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Many obstructions prevented the opening of the resort. One was a sudden and unexplained outbreak of mold throughout the entire property. This mold infestation was unlike anything seen before, spreading rapidly and pervading every corner of the resort. It forced Buck to halt all operations and undertake extensive remodeling efforts to eradicate the mold and prevent its recurrence. As a result, Buck had to invest significant time and resources into renovating the entire property, from replacing contaminated materials to implementing new mold prevention measures. The ordeal was a costly setback for Buck, delaying the resort's grand opening and causing considerable frustration and inconvenience for him and his team. After reading the health inspector's report and interviewing Carlos and the Cassidys, this is how I interpret what happened.259Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡboB0TBNhdn
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After returning to the car and changing the flat tire, Carlos drove home where he spent the rest of the afternoon planning his attack on the entity, or entities, that dwelled inside the future resort, utilizing some books on demonology he'd checked out of the local library branch for background knowledge. Even though he was sure that the ghostly figure that had confronted him earlier would be waiting, Carlos was determined to try and run him and any other evil spirit out of there.
"Hey there, Shadowman, you won't believe what's going on over at the old Lone Star site," Carlos's CB crackled to life, his buddy's voice coming through with urgency. "They got the whole place surrounded. Fire trucks, health department, you name it. And the mold, man, you wouldn't believe what that stuff looks like. It's like something out of a horror movie. I wouldn't go near that place if I were you."
"Good Lord!" Carlos jumped to his feet and dropped the book he'd been studying on the bed. "Wilma and Buck.....!"
Drawing on the lessons he learned from his father, a medic in Vietnam, Carlos improvised a makeshift suit using plastic sheets and duct tape. He carefully sealed every seam, ensuring no air could penetrate the barrier. With makeshift gloves and a mask fashioned from an old bandana, he felt somewhat protected from whatever dangers the mold might pose. Though crude, the suit was his best defense against the unknown, a testament to his resourcefulness and determination to uncover the truth lurking within the abandoned halls of Lone Star High School. In mere seconds, he dashed through the house and exploded out the front door, racing on foot toward the resort. He made his way down the street with drag-racer speed, his back ramrod straight, his arms pounding like crazy, as his frantic eyes focused on the building two hundred yards away.
As Carlos pushed his way through the onlookers gathered in the parking lot of Lone Star High School, he was met with a surreal scene. Teams of doctors, firemen, and a National Guard unit diligently worked to extract samples of the strange goo oozing from the building. The substance had a horrifying appearance, its unearthly color and consistency causing a shiver to run down Carlos's spine. Emergency personnel were visibly perplexed, murmuring among themselves about the unprecedented nature of the slime. Just as Carlos attempted to move closer for a better look, he was abruptly halted by a National Guardsman, a stern expression on the soldier's face warning him against getting too close to the unknown menace.
"I know the folks who own this place," Carlos asserted to the burly National Guardsman blocking his path, "I might be able to help y'all identify what this stuff is."
The Guardsman, his tone stern, responded: "If they don't know what it is, ain't no way you do. This ain't no joke, got it? We might have to call in the CDC."
As Carlos observed the arrival of the KPRC Channel 2 news team, he couldn't help but notice the lackluster response from the onlookers gathered outside Lone Star High School. Despite the sensational nature of the scene—a mysterious, unearthly goo oozing from the building—the expressions on their faces betrayed a sense of nonchalance. It was as though they had seen it all before, or perhaps they simply didn't grasp the gravity of the situation. However, amidst the indifferent crowd, Carlos's attention was drawn to the children present. Their expressions were markedly different, tinged with fear and unease. Their eyes seemed to fixate on the building as if they sensed something lurking within its walls. It was a reminder of the unsettling truth he had gleaned from his studies of demonology: children, with their innate sensitivity and openness, were often more attuned to supernatural influences than adults, capable of perceiving what others could not.
Amidst the scene at Lone Star High School, Carlos's attention was abruptly diverted by the sight of Buck striding purposefully toward him. With a furrowed brow and an intense gaze, Buck approached, his tone sharp as he demanded, "Carlos, what the hell do you think you're doing here?"
Carlos, wearing his improvised protective suit, quickly explained to Buck, "I heard about the mold breakout from one of my CB buddies. Figured I'd come see what the fuss was about and maybe help out if I could." As he finished speaking, he reached for a cigarette, placed it between his lips, and started to light it.
Buck, his voice laced with anger, snapped at Carlos, "Get that damn thing out of your mouth!" He glared at him, frustration evident in his tone. "I'm already in a bad enough mood without having to deal with your used cigarette smoke, you hear me?"
Carlos, his voice tinged with confusion, retorted, "What's got you so damn angry? You think this mold outbreak's my fault or something?"
Buck, his anger flaring, retorted sharply, "Hell if I know, but for all I care, it could damn well be your fault! You were supposed to clean up this mess, Carlos. Now look at it! You're about as dependable as a two-dollar watch, you know that?"
Carlos, with a sigh and a silent prayer for patience, responded, "Look, I don't know whose fault it is, but let's focus on what's going on here. What did they find?"
Buck's frustration was palpable as he recounted, "My God, you wouldn't believe it. That damn mold, it's like a plague. It's eaten through everything. Floors, walls, you name it. It's worse than termites. The health department guys are scratching their heads. They can't even trace where it came from. We're talking about a huge chunk of the building needing to be redone. And let me tell you, the cost of that? It's gonna be astronomical. I don't even want to think about it." But then, with a determined glint in his eye, he added, "But people are gonna dance to my music in that building, no matter what it looks like."
Carlos simply shook his head at Buck's determination. He couldn't believe the man would have a positive attitude, even after being dealt a bizarre hand of bad luck. Had it been Carlos who owned the place, the mold would've been the last straw. Opening night at the Lone Star Honky-Tonk might never have happened.
Buck turned to Carlos with a hopeful yet skeptical expression. "Is there any chance at all we can go inside?"
Carlos shook his head, recounting his encounter with the National Guardsman. "Nah, Buck. They got it locked down tighter than Fort Knox. Ain't lettin' nobody in."
Buck's eyes came alive with determination. "Show me that lunkhead! I'll make it clear to him what he's dealing with. I'll tell him the Governor of Texas himself is coming to the opening night, and unless that weekend warrior wants to spend his career as a private, he'll damn well let me in!"
Buck strode purposefully towards the National Guardsman, his words carrying an air of authority. Carlos observed from a distance as Buck engaged in what appeared to be a heated conversation. After a few moments, Buck returned with a triumphant grin. "We're in," he declared, relaying the Guardsman's concession. "But keep your distance from any mold mounds. Stay at least 6 feet away, and don't touch anything. Got it?"
"Don't worry," Carlos reassured Buck with a wry smile. "I have no intention of getting sick or being eaten away by some mutant mold."
As Buck and Carlos cautiously stepped into the resort, they were met with a scene of utter devastation. The interior now resembled a war zone ravaged by some unseen force. Holes pockmarked the walls like Swiss cheese, exposing the framework beneath and allowing glimpses into the dark void beyond. Wires dangled precariously from the ceiling, some of them emitting dangerous sparks that flickered in the dim light of their flashlights. The air was thick with the musty smell of decay and mildew, a testament to the relentless advance of the insidious mold. The bar, intended to be a bustling hub of activity, now lay in ruins, its countertops warped and twisted by the relentless onslaught of the mold. Chairs were overturned, tables broken, and glassware shattered, scattered across the floor like fallen soldiers on a battlefield. The once-polished dance floor was littered with debris and scattered furniture, overturned chairs, and broken tables adding to the sense of chaos.
"Carlos, I owe you an apology for what I said earlier," Buck admitted, his frustration evident in his tone. "I just can't fathom what kind of fungus could tear through my place like this. But dammit, I'm not giving up. I'm going to open this resort to all my fans, no matter what. Hey, I've just put in a video game arcade where that Chemistry class used to be. Let's go take a look at it.
Carlos led Buck through the video game arcade, relieved to find that the strange mold hadn't wrought the same havoc here as it had elsewhere in the building. A thorough hosing down would suffice to clean up the area, a task that wouldn't take more than a few days. Satisfied with this discovery, they proceeded to inspect the old paymaster's office, the Fiesta Court, and the restrooms, finding minimal damage in comparison to the devastation in the ballroom. Despite encountering a few small holes here and there, Buck's relief was palpable as they made their way back to the ruined ballroom. It seemed that, for some reason, the mold had concentrated its destruction primarily in this area, sparing much of the first floor. Nevertheless, Buck remained optimistic, knowing that with a bit of cleaning and repair work, they could salvage the space for their plans.
"I've seen enough," Buck stated firmly. "These folks from the health department, fire department, and National Guard are overreacting, just looking for something to do. I gotta make some phone calls to my contractors and get them down here to take care of this mess. We gotta get this place open before anything else happens."
"We haven't checked upstairs," Carlos reminded Buck. "We should take a look at the second, third, and fourth floors. There might be some damage up there. Don't you think you should check?"
"Alright, Carlos," Buck replied, nodding. "You go ahead and check out the upper floors. I don't think there's anything seriously wrong up there, maybe just some holes and pockets of that weird fungus. I need to get home anyway. Wilma's probably worried sick, wondering if the place was a complete wreck."
Carlos didn't say anything, but he figured it'd just be the opposite. Wilma would probably jump for joy if the place had indeed been destroyed. He concluded that if anything, Wilma would worry about the Health Department solving the mystery of the strange fungus.
"Do you need me to lead you outside?"
"Naw, it's all right. I can see good enough to make it. You just go on upstairs and check out those floors and I'll give you a call tonight. By the way, did you just happen to get out of anybody what that stuff is?"
"I overheard the health officials, and they're still clueless about it. They're sending samples of that weird goo to Dallas for testing," Carlos explained. "The building isn't under quarantine, so nobody's gotten sick from it as far as I know. But I gotta admit, I'm more than a little scared," he confessed.
"I swear, Carlos, you've been listening to Wilma's ghost stories for too damn long," Buck snapped, his anger resurfacing. "Do me a favor, will ya? Ignore her the next time she starts crying 'ghost,'" he requested, his frustration evident in his tone.
Before Carlos could respond, Buck turned around and walked through the semidarkness of the hallway leading to the front entrance. Carlos shuddered at the thought of going upstairs by himself. Could he encounter the mysterious stranger with the gashes on his wrist again? Well, hopefully, the bastard was gone, returned to Hell where he belonged.
Trying desperately to repress his fear, Carlos moved onto the Fiesta Court and opened the door on the south wall, gazing up the stairway. The same stairs that led to the old Principal's Office. He wanted to turn around and get the hell out of the place, but something inside of him made him climb the steps one at a time until he reached the top landing.
He cautiously stepped across the threshold into the mold-covered hallway and then moved into the office and instantly wondered why nobody had even bothered to scrub the walls down. He beamed his flashlight through the oppressive darkness and was relieved when he did not see any sign of a ghostly presence anywhere in the room. Satisfied that everything was okay, Carlos turned to leave, but, before he made it out, the door slammed shut just as an evil snicker filled the room, bounding off the walls all around him.
"Hey, Carlos, where's your Holy Water, man?" The raspy voice mocked him from somewhere in the darkness. It wasn't just a raspy voice. The words sounded as if someone who had undergone a tracheotomy and was speaking through a voice box had spoken them. Carlos knew instantly whom to expect when he turned around.
"Who are you?" He forced out the words as he stood there, motionless, staring at the door, with his back to the entity.
"The name's Vince," the scratchy voice answered him. "You ain't got a chance, man. We're the big kahunas in this joint, dig? You're just a nobody, a square, trying to play hero. Well, I got news for ya, buddy boy. You mess with us, and you're gonna end up as yesterday's news. We got the numbers, the power, and the mojo to squash you like a bug. So, watch your step, daddy-o, 'cause we're watching you. And we ain't gonna be nice if you keep pokin' your nose where it don't belong!"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You'll find out soon enough, Jack. Just keep sticking your nose where it don't belong, and you'll get the full picture. You dig?"
"I can't help you if you don't tell me what you want," Carlos said. "The mold. You did that, didn't you?"
"Yeah, that's right, cats. I'm the one behind that funky mold. It's one of my specialties, you know? Just a little taste of what I can do. Pretty groovy, huh?" The disembodied spirit laughed.
"You don't scare me, you bastard!" Carl lied.
"Ah-ha! Liar-liar-pants-on-fire!"
"I'm not lying!" He screamed as he spun around and shined his light through the room, trying desperately to see the menacing specter, but to no avail.
Once again, he found himself alone inside the room, but still felt as if he was being watched by the apparition. Hell! There was no doubt about it! Not only was he being watched by unseen eyes, he could feel the presence of the entity coming toward him, drawing closer.
He moved backwards, toward the door, still watching straight ahead. He slipped his left hand behind his back, feeling for the knob, gripping it tightly, and was surprised when the door opened easily. He took a slow, half-step forward then whirled around and jerked open the door, racing down the stairs as if his very life depended on it, and it did. He never looked back until he exploded through the front doors of the resort and found himself safely outside.
"People are watching!" Carlos told himself as he knelt on the sidewalk and gasped for air. "Get a grip!"
As he tried to gather his strength and his senses, he looked around at the crowd of people staring at him and silently wondered what they would say if he tried to tell them some evil being had just confronted him inside this place that he now dubbed "Hell's Kitchen." He knew better than to say anything, especially to the idiot National Guardsman. If he did try to tell him some demon from hell spread that mold throughout the building, he would likely summon a policeman and most likely be dragged off to an insane asylum, locked away in some rubber room.
He finally regained his composure and walked towards home with his head hung low. He never wanted to set foot back in that evil place again, but he knew down deep in the reaches of his soul that he had to. If he turned tail and ran like some sniffing coward, he would never forgive himself if anything happened to Buck or Wilma. He had been chosen to fight this evil force, and fight it he would.259Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡTQt9W4KOFd
