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It was difficult for Carlos to remember this incident, but after thinking back on what he and Wilma had endured, he finally remembered what happened next. This is what he said.200Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡWSf671Qu5D
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3 days passed without any diabolical show of force inside the building. Wilma followed Carlos's advice and had stayed away from the resort. Buck met Carlos around ten in the morning on the fourth day and assigned the handyman the job of cleaning the now-open bar.
He wanted the black leather washed and rubbed down with a wax compound. after giving Carlos explicit instructions, Buck said he was going to Fargo to look at some things for the resort. He told him he wouldn't be back today, but he'd meet him early the next morning. He bid Carlos goodbye and left the building.
Carlos had done such an excellent job for the Cassidys over the last few days that Buck had more or less placed him in charge of the cleaning and cosmetic repairs that still needed doing. He had swept all of the floors, carried out tons of trash, cleaned and stacked all of the tables and chairs, and had placed them in neat rows inside the recording studio (the former pool area) and the main ballroom (the former gym). Carlos went to the kitchen and filled a bucket full of warm, soapy water, returning with the pail in one hand and a big, green sponge in the other. He moved all the stools out into the middle of the back, tile floor in front of the bar and began washing down the leather when something caught his attention.
"Shit!" he growled as he stood erect and stared through the room. The scent of poop quickly wafted through the air as a growing uneasiness, spiced with a touch of irritation, began welling up inside of him.
"Alright, you ghostly son of a bitch, show yourself or get the hell outta here!" he challenged. "I'm sick of your spooky games!"
A voice came from somewhere in the big ballroom, floating through the open bar like a thin whisper touching Carlos's ears as he gazed into space.
"You are not welcome here, Christian. Leave this place, or face consequences beyond your feeble understanding." The words glided through the air, more like a demand than a threat.
But before Carlos could turn and run, a score of drinking glasses that were on top of the bar began flying through the air, smashing against the outside wall of the Fiesta Court. The bar stools began dancing and toppling over one by one to the floor as the smell of poop resumed filling the room. From seemingly nowhere, the air filled with the echoes of bouncing basketballs, the squeaks of sneakers on polished wooden floors, and the distant cheers of an unseen crowd. Amidst this cacophony, lunatic laughter reverberated, punctuated by a disembodied voice that seemed to intone, "Hail Satan!"
"Show yourself, you cowardly bastard!" Carlos bellowed, his anger boiling over. "I'll fight you with my bare hands if I have to, you hear me? And when Sunflower comes, you're gonna regret every damn minute you messed with us!"
As his words died away, a pair of unseen hands grabbed the handyman by the scruff of his neck and flung him like a rag doll through the air. His body crashed into the wall near the hall doors and fell to the black tile like a sack of stones. As he lay against the wall, Carlos looked up and saw the unmoving figure standing there. It was a man looking back at him, but not a man made of flesh and bones. It was an apparition, the ghost of a man, but still Carlos could see his face. The specter's greasy hair was slicked back in a style reminiscent of the '50s. The figure wore a leather jacket adorned with various patches and badges, hinting at a rebellious past. Its jeans bore "mod" symbols and psychedelic designs typical of the late '60s, contrasting sharply with the vintage jacket. What caught Carlos's attention were the slash marks on the figure's wrists, evidence of a tragic demise.
Carlos knew this demonic teenager meant to kill him, so he sprang to his feet and raced down the hall exploding through the front entrance as the laughter faded into the walls, swallowed up by the building itself.
Standing outside, Carl looked up at the overhead office window and saw a set of red, glowing, unearthly eyes staring down at him. Then he saw the face, the same face that had confronted him seconds ago.
"I'll be back! You piece-of-shit! You're not running me off! You're the one who's leavin' here! I'm gonna get me some Holy Water! You listening?!"
Carlos jammed his hand into his pocket and jerked out the door key, slipping it into the hole and twisting the lock. He stepped away from the door and glared up at the window only to find the menacing ghost gone.
Carlos cursed under his breath and turned from the building, walking to the parking lot where he climbed into his blue 1975 Oldsmobile Cutlass. He stared back at the building, then turned on the ignition switch and drove out of the lot, spinning pebbles under the tires as he went.
As he drove south on the 610 Loop, the gas pedal suddenly slammed to the floorboard, sticking there. The car began picking up speed, swerving left and right toward oncoming traffic. Telephone poles looked like a black picket fence as Carlos jammed his foot up and down on the pedal, trying to free it. Then, some invisible force grabbed the wheel directing the car into the path of a semi that was rapidly approaching him, head-on.
"God amighty!" he cried out as he fought wildly, trying to regain control of the wheel.
As the car drew closer to the truck, the driver leaned on the horn, blowing it and waving his left hand wildly out of the window. The Oldsmobile suddenly filled with the smell of roses, and, for no apparent reason, regained control of the wheel just as the gas pedal sprang free of the floorboard. He quickly maneuvered the car out of the semi's path by driving to the left of the truck on the wrong side of the road. He brought the car to a screening halt as it slit into a ditch, blowing out the left front tire and sinking to the frame in the mud. Visibly shaken, Carlos gripped the steering wheel with both hands and leaned forward, almost resting his head on it as he asked himself if this was a warning from some demonic force from Hell. Wondered if he was being punished for trying to help Wilma. He wasn't sure, but he knew that his doom was at hand until the car filled with the rose aroma. It had to be Sunflower who saved his life. But if that was the case, who was causing havoc with him and Wilma? And who was the ghost teenager with the slashes across his wrists?
Finally regaining his composure, Carlos climbed from the car and groaned at the sight of the blown tire. Since he didn't have a jack, he began walking up the 610 Loop toward home to get one from his father's car.
"I'm going back to that place with Holy Water and bless everything in there!" he grumbled as he strolled up the road. "I'm getting rid of whatever's in there----tonight!"
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