Transylvania, Louisiana

We went there. Because it's that season.

I first saw the words “Transylvania,” and “Louisiana” together in one sentence while reading Andrei Codrescu’s essay collection, New Orleans, Mon Amour. Of course, he wrote about the “real” Transyvania — the one in Romania — where he grew up.

I’d wager most of Louisiana’s vampires live in New Orleans. Allegedly, one of the 20th century’s most notorious vampires lived here, and we now harbor a population of the vampire version of vegans, who source peaceful blood (or chi) from donors rather than stalking victims on city streets. We also have so many vampire bars someone was able to compile a Top 10 list.

Those joints include The Dungeon, The NOLA Vampire Cafe, and Potions, a vampire speakeasy that’s apparently “the classiest vampire bar in New Orleans.” Also the Voodoo Lounge, which I think only qualifies because it’s open 24 hours a day. On a recent visit, the bartender screened ‘80s Star Trek movies and served free hot dogs. That doesn’t seem very vampirish, but what do I know?

I do feel a bit more literate in Louisiana vampire lore after visiting Transylvania, Louisiana. We drove to St. Louis last weekend, and on the way home, decided — because it’s October — to do a three-hour swerve off our usual path to visit.

Turns out, a lot of people visit Transylvania during October, because of course they do. But it takes advantage of the name all year round: there’s a bat painted on the water tower, and the general store is known for peddling “bat-related merchandise.” (The town’s named for Transylvania University in Lexington, Kentucky. Which is also not named after Transylvania, Romania.)

Carol Highsmith, “The abandoned Transylvania Elementary School, abandoned in 2005 in the little East Carroll Parish, Louisiana, town of Transylvania.” (Library of Congress)

We rolled up at golden hour, stopping across the road from the long-abandoned Transylvania Elementary School. We didn’t visit, but you can see the inside of the building thanks to multiple urbexers, including this bunch, who made this longish video six years ago.

We peered inside the post office, which is said to be haunted by female ghost. It looked very unspooky, even with bat-shaped clings stuck to the windows.

The general store —The Farmhouse @ Transylvania —  was closed. No bat-related merchandise for us, alas. Between the “NIA” being MIA and a Facebook page that hasn’t been updated since 2018, I’m guessing that’s been the case for a few years.

According to this blogger, the Transylvania General Store used to be widely known for its “Double Dare Outrageous Burger,” which then became the Transylvania Burger. In 2007, she talked to 75-year-old Moses Bender, who was selling the business so he could retire:

Mr. Bender did tell me that the Transylvania General Store has been there since 1958... and hopefully whoever takes over will continue the tradition. He says it's always been clean and a good place in the community, and that it doesn't sell tobacco or alcohol. A real family sort of place, if you know what I mean. Besides — someone needs to care for the baby vampire bats. No — I wasn't kidding. On the counter just inside the door, a black box contains something remarkable and unusual to the area -- something you just don't find every day. Any given day, you can drop in and visit the baby vampire bats.

As you can see from her post, the store had a completely different sign in 2010, so someone did buy the store from Mr. Bender, but wasn’t able to keep it going.

Here’s what it looked like when it was in full flush (via the Farmhouse Facebook page):

When it first opened in 2015, the Farmhouse posted this bat picture on its Facebook page: “There are no vampires in Transylvania but stop by for your souvenir t-shirt with bats on them. We always have them in stock for you.”

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The Farmhouse appeared to be as wholesome and vampire-free as its predecessor (though sadly, also vampire bat-free). Its Facebook page overflowed with posts about community get-togethers like this one for the Pastor of Transylvania Baptist Church:

The only vampire-related landmark you can actually visit in Transylvania is its most famous one: the bat water tower. It’s received a nod from Roadside America, TripAdvisor and Waymarking, and gets lots of love on social media, too.

Naturally, there are ghost stories associated with Transylvania. I supsect the name triggers something like pareidolia (the phenomenon of “seeing faces in everyday objects”). Colin Dickey, the author of Ghostland: An American History in Haunted Places, talked to The Sun a few weeks ago about spirits; he thinks “every place is haunted to one degree or another,” and that looking for ghosts is a universal human impulse:

It’s the same impulse that pushes people to go on roller coasters: haunted places let us approach death in a way that’s safe. We love roller coasters because they’re scary, but we wouldn’t get on a roller coaster if we thought we were actually going to get hurt. I’ve never encountered a ghost hunter who thinks the ghosts are going to bring physical harm to them. They’re looking for an adrenaline rush. If there’s a lovers’ lane where the hook-handed murderer killed a bunch of people, then that’s where you want to go on Halloween night. It’s sometimes called “legend tripping.” It grants a sense of being close to something eerie or unsettling, but without any real danger.

Then again, what does he know, and what do I know? Maybe this person actually saw a malevolent, accident-causing shapeshifter on Highway 65. Maybe it was a Rougarou. Maybe vampires do love hot dogs and Star Trek.

Transylvania’s Other Waymarker

Though the bat water tower is the most-photographed landmark in Transylvania, it’s not the most historic. On Mound Road, you’ll see a history marker for the Transylvania Mounds:

The marker text reads: “Transylvania once had up to 12 mounds. Only 6 are visible now. The mounds were rectangular in shape with flat tops prior to being altered in historic times. The largest is nearly 34 feet tall. It is in the center of the site and overlooks 2 plaza areas. Indians built the mounds around AD 1400.”

Just like in St. Louis, and in areas all over the country, the mounds were destroyed to make way for farm fields and office buildings. (You can see photos of the destruction of Big Mound in North St. Louis here; the soil was used to grade roads.) People think this is a past-tense practice, but mounds are still being destroyed; Wal-Mart, in particular, is a repeat offender.

Somehow, we missed the marker and the mounds. Next time, we’ll stop there. And in the meantime, I spent touch of my modest grad school stipend not on bat shirts, but supporting Native American Rights Fund, which supports legal battles for enviromental justice as well as repatriation of artifacts and buried remains.

Seeing Dead People (on Facebook)

I bend toward thinking astrology is helpful like Rorsharch tests are helpful (i.e., as a psychic projection screen), but I very much appreciate astrologer Frederick Woodruff’s harsh, funny, accurate takes on American society. We’re in what’s traditionally thought of as thin veil/ancestor season, so I’ll point to his recent post on how hard it is to remove dead folks’ profiles from Facebook. He writes about how his social media feed reflects a real American moment of … erm, something not so great.

I’m also a longtime fan of Arthur Magazine and Jay Babcock, who’s jumped his Landline newsletter to Substack. His archives are rich and wonderful and worth a deep dive. Landline is free — and worth supporting if you can with a li’l $.

Anyway: he’s found a way to navitage the inevitable phonescroll without reverting to the doomscroll. He also wrote about 1990s desert music festivals and recapped a doc I plan to watch, The Story of the Weeping Camel, which looks at the “documented historical (and contemporary!) ritual amongst Gobi desert nomads where musicians are sometimes employed to play a specific type of music that literally coaxes reluctant camel mothers to nurse babies they have previously rejected.”

Cheers to Spooky Season

We live in New Orleans, so the Halloween decorations went up weeks and weeks ago. We’ve been in the seasonal spirit even though it’s only recently felt like fall, weather-wise. Hope you’ve got your seasonal stuff hung, if that’s how you do. A thank you to Gena B and Rabbit Ears NOLA for subscribing. As always, subs — both paid and unpaid — are appreciated; I appreciate your eyeballs and your time and attention more thanyou know.. If you want to support what I do here, you can buy me a coffee, or kick me a tip on PayPal or Venmo (@Stefene-Russell).