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I stepped inside the DeRidder Gothic Jail, and the contrast hit me right away. From the sidewalk, the building could pass for a small collegiate hall. Pointed Tudor arches, dormers, and bay windows face the street with a quiet, scholarly grace.
Built in 1914, the three-story structure is a rare example of the Collegiate Gothic style applied to a parish jail, a style far more common on university campuses. But once the heavy door closed behind me, the handsome exterior gave way to steel bars, cramped cells, and an atmosphere that still feels occupied long after the last prisoner left.
“Gothic Jail” looks more like a grand estate than a site of grim history
Table of Contents
A Spiral Heart, a Jailer’s Home, and a Cooling Design
The jail’s most striking architectural feature is also its most functional. Eight cells open directly onto a central spiral staircase that winds from the ground floor all the way to the top. That bottom level once housed the jailer’s living quarters, where he resided with his family, alongside his office and a temporary holding cell for those not staying long. Above him, the cells stacked upward in a circle, all facing the staircase.
This design was no accident. A dome fitted with louvers sits above the staircase, pulling hot Louisiana air upward and out. Tour guide Marlena Dougharty explained the practical thinking behind it.
I think it was a cooling purpose for the jail originally. The placement of all the windows and having this spiral in the middle, there’s actually a dome on top that has louvers around it and actually filters out the heat so as the heat rises.
— Marlena
Even so, the beauty of that staircase has long been overshadowed by what happened at its summit.
One Morning in 1928: The Hanging Jail
The jail was never originally meant to be a place of execution. It housed a rotating population, usually 20 to 30 prisoners at a time, though it could crowd in up to 64. A tunnel once connected the building to the parish courthouse next door. Today that tunnel is partially walled off. For decades, the jail simply held people. That changed in March of 1928.
Joe Genna, a local man, and Molton Brasseaux, who came from the Sulphur area, had murdered a DeRidder taxi cab driver in August of 1926. Their motive was stark: they stole his cab and the fourteen dollars he had on him. After the trial, the town wanted the punishment carried out right here, inside the jail. Marlena shared the prevailing explanation.
We think it’s because the town wanted to make sure they paid for their crimes here within town. You know, get their justice in these walls of this building. If you think about it, all the cells surround this gallows area. Any prisoner that would have been in house at the time would have witnessed it. What a better deterrent for crime than showing what you know is possible.
— Marlena
A makeshift scaffold was erected atop the third-floor staircase. Today a replica gallows marks the spot. When I climbed those metal steps, I could not stop thinking about the men held in the surrounding cells. The solid metal doors were left open that day. Only the barred inner doors separated the prisoners from the sight. They would have heard everything, the creak of the wood, the final breaths, the silence that followed.
That’s actually where the jail became a hanging jail in March of 1928. They were hung here for murder. They spent their last days in here, they met their demise in here.
— Marlena
After that single, brutal morning, the jail returned to ordinary operations, but the name “The Hanging Jail” stuck. It operated until 1982, a surprising longevity for a facility so visibly outdated by modern standards. Marlena told me that parishes once built their jails and courthouses as elaborate civic showpieces, and this one remains something few other places can claim.
I think the fact that the jail was like it was just something this marvel. Parishes built their jails and courthouses to show their elaborateness. I think they kind of wanted to just have a showplace here back in the times, and I’m glad they did. We have something very unique that nobody else has.
— Marlena
Life Inside the Cells
As I walked the second and third floors, the grim reality of daily life inside became clear. The eight cells were divided between solitary confinement units and larger general population spaces. Two identical general population cells held twelve prisoners between them, and everyone shared a single restroom. The space is tight, the paint is peeling, and the weight of confinement hangs in the air. The outside may be gorgeous, but inside it is undeniably grim.
The outside is gorgeous as compared to the inside, which is kind of grim.
— Marlena
The Women’s Cell and the Voices That Remain
The jail closed decades ago, but a different kind of visitor now fills the cells. Paranormal tourists travel from around the world to spend the night or simply to listen. Before I entered the women’s cell, I asked Marlena half-jokingly if I would see a ghost that day.
Well, I’m not sure. They don’t really work on command, but we shall see.
— Marlena
I walked into the women’s cell expecting only silence. Instead, Marlena described what she and others have repeatedly encountered there.
A lot of our paranormal visitors have come in the cell, and we get a lot of voices through EVP recordings. I’ve actually heard them from downstairs talking with my ears, not just on a recorder. I’ve come up to check it out and you’ll hear a male voice call them down, and then they’ll shut up. The women’s cell is very talkative.
— Marlena
She described the sound as a constant mumble, just below the threshold of understanding. Each time she crept closer to try to make out the words, a stern male voice would cut through, a sharp “hey,” and the murmuring would stop. She said you cannot understand what they are saying, it is just a steady murmur. But nothing in this cell has ever felt threatening.
Nothing in here has ever been mean. This is their home. We’re the caretakers of their past home. It’s history. A lot of history has happened in a lot of our areas, so it’s kind of cool to not forget it.
— Marlena
Standing in that small, barred room, I did not hear the whispers myself, but I felt the weight of them. At night, when the lights go out, the whole building seems to shift.
I do all the paranormal stuff here in the jail, so I love it. It’s awesome to be in here at night, with all the lights off. And it feels like the jail comes alive around you.
— Marlena
Where Architecture, Justice, and Memory Intersect
The DeRidder Gothic Jail is not simply a stop on a ghost tour. It is a place where a deep human story is built into the very walls. The architects chose a style meant for learning, the town demanded public justice enacted in full view, and the decades since have layered memory upon memory until the building itself seems to speak.
I thought about how the spiral staircase cooled the air and, for one grim day, framed a spectacle meant to deter. I thought about the women’s voices that still mumble behind bars that no longer lock. This jail is layered, complex, and still telling its story to anyone willing to listen.
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