Weird Travels: Sleeping in the Haunted Bedroom of New Orleans’ Parks-Bowman Mansion

It was around 1 a.m. that I heard the voice: “Please, please, please,” uttered in a mournful sound, sending chills both up and down my spine. Up until this moment, the massive home had been dead silent, and in the days leading up to Halloween, I was taking in a peaceful night on the front porch in New Orleans’ Garden District. 

I stepped inside, locked the front door behind me, and made my way up the steps to my Airbnb rental, the so-called “Haunted Bedroom” on the third floor, when the dogs outside started to howl. As I made it to the second landing, a wave of what I can best describe as creeped-out vibes hit me, and then there was the voice. Sufficiently freaked, it was then that I wrote a note to myself: “Yes, the Parks-Bowman Mansion is haunted.”

Built in 1884, the three-story Queen Anne Victorian-style manse is a jewel in the Garden District, and is located near shops and restaurants on Magazine Street, as well as steps from landmarks Commander’s Palace and Lafayette Cemetery No. 1 — tragically closed to the public for six years — and is quite convenient to the streetcar stop that takes passengers into the French Quarter in about 15 minutes. Adorned to the brim with artwork and artifacts that weave both a tapestry of New Orleans personality, and worldly travels — courtesy host Adrienne Parks and her late husband Bill Bowman, who moved into the home on Halloween 2005 — this is a home that is warm, welcoming, and eccentric in all the best ways. Along with the Haunted Bedroom, decorated with antique photos and a creepy-looking doll, there is the Red Room and Library Room (although the entire mansion is a veritable library with bookshelves around every turn, including a lot of paranormal / folklore / occult tomes, due to the voracious curiosity of the retired documentarian couple, and amateur anthropologist Bowman).

And it is supposedly haunted. Parks personally reports having seen a young woman with long hair and in a yellow or white dress, moving down the steps a handful of years ago. Initially she dismissed the figure as an Airbnb guest, before realizing it might have been a ghost when it seemed to disappear. She’s also said things occasionally go missing, such as her glasses, to which she attributes the potential little girl specter in the house, and has been told by psychics there are potentially four spirits taking up residence here.

More unsettling, and a bit amusing, was a friend of Parks and Bowman that stayed in the haunted bedroom, and woke to find a woman sitting on the bed with him. Parks says the guest thought it was her initially, and prepared to have a very awkward conversation about an unwanted advance from his friend’s wife. However, when he took notice, the figure was most definitely not Parks, and was no longer present whatsoever. Another night, the friend had gotten his throat wrapped up in his sheets — perhaps after a night of much NOLA revelry — and was gasping for air when he experienced the spirit of a woman entering the room and breathed life into him. 

Ghostly encounters are not guaranteed here, nor anywhere, and Parks says her spectral tenants are shy. In fact, most of the Airbnb reviews for the property, which sit at 4.91 stars, talk about the comfort and character of the home, as opposed to any paranormal encounters. However, some suggest they connected with a playful spirit, such as one visitor who wrote, “[The ghost] really liked my daughter’s change purse and dumped its contents on our bed two separate nights while we were asleep.” Other guests who wrote reviews said they were tapped on the shoulder by a ghost, believed something about the size of a cat jumped on the bed in the middle of the night, or even saw a book slide out of the bedroom’s bookcase and fall to the ground — as if moved by an invisible force. 

As for me, when I arrived at Parks-Bowman, my immediate encounter was with Ant’ny and Breaux, the large, lovable canine guardians of the mansion that want nothing more than affection in the form of constant belly rubs. Then I met with Parks, and sat to chat with her in the front-room parlor, with Bowman’s ofrenda behind her. An exceptionally kind woman with a sharp wit and a traveler’s spirit, Parks has a wealth of stories about her and her husband’s work, life, and New Orleans. But she never tries to push the notion of their haunted mansion in a “You must believe” way that one might encounter in other locations. She and Bill, both fans of The X-Files back in the day, were an inverse of Mulder and Scully, with him being more of the skeptic, as opposed to her wanting to believe. And if there are ghosts roaming around the vast mansion, she doesn’t think they are out to terrify.

I would agree with this estimation. I spend a lot of time in reportedly haunted locations in my journeys, actively seeking out the strange and unusual. And while some places feel oppressive, Parks-Bowman is delightfully quirky and inviting. There is so much to look at throughout the home that I challenge a person to visit and not be consumed with enough wonder as to absorb the entirety of their time in New Orleans simply exploring this space, reading in one of the many cozy sitting areas, or talking with Parks about her life and adventures (as well as her work as a novelist).

When I first walked up the steps to the third floor, and through the miniature library room with a private balcony, I hit a wave of tense vibes. It dissipated quickly, but the initial feeling was as if I had interrupted someone’s downtime. Once in the room, I unpacked for my three-night stay, and introduced myself to a potential ghost. Then I stepped out to lunch for po' boys at nearby Joey K’s on Magazine Street (always a good option in the Garden District) before heading back for a nap, and then setting back out for a trek through the French Quarter. 

As the night drew in, I returned to the mansion, gave the dogs some goodnight pets, and headed to the Haunted Bedroom for a small paranormal investigation, primarily involving my digital audio recorder, and just listening in for the noises of the home. All was quiet, and after a couple hours, I decided to go to sleep. However, in the middle of the night I did wake suddenly for no apparent reason. And while I cannot unequivocally state the accuracy of this, the bathroom door, which I thought I had kept shut, was open. I went back to sleep and woke the next morning without incident. Without any cold spots of supernatural interference, I made my way downstairs for coffee on the front porch with the resident pups, then more coffee in the sun-soaked patio around the pool (enjoying every bit of warmth I could before returning to colder climates). 

The day was filled with a visit to Mother’s, the Southern fare landmark, and a stop at my favorite tiki bar, Latitude 29. That night I attended an Airbnb Experience, a ghostly history and cocktail tour, led by researcher John Stak, where we heard about historically documented tales of haunts (as opposed to stories generated simply to drum up tips), and then had a chance to try antiquated cocktail recipes from NOLA’s past. For those who prefer sourced stories that are creepy but not overly theatrical, Stak’s approach hits the mark. 

Back at the quiet house, I retired to the front parlor to investigate further. I stayed up for a few hours after midnight, attempting to record anything I could, and set up motion sensors throughout the grand entrance, and near the steps where the woman-in-yellow had been seen. Again, it was rather quiet and very peaceful throughout the home. Without any indication of strange happenings, I retired to bed. 

On the final full day of walking and eating throughout the Crescent City, I returned late at night, not quite ready for bed. I sat for a spell at the table on the front porch, gazing at the stars, and petting Ant’ny and Breaux, who each competed for affection. There was a stillness in the air, and I reflected on many previous journeys to New Orleans, and how the Parks-Bowman Mansion felt both new and familiar to me — like a home I was just then discovering. Feeling lazy and content, I gave the dogs goodnight scritches, and they flopped to the ground, quite happy to sleep outside in the cool air. 

I climbed the steps to the second-floor landing, and with the moon shining in from the large stained glass windows that overlook the winding staircase, I experienced a shift in the air. Things just felt different … off. Unlike the experience of the first day, like I had interrupted someone’s private moment, this was stronger. Nothing about it struck me as malevolent, but it was an intense, alien energy. At precisely the same moment, the dogs outside began howling loudly in a way that reminded me of my own pups trying to alert me. My lazy, almost intoxicated headiness slipped away, and was replaced by an unearthly chill. 

That’s when I heard the feminine-sounding voice, uttering in a quiet, but unmistakable, mournful cry: “Please, please, please.” I responded, in a whisper, “Hello? Can I help? Hello?” Then it all went back to normal; the voice ceased, the pooches stopped barking, the crackling energy in the air shifted back.

As for me, I swiftly moved across the landing, up the steps to the third floor, through the small library, and into the Haunted Bedroom, where I locked the door, and decided it was as good a time as any to go to sleep. 

For what it’s worth, I do not think this Airbnb is populated with tormenting ghosts, nor anything to fear. In my opinion, the charming mansion is imbued with the loving spirits of its owners Adrienne Parks and Bill Bowman (and it wouldn’t surprise me if his adventurous soul continues to keep an eye on his wife and their home). And the stories of their lives together are on display throughout the large structure. 

But, just as I experienced during the witching hour, a few days before Halloween in New Orleans, there might be another occupant — one more explicitly spectral in its super-nature — that goes bump in the night. And as I wrote in my notebook after hearing the disembodied voice: Yes, I think the Parks-Bowman Mansion is haunted.

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Photo Gallery Credit: Aaron Sagers