This podcast may not be for all listeners.
Listener discretion is advised. New Orleans is a city where the
past and present intertwine like the gnarled branches of an
ancient Cyprus. The scent of decay mingles with
the sweet perfume of magnolias, and the whispers of the dead
ride in on the wind. Within this city's labyrinthine
streets, the story of John and Wayne Carter stands out for its
sheer brutality and horror. In this episode, we descend into
the heart of New Orleans to confront the chilling legend of
the Carter brothers. The 1930s were a time of
upheaval for New Orleans. The Great Depression had
tightened its grip, casting a long, ominous shadow over the
city. Yet amidst the economic despair,
a darker terror lurked in the waterfront district, where the
mighty Mississippi River churned and groaned.
Two brothers, John and Wayne Carter, dockworkers with
calloused hands and faces chiseled by the relentless sun.
At first glance, the Carters seemed like other laborers,
toiling away from meager wages. But as the days turned to
nights, a sinister transformation took place.
The brothers would vanish into the shadow draped alleyways of
the French Quarter, their footsteps echoing off the
crumbling brickwork. It was then that the true horror
began. They preyed on the vulnerable,
the forgotten souls who wandered the city, mostly young women
lured by false promises or simply snatched from the gloom.
The brothers resided in an apartment not far from the
docks. This apartment became a Chamber
of unspeakable horrors. The victims would be found
later, broken, their bodies bearing the marks of inhuman
cruelty. The people of New Orleans lived
in a state of constant terror. The police were baffled, unable
to apprehend the perpetrators of these monstrous crimes.
The Carter brothers had become ghosts, specters of death that
struck without warning. Their names became a curse, a
byword for the evil that lurked. But one fateful night, their
reign of terror ended as abruptly as it had begun.
A frantic woman, her clothes torn, her eyes wide with fear,
stumbled into a police officer on Royal St.
She had escaped from their apartment.
Both of her wrists were cut and bleeding, the cuts not deep, but
just enough to bring blood to the surface, just enough to
allow the brothers to feed on their victim.
Her tale of the brothers lairs set in motion a chain of events
that would lead to the shocking truth.
When police arrived at the apartment, they found a gruesome
scene. Four other humans are tied to
chairs on the brink of death with slashed wrists.
The victim's wrists were cut so the brothers could feed and then
bandage until their next feeding.
Aside from the barely living, there were at least a dozen dead
bodies. The dead had been drained of
their blood. The victim's shattered souls
bore witness to the depths of the Carter's cruelty.
It was said the brothers would go on and hunt after work, their
eyes gleaming with feral light in search of another body to
feed their vampire desires. Authorities had one mission,
capture the terrifying vampires before they struck again.
A team of officers lie in wait, hiding in the shadows of the
brothers lair. As the unsuspecting duo returned
from their work day, the police pounced on them, but these were
no ordinary suspects. It took a swarm of officers to
subdue the snarling, thrashing men.
The trial of John and Wayne Carter became a sensation.
The two brothers were seemingly ordinary dockworkers and were
unable to convince anyone that they were truly blood sucking
vampires. The brothers were found guilty
and sentenced to death. After their execution, the two
men were laid to rest in their family vaults in New Orleans.
This crypt lie undisturbed for years, a silent guardian of its
dark contents. But when another family member
passed, a horrifying revelation awaited.
The vault was opened, and John and Wayne's caskets were empty.
Not a single trace of their mortal remains was present.
Since that dreadful day, the spectres of John and Wayne have
haunted the crumbling grandeur of New Orleans.
Phantom apparitions are glimpsed in the flickering alleyways.
They're silhouettes, stocking balconies and rooftops like
spectral vultures. Trembling tenant in their long
abandoned apartment swore he felt their icy breath on the
back of his neck and saw the dark outlines of two men
watching him from the shadows of his own balcony.
There are so many versions of this tale, but no legal records
to support them, so the city holds its breath as this
terrifying legend is reborn time and time again.
And so we leave the haunted docks of New Orleans, with the
echoes of the Carter Brothers tale still lingering.
And this is where I leave you, my friends, as I descend back
into the shadows of the unexplained realms.
I hope you dare to return next time.
Until then, the darkness has eternal patience while it waits
for you.