her position in the big house, away from field labour. When caught, Woodruff ordered her ear severed as punishment—a brutal act that reportedly led her to don a tignon (headscarf) to conceal the injury.
Desperate to regain favour, Chloe allegedly baked a birthday cake laced with oleander poison, hoping to nurse the family back to health and prove her worth. Instead, Sarah and their two daughters, Cornelia (aged five) and Virginia (aged three), died in agony in 1817—or possibly 1827, depending on the variant. Woodruff, grief-stricken, is said to have ordered Chloe hanged from a tree on the property, her body dumped in the Mississippi River. Today, her ghost manifests as a woman in a green dress and tignon, wandering the grounds or appearing in photographs taken by overnight guests.
Manifestations Linked to Chloe
Witness accounts abound. Tour guides report seeing Chloe’s translucent figure in Room 217, the former children’s bedroom, smoothing sheets or peering from windows. In 1992, a photographer captured an image of a veiled woman standing behind a group on the veranda—later identified by locals as Chloe. Guests have woken to the scent of her baking, only to find kitchen drawers flung open. These sightings align with the legend’s timeline, though historical records offer scant confirmation of Chloe’s existence or the poisoning.
Other Spectral Inhabitants: Children, Sara, and More
Beyond Chloe, the Myrtles teems with reported entities. The ghosts of Cornelia and Virginia allegedly play in the upstairs hallway, their laughter turning to wails. Small handprints—unremovable by cleaning—mar a windowpane overlooking the side yard, where the sisters supposedly pressed their palms while stricken with fever. In 1987, during renovations, two child-sized coffins were unearthed beneath the floorboards, lending credence to these claims, though their origins remain disputed.
Sara Woodruff, daughter of Clark Woodruff and his second wife, Ruffin Gray Stirling, haunts Room 207. Sara lost all five children to yellow fever in the 1840s and her husband soon after. Her apparition, dressed in white, drifts through the room, accompanied by the sound of a music box. The grand mirror in the foyer, original to the Stirling era, is said to have captured the reflection of a Union soldier mortally wounded during the Civil War. Legend holds that anyone looking into it at midnight glimpses their death; hence, it’s covered after dark.
Additional phenomena include the staircase ghost—a soldier who fell to his death—and poltergeist activity: doors slamming, lights flickering, and objects levitating. Overnight guests in the five rentable rooms frequently report being tucked into bed by invisible hands or hearing footsteps pacing overhead.
Investigations: From Amateur Enthusiasts to Professional Teams
The Myrtles has drawn investigators since the 1970s, when owner Frances Kermeen began documenting phenomena. In the 1990s, the plantation featured in films like The Ghost and TV shows such as Ghost Hunters. The TAPS team visited in 2005, capturing EVPs (electronic voice phenomena) of children’s voices pleading “Help me” and temperature drops from 72°F to 50°F in seconds.
More rigorously, the Louisiana Spirits Paranormal Society conducted a 2012 overnight probe using EMF meters, infrared cameras, and spirit boxes. They recorded anomalous readings on the staircase—spikes correlating with footsteps—and a Class A EVP in Room 217: a woman’s voice saying “Chloe.” Thermal imaging revealed cold spots shaped like human figures. Independent researcher Lee Roberts, in his 2005 book Louisiana’s Haunted Plantations, analysed over 200 witness statements, noting patterns: 65% auditory, 25% visual, 10% physical interactions.
Sceptical Scrutiny and Counter-Evidence
Not all findings convince. Tours, running daily, may prime visitors psychologically. A 2018 analysis by the Committee for Skeptical Inquiry attributed handprints to moisture condensation and cleaning residue. No verifiable records confirm Chloe’s poisoning; the Woodruff deaths may stem from yellow fever epidemics ravaging the region. The coffins? Likely unrelated to the children, per historians. Yet, repeat phenomena across decades challenge dismissal as mere suggestion.
Theories: Paranormal, Psychological, or Historical Resonance?
Paranormal advocates posit residual hauntings—energy imprints from trauma replaying eternally—or intelligent spirits seeking resolution. Chloe’s unrest might symbolise enslaved suffering; the children’s cries, innocence lost to disease. Quantum theories suggest emotional imprints persisting in the estate’s architecture.
Sceptics favour environmental factors: infrasound from nearby rivers inducing unease, carbon monoxide leaks causing hallucinations (though inspections find none), and confirmation bias amplified by commerce—the Myrtles hosts weddings alongside ghost tours, generating £500,000 annually. Historian Antoinette Harrell’s archival digs reveal no slave named Chloe, suggesting the legend evolved from misremembered events, like the 1830 hanging of another enslaved woman nearby.
A middle ground emerges: genuine psychological resonance from the site’s trauma. The Myrtles embodies America’s haunted legacy—slavery, war, pestilence—evoking collective unease that manifests as “hauntings.”
Cultural Legacy: From Local Lore to National Icon
The Myrtles permeates popular culture. Featured in books like Troy Taylor’s The Haunting of Louisiana, documentaries, and podcasts such as Haunted Houses of the South, it exemplifies antebellum ghost stories. Films and novels draw inspiration, blending fact with fiction. Today, under owners John and Teeta Henderson, it operates as a B&B, blending hospitality with spectral intrigue. Its allure endures, drawing 50,000 visitors yearly, each pondering if the creaks are settling wood or wandering souls.
Conclusion
The Myrtles Plantation stands as a poignant nexus of history and mystery, where verifiable tragedies fuel enduring legends. Chloe’s spectral wanderings, children’s handprints, and midnight apparitions compel us to confront the unknown, even as rational explanations temper the terror. Whether powered by restless spirits or the weight of human sorrow, the estate reminds us that some places hold echoes too profound to silence. In an age of digital debunking, the Myrtles invites open-minded exploration—perhaps the next guest will glimpse what eludes us all. What do you make of its hauntings? The shadows of Louisiana await your verdict.
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