In the lush, humid shadows of New Orleans’ Garden District, wealth and status are usually on display. But according to local legend, one mansion on St. Charles Avenue wasn’t built for a merchant prince—it was built for the Prince of Darkness himself. A house that appeared by magic and vanished into mystery, leaving behind a legacy of terror that still haunts the Crescent City.

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Audio Story

Content Warning: This story ventures into darker territory, including moments of violence that some listeners may find unsettling.

Did you know the Devil used to live in a New Orleans mansion?  I’m not talking about your everyday con man, or thief, or alcoholic.  I’m talking about the Devil himself – horns, red cape, pitchfork and all.  

It was said the Devil built his mansion at 1319 St. Charles Avenue in the heart of New Orleans’ Garden District.  It was built sometime in the 1820s and stood for over one-hundred years.  Property records are sketchy, some claiming the house just seemed to materialize one day.  Other accounts describe a ridiculously complicated and drawn out construction process.  When finished, the three-story, lavish mansion dominated the street.

Now, the Devil was a master at temptation and playing tricks – but an architect, he was not.  He painstakingly built and furnished each room individually before moving onto the next.  But in later years, after he married, his new wife pushed him to complete the project.  So he hurriedly built more rooms in a haphazard maze – each room on a different floor, connected by steep staircases and no thresholds.  The dining room alone was comically big, stretching from one side of the house to the other.  The kitchen, butler’s pantry and hallway were accessed only by stairs, up and down.

The Devil’s new wife was a pretty, French Creole woman named Madeline Frenau.  She had long, brunette hair, the softest skin and piercing green eyes.  At first the Devil was smitten by her, showering Madeline with fine silks and priceless jewelry.  He filled their home with books and mesmerizing art.  He hired the finest European wood carvers to design special furniture for her.  And he brought in swarms of pint-sized demons to tackle all the housework.

But at the end of the day, he was still the Devil – and you know the Devil can’t remain loyal to one woman.

Indeed, his neighbors on St. Charles Avenue rarely saw him.  He was gone for weeks at a time, traveling the world and stealing souls.  When the Devil returned to his New Orleans mansion, it was said he never used the front door.  Instead, he passed through the front gable at the top of the house at sunset, perching on the roof like a black vulture, leering at the passersby below.  When he spotted a young woman he fancied, he would swoop down and easily seduce her.  

Over time Madeline grew bored and stir-crazy.  With her husband always gone, she was left to roam the massive house alone.  Friends and family were leery of the place.  The blood red walls seemed to close in on her. The pestering little demons were constantly underfoot.  “What a mistake I’ve made,” she thought more than once.

After some time, Madeline took a lover – a dashing young Creole named Alcide Cancienne.  But Madeline wouldn’t tell Alcide she was married.  Knowing her neighbors avoided her home like the plague, she felt safe carrying on their trysts behind closed doors without tongues wagging.

Of course one man knew all about her affairs – the Devil.  He also knew Alcide was growing tired of her.  Alcide never understood why Madeline refused to leave the house, why they couldn’t be seen together in public.  As for the Devil, he wasn’t jealous so much as annoyed.  Did his wife really believe she could fool him, the ultimate trickster? 

So he came up with a trick of his own.

Murder at the Devil’s Mansion

One evening, Alcide came over for their normal dinner.  Madeline brought out their finest silver, crystal and china.  She shooed away the demon helpers and made a special meal herself.  But as they sat across the enormous, Italian carved table from each other, she could tell something was wrong.  Even the dappled light from the sparkling, crystal chandelier couldn’t cut through the darkness closing in.

Alcide told her about an odd encounter he had on the way over.  Seems he was stopped in the street by a dapper man he’d never seen before.  This man claimed to be a visitor in town and asked for directions to a particular shop.  When Alcide told him, the man grinned and suddenly whispered, “do you happen to know a Madeline Freneau?”

Alcide acknowledged he did.  He said the man’s eyes seemed to blacken like a gathering storm.  The man then told Alcide his lover was a married woman – to him.  But he wasn’t angry, no sir.  In fact, he had grown tired of his wife.  But he still wanted to make her happy.  So he had a proposal.

“What’s that?” stammered Alcide, absorbing this news.

The Devil said, “I will give you a thousand gold pieces to take her off my hands and start a new life elsewhere.  But you must agree to one thing.  In your new life, you must refer to yourself as ‘Monsieur L’ and her as ‘Madame L,’ nothing else.  You can leave tonight.  But be warned, I will know if you stray from this plan.”

Madeline could feel burning bile in her throat.  She tightly squeezed the silky napkin in her lap, her heart pounding in her ears.  She knew what the “L” stood for: Lucifer.  Her husband was on to her.  And rather than simply confront her, he wanted to torture her with more manipulation.

She gathered her wits and smiled weakly.  “Then let us leave, my love.  I never really loved him.  Our marriage was a mistake.  We can be free together.  I will make you happy, I promise.”

But Alcide stared back with cold eyes, answering, “Oh, you’re not going with me.  I’m taking the money and never coming back.  I would never trust you now.  Once a cheat, always a cheat. And I’m not going to ruin my future by being seen with such a loose woman.”

His piercing words hung in the air.  Madeline stared back in disbelief.  But this time, a volcanic rage built up inside her, flushing her face, her knees shaking violently.  The Devil had seen this hidden anger behind her demure appearance from day one, it’s why he married her.  But Alcide had no warning before Madeline exploded across the table, flung her dinner napkin around his neck and squeezed tightly.  Alcide thrashed about but Madeline was too enraged to let go, pulling tighter and tighter.  His neck artery suddenly burst, spraying blood around the room, soaking the dinner table, walls, linens.  But Madeline pulled tighter, crushing his neck until he slumped onto the table with a final gasp.

Madeline stared at his corpse for a moment, sweet adrenaline still flowing through her.  “I’m glad you’re dead, Alcide!  You hear me?  No man speaks to me that way!”

But as she calmed down, reality set in.  She was soaked in his blood, oily globs dripping from her fingers.  Madeline rushed to the bathroom to wash off her hands, but the stain remained.  She tried to burn the linens but they were too wet.  The crystal chandelier was splattered a hellish shade of crimson and would take forever to clean.  What could she do?

It was then she heard roaring laughter, and out from the shadows stepped her husband, the Devil.  His black eyes scanned the room and twinkled with satisfaction.  “My, what a mess you’ve made.  I always knew you had it in you.  But don’t worry, no one will ever know of this.”

The Devil snapped his fingers, and hoards of little demons appeared at his feet, buckets and mops in hand.  He then grabbed his distraught wife and threw her over his shoulder.  He threw Alcide’s dripping corpse over the other.  And he climbed all the way up to the top outdoor balcony, dropped their bodies at his feet and locked the gable door.  He then climbed to the top of the roof and gestured toward her.

“I’m famished dear, hand me your lover.”  With great effort, she handed his corpse up to the Devil, his smirk even more sinister in the bright moonlight.   He swiftly cut a long, surgical incision down Acide’s back with his razor sharp fingernail.  Peeling back his skin, he hungrily devoured him from the inside out.  He then flung the skin into the alley below for the prowling cats to feed on.

Licking his lips, the Devil then turned back to his wife and grinned.  She was paralyzed with fear as the Devil grabbed her and devoured her body in the same manner, throwing her skin to the cats.  

Curse of the New Orleans Devil’s Mansion

Now, that could have been the end of the story, except the Devil had made a big mistake.  You see, in his bloodlust he forgot he could never expose himself to the full moon.  And the moon was very full and bright that night.  He howled with agony as death claimed his body, burning him from his feet to his neck.  But his head remained, fused to the gable either from the sticky bodily fluids of his victims, or burned into the stone.  Either way, passersby claimed for years they could see the Devil’s anguished face peering down at them from 1319 St. Charles Avenue.

After the incident, the Devil’s Mansion sat vacant for years.  But even though it was oddly designed, it was solidly built and became attractive to new owners and tenants.  Each tried to add their own personal touches to the house.  

But each day at sunset, the hauntings began.  Tenants reported a giant table would suddenly appear in the dining room, followed by heated arguments and horrifying screams as Alcide’s murder repeated over and over again.  Madeline’s ghost wandered the halls, trying to clean her blood soaked clothes.  Bathroom door handles jiggled as she tried to wash the blood from her hands.  A foul burning smell came from the cold fireplace as she tried to burn the bloody linens.  

Most tenants witnessed this ghoulish reenactment and moved out in short order.  But one couple tolerated the ghosts.  In 1878, Laure Beauregard – daughter of famed Confederate general P.G.T. Beauregard – moved into the home with her husband, Charles Larendon.  As the hauntings continued, Larendon made notes and eventually pieced together the account you’re hearing today.

After his wife’s death, Larendon lived alone with the ghosts until 1909, when he finally moved.  The home sat vacant for another two decades until it was torn down in 1930.  A hotel stands at the site today, its guests perhaps unaware that they sleep on the infamous site of The Devil’s Mansion of New Orleans.

-THE END-

Story Credits

Adapted from folklore by Craig Dominey

Told by Tom Coleman

Recorded at KRVS Radio Acadie, Lafayette, Louisiana

Music: Jez Graham

Additional audio production: Henry Howard