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During interviews and research of the resulting leads, I was led to an ever-expanding number of people who had experienced bizarre happenings inside, or as a result of being inside the resort. Placing the stores in the order they happened, this chapter is the first in a series developed from interviewing these people.
Savannah Dupont lived in the quaint town of Lafayette, Louisiana. She embraced her roots and took pride in her Louisiana heritage. She had a deep belief in both God and Satan, acknowledging the existence of both good and evil in the world. She had always had occasional premonitions, experiencing vivid dreams and intuitive feelings that she believed to be messages from a higher power. Growing up, Savannah's three sisters often teased her for her "freaky gift" and dismissed her dreams as mere fantasies. However, when several of her premonitions started coming true, her family began to take her visions more seriously.
- This is part one of Savannah's story.169Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ6A5BOSacn5
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It was 11:30 on Friday night, and the resort was alive with energy. The usual crowd had swelled, and guests were clamoring to secure a room for the night, with some leaving empty-handed. At the open bar, men donned their Stetson cowboy hats and sported their finest western attire, while the dance floor throbbed with pulsating beats and the twirl of dancing couples. The nightclub area was packed to the brim, with patrons eagerly awaiting their turn to hit the dance floor or try their luck at the pool tables. The air buzzed with excitement as the night promised endless possibilities and unforgettable moments.The dance floor pulsed with the rhythm of Buck's soulful country tunes, drawing couples together in a whirl of movement and emotion. In the ballroom, the air hummed with lively conversation and laughter as guests mingled around wooden tables adorned with checkered tablecloths. Waitstaff darted through the bustling crowd, expertly balancing trays of drinks and appetizers, ensuring that every guest received prompt and attentive service amidst the vibrant atmosphere of the resort's nightclub and dance hall.
Savannah Dupont, a five-foot-six-inch beauty with a rich cultural heritage that blended French, African, and Native American influences, sat at the end of the bar near the dance floor, brushing back the long strands of raven hair from her face. She knew how to use her special powers of persuasion. Men clustered around her, waiting for their turn to take the exotic woman out on the dance floor and hold her in their arms.
As she sat there smiling, sipping on a Georgia-style mint julep, she heard a growling sound to her left. She spun around on the bar stool to see Carlos Gutierrez sitting next to her.
Carlos's appearance was a stark contrast to the Country-Western vibe of the ballroom. Clad in the attire of a teenage hippie, complete with bell-bottom jeans, a tie-dye shirt, and a peace sign necklace, he stood out like a sore thumb amidst the sea of cowboy hats and boots. His youthful rebellion was evident in every aspect of his appearance, from the patches on his denim jacket to the beads in his hair. "Yo, diggin' your threads," Carlos said with a smirk.
Savannah's Country-Western outfit exuded effortless coolness, reminiscent of the iconic style of Porter Wagoner. She wore a fringed suede jacket that accentuated her slender frame, adorned with intricate beadwork that caught the light as she moved. Beneath the jacket, she sported a fitted denim shirt embellished with embroidered roses, adding a touch of feminine charm to the rugged ensemble. Her dark jeans hugged her curves in all the right places, paired with classic cowboy boots adorned with intricate stitching. Completing the look was a wide-brimmed hat tilted at just the right angle, adding an air of mystery to Savannah's already captivating presence.
Savannah's eyes widened in surprise as she took in Carlos's outfit, a mix of confusion and amusement flickering across her features. "Uh, hey there," she started tentatively, her voice carrying a nervous edge. "Not to be rude or anything, but aren't you a little out of place? What's with the hippie vibe?" Her tone conveyed a mixture of curiosity and apprehension, unsure of what to make of this unfamiliar stranger and his unconventional attire.
"Hey, darlin'," Carlos began, his voice carrying a hint of enthusiasm. "I know it looks weird, but hear me out. I'm dressed like the ghosts who hang around here. They showed me a different path, you know? A better way to see things," he explained, his words laced with a mix of earnestness and conviction, despite the peculiarity of his explanation.
At Carlos's response, Savannah's demeanor shifted, amusement fading into a more serious expression. Memories stirred within her, tales of the building's dark past flooding her thoughts. "Ghosts? Who are they? How often do you see them?" she inquired, her voice now tinged with concern. "And do they all talk like you?" she added, her curiosity mixed with a touch of apprehension.
"Yeah, I see them all the time," Carlos replied casually, a nonchalant shrug accompanying his words. "I work for Buck, live upstairs in the apartment," he explained, gesturing vaguely towards the ceiling. Then, with a mischievous grin, he extended his hand towards Savannah. "Wanna dance? Not to this square C & W stuff," he remarked, a playful glint in his eye. "We could groove to some real cool bands, like Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd, or The Rolling Stones," he suggested, his tone brimming with excitement.
"Excuse me? You expect me to dance to the Devil's music?" Savannah exclaimed, her voice tinged with outrage. "Where I come from, that's not the kind of suggestion you throw around lightly," she retorted, her tone firm and indignant.
"Hey, baby," Carlos slurred, his tone dripping with sleaze. "If rock ain't your jam, I got something that'll blow your mind. How 'bout a little trip with some primo LSD? Or maybe a toke of that sweet Mary Jane? Trust me, it'll take you to places you never even knew existed. And when it comes to getting down, there ain't nothin' better than a little coke to get the party started, if you know what I mean."
Savannah's voice quivered as she spoke, her eyes widening with shock and disbelief. "Did I hear you right?" She cried out to the patrons, her voice rising in indignation. "Is there a lawyer in this place?" She turned sharply to Carlos, her expression fierce with anger. "You so much as think about coming near me again, and I'll slap you with a sexual harassment suit so fast it'll make your head spin! And as for that shrink who let you out, I'm coming for him too!"
"Hey, bitch!" Carlos growled, his voice dripping with menace. "You don't know who you're messin' with. I got powers, real ones. I can put a hex on you so strong, you'll be wishin' you never crossed me. Ain't nobody gonna save you from the trouble you'll be in if you keep pushin' me. So watch your step, or you'll be beggin' for mercy before you know it."
"Get outta my face, you creep!" Savannah snapped, her voice sharp with anger. "I don't believe in your bogus powers. You're just a lowlife who's been readin' too many Stephen King novels. So take your threats and get the hell outta here before I call a cop!"
"Fine, you asked for it!" Carlos retorted, his voice taking on an eerie quality. "You don't believe in spells? Well, get ready 'cause you're about to experience one firsthand!"
Carlos's body convulsed in strange, unnatural movements, his eyes glowing a deep, menacing red. With a voice that seemed to echo from the depths of Hell itself, he invoked the many names of Satan, chanting sinister Latin words with an air of solemnity. "Per potentiam Luciferi, Beelzebub, et Mephistopheles," he intones, "invoco vires tenebrarum ad faciendum meae iussionem. Infer et dolore hunc incredulum, ut sciat iram regnorum inferni!"
Carlos sneered, his voice dripping with menace. "You'll be on your knees, beggin' me and my ghost pals for forgiveness. And ol' Beelzebub himself might have a bone to pick with ya for dissin' his tunes, sweetheart."
"Listen here, you creep," Savannah snaps, her tone laced with anger. "I've got a can of mace in my purse, and let me tell you what it does to punks like you."
"Dig this, bitch...."
Just then, a burly man in his forties, clad in typical Country and Western attire, approached Carlos and Savannah with a concerned look. Flashing his badge, which bore the emblem of the Harris County Sheriff's Department, he addressed them. "Hey folks, everything alright here?" His voice was deep and authoritative, but not unfriendly. "I'm off-duty, just here to two-step like the rest of y'all." After a momentary pause, he added, "Glad to see no trouble, let's keep it that way."
Savannah climbed off the stool and gulped down the rest of her drink, heading for the front door. She was going to find another honky-tonk. "Ghosts!" She laughed as she disappeared from the crowd.
"You'll be back!" Carlos whispered, gritting his teeth. "You'll be back to apologize, dig?"
She walked outside to the parking lot and climbed into her gold Chevy Nova, then looked back at the building. It almost seemed like it was watching her. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but she felt an uneasiness gnawing at her now. Dismissing the thought, she finally convinced herself that she was just allowing her imagination to get the best of her because of that conversation she had just had with that whacko.
She didn't believe a word Carlos had said, but she knew he was right. She'd be back, but not to apologize to him and his ghost friends. She loved country music and had collected hundreds of old records by country singers. That wasn't the only reason she'd return here. She wanted a steady boyfriend and this place had more meat than Texas itself. The men outnumbered the women three to one.
Shaking her head in disgust, she couldn't believe she'd let Carlos upset her enough to make her leave. "What the fuck," she laughed. "I'll come back early tomorrow night."
She started her car and turned left out of the parking lot, heading north on Route 59 toward home.
