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What happened next was very tough for Carlos to discuss, despite the time that had passed. Tears frequently threatened during the interview process. This is the way Carlos remembers it happening.
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The sun stood proud in the white and blue sky as the heat radiated from the roof of the Lone Star Honky-Tonk. Carlos stood at the front door in his faded Wranglers and white T-shirt, staring up at the overhead office window. Everything outside seemed unblemished, pristine, and ever sunny. He could not see anything or anyone at the windows; yet, he felt something watching him from the glass pane. He felt threatened by the oddness of the building, but nothing was going to going to stop him from going inside and exorcising the evil out of there, if possible.
With slight, watchful hesitation, he slipped the key into the hole and turned the lock while peering through the panes of door glass, expecting anything to happen at any time. He cautiously stepped inside the hallway and listened for the slightest sound of movement, but there was just a roar of silence as he squinted his eyes, adjusting them to the semi-darkness of the hallway.
He pushed through the swinging double doors at the hall's end and flashed his eyes left and right, probing every inch of the bar area as if he were a lion stalking its prey, waiting for just the right moment to strike.
Nothing.
It can't be this easy, he thought. It knows why I'm here so why isn't it showing itself? He slowly moved across the black tile floor to the middle of the bar, placing his brown paper bag of sanctimonious goodies atop it. The items within clunked resoundingly as the bag made contact with the black countertop. As he stood there staring across the open bar into the ballroom, a wave of grayness passed over hi, a kind of dark premonition of things to come, and he sensed a supercharged tension in the air, as if at any second all hell was going to break loose.
Still standing at the bar and staring toward the far wall, he squinted his right eye and caught a glimpse of something moving toward him. He turned around with his fists clenched by his side but was taken by surprise when he found himself staring at a beautiful young lady some ten feet away.
The girl was dressed in casual clothes reminiscent of a 1960s professional woman. She wore a knee-length A-line skirt paired with a tucked-in blouse, adorned with a bold floral pattern popular during that era. Her hairstyle was a vintage bouffant, meticulously styled with teased volume and a smooth crown, reflecting the fashion of the late '60s. Her makeup followed the beauty regimens of the very late '60s, with winged eyeliner, rosy blush, and pale pink lipstick accentuating her beautiful face.235Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡaCR2DWwSlC
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["Jacqueline"]235Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡhrev8mbL0t
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"I'm Jacqueline," the woman said with a soft British accent, her words carrying a feather-light quality. "I require your assistance."
"What kind of assistance?" Carlos questioned her as he readied himself for some kind of trick.
Before the woman could answer him, Carlos heard the low whisper of laughter come from behind the bar. As he turned around to see who the snicker was coming from, he felt an instant sensation of excruciating pain as the ghost-teen, Vince, plowed him in the side of the jaw with his fist. Carlos rocked back on his feet, and as he did he felt another blow to his ribs, this time from another attacker.
He fell to the floor, doubled up in pain, and out of his right eye, saw the figure of the woman named Jacqueline quickly fleeing from the room. When he looked harder at the woman, he felt another terrifying surge of fear, like an electric current shooting through his body, when he saw what was her true appearance. It was reminiscent of the infamous Black Dahlia murder scene, with cuts and bruises marring her delicate features, evidence of a life cut short by violence. Then came another blow to the side of his face, this time by foot. Carlos rolled over on his back, gasping for air, and saw both of his attackers now.
Standing over him was the ghost of the kid called Vince. Next to him stood another ghostly teen with an evil, sinister look about him, towering over Carlos with his tall frame. A Beatles-style bowl haircut framed his face, adding to his youthful appearance despite his ghostly form. His eyes, a piercing shade of icy blue, bore into Carlos with malevolent intensity, sending a chill down his spine. Clad in a "Make Love Not War" T-shirt, a relic of the 1960s counterculture movement, the teenager exuded an air of rebellion and defiance even in death. Like Vince, he bore visible gashes on his wrists, a haunting reminder of the tragic fate that befell him. Despite his youthful appearance, there was a sinister air about him, hinting at the dark secrets he carried beyond the grave.
"Hey man, don't go actin' like you didn't get the memo," Vince drawled, his voice carrying a tone of warning laced with '60s slang. He raised his foot and kicked Carlos in the face again.
"Why don't we slice this dude up like we did that snooty Brit?" the other ghost-teen sneered.
"Look who's talkin'!" Vince retorted, dismissing the distinction with a cavalier attitude as he corrected his partner.
"We had the last laugh, man," Vince's ghostly partner remarked with a sneer. "Offed ourselves before the pigs could make us sing like canaries and lead 'em to the body."
Carlos lay there on the floor, writhing in pain, trying desperately to make sense of what was happening, but, as he did, the ghost of Vince went mad with rage when the other wraith blamed him for an atrocity that he'd committed. Vince screamed out in anger and began kicking Carlos in the ribs and face, while the other spirit laughed maniacally until Carlos fell unconscious.
Sometime later, without any concept of time, Carlos awoke on the bar room floor, his body bruised and battered from the vicious attack. He climbed to his feet, groaning out in pain. As he straightened, he jumped back in fear when he saw another ghost standing behind the bar. This one was a stark contrast to the teens he'd encountered earlier. This apparition was clad in a conservative suit and tie, his hair neatly slicked back. There was an air of formality about him, nothing remotely sinister in his demeanor.
"Are you okay, son?" the ghost said in a calm, compassionate voice, addressing Carlos with a sense of paternal concern.
"I'm not your son!" Carlos threw the words across the bar at him. "If you're trying to run me off like your friends just tried to do, you can forget it! You're the ones who're leaving here! Not me!"
"Firstly," the man stated, "let me assure you, they're not my friends. My name is Winthrop, Adelaide Winthrop. I once taught history and philosophy when this establishment was known as the Lone Star High School. Now, I'm here to aid you." His voice carried an air of authority, tempered with compassion. "You must make your way to the Plastic Room and breach the floor. Below lies one of the tunnels, harboring a bottomless pit that serves as a gateway to and from Hell itself. It must be sealed to confine these malevolent spirits to the depths where they rightly belong."
"What in the world are you talking about?" Carlos demanded to know.
"Many violent deaths occurred on and around this campus, but that's not the main concern. For years, the kids here used that pit for satanic worship and..."
The teacher's words were interrupted by a series of gunshots that rang out from the Arcade, and suddenly, every light in the building began to flicker off and then on. Carlos wheeled around and gazed through the ballroom for one split second, then quickly turned around toward Adelaide, only to find him gone.
"Shit!" He groaned when he found himself standing there all alone. For some strange reason, he almost wanted to trust the man called Adelaide. He didn't seem like the other ghosts who'd appeared. He seemed kind and concerned, but, more than that, he seemed like a friend.
"Where are you, Adelaide?" Carlos whispered and waited for a reply that never came.
After several long, anxious moments, he figured Adelaide had vanished for a reason. He decided to check out the Arcade, and, with all due caution, he moved through the Fiesta Court, down the hall and stepped into the marvelous Arcade.
To the eye, the room seemed to be empty, but he knew that didn't mean some kind of entity wasn't there. The acid taste of gunpowder lingered in the air and something told him to turn around and leave the room before the show of force began. He wasn't going to be lured into another one of those bastards' traps.
He turned around and returned to the bar, where he reached for a bag of Holy Water and other items. As he did, a series of sudden, loud popping sounds rang out in the room, coming from somewhere near the swinging doors that led out into the hallway.
Carlos laid the bag back on top of the bar and followed the popping sounds. To his shock, he found the strange noise to be coming from a big cactus inside the ballroom next to the swinging doors. As Carlos cautiously approached the cactus, he sensed a foreboding presence emanating from it. Suddenly, with a deafening roar, a monstrous creature burst forth, towering over him with its grotesque form. Its massive claws gleamed menacingly in the dim light, and its eyes glowed with an otherworldly intensity. Carlos recoiled in horror at the sight of the creature, his heart pounding in his chest as adrenaline surged through his veins. He stumbled backward, struggling to comprehend the sheer terror of the moment as the monstrous entity loomed over him, ready to strike.
With adrenaline coursing through his veins, Carlos bolted from the bar, his heart pounding in his chest as he dodged the furniture that lay in his path. The monstrous entity behind him let out an unearthly roar, its lumbering steps shaking the floor as it gave chase. His mind raced, and his instincts drove him forward as he darted through the hallways and around corners, desperate to outrun the nightmare pursuing him.
As he burst out of the resort into the warm Houston air, Carlos didn't pause to catch his breath. He knew he must keep moving, his fear propelling him onward through the daylight. Racing through the quiet streets, he didn't dare look back, his only focus on putting as much distance as possible between himself and the horrors lurking in the abandoned building. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he reached the safety of his home, his chest heaving with exertion but relief flooding through him. He collapsed onto the couch, trembling with exhaustion and the lingering terror of the ordeal he narrowly escaped.
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