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During my investigation and lengthy interviews, I found out that it wasn't just employees and customers who had strange experiences at the resort. The demonic forces had even played havoc with HPD officers when they found reason to be at the property. This chapter deals with what some of those officers experienced.172Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡgmVBcwbWfw
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Houston Police Officer Karl Atkins was a seasoned law enforcement professional with a wealth of experience under his belt. Atkins studied Law Enforcement at the University of Houston, where he earned his degree before moving on to the Police Academy. Graduating in the early 1980s, Atkins received his diploma and swiftly began his career with the Houston Police Department (HPD). Throughout his tenure, Atkins pursued various additional courses related to policing at the University of Houston, earning multiple degrees that bolstered his expertise in different areas of law enforcement. With a solid educational background and years of practical experience, Atkins became a respected figure within HPD. Having served with the department for nearly a decade, Atkins had encountered a wide array of situations during his career. While he was accustomed to dealing with the unexpected and the unpredictable nature of police work, there were still moments that managed to surprise him.
Officer Atkins was patrolling along Lone Star Grove, keeping a watchful eye on the quiet streets of the neighborhood. As he rounded a corner, his attention was drawn to a peculiar sight up ahead. It was late at night, the darkness punctuated only by the occasional street lamp casting long shadows across the road. What caught his eye was a faint, glowing light hovering just beyond the entrance to the Lone Star Honky-Tonk. At first, he thought it might have been a trick of the light or perhaps a malfunctioning streetlamp. But as he drew closer, he realized it was something else entirely.
As he approached the resort, Atkins slowed his patrol car to a stop, putting on his blinkers to signal his presence. He radioed headquarters to inform them of his intention to investigate the strange occurrence. It wasn't uncommon for Officer Atkins to respond to reports of suspicious activity or potential disturbances, and he approached his duty with a mix of caution and curiosity.
But it wasn't just the glowing light that caught Atkins' attention. Alongside the mysterious illumination, he thought he caught sight of a figure moving near the resort's entrance. It looked like a young girl, perhaps out past the posted teen curfew. Concerned for her safety and wanting to ensure everything was in order, Atkins decided to step out of his patrol car and approach the resort on foot, doing so with a sense of purpose as he stepped up to the Honky-Tonk's ornate glass doors. The faint glow that had caught his attention still lingered in the air, casting an eerie ambiance around the entrance. As he reached the doors, he pushed them open with a firm hand and entered the lobby.
Making his way to the concierge desk, Atkins greeted the attendant with a nod of acknowledgment. "Evening," he said, his voice steady and authoritative. "Sorry to bother you, but I noticed something unusual outside. Did any of the guests mention seeing anything strange around here?"
The concierge, taken aback by the unexpected visit from law enforcement, shook his head nervously. "No, Officer, everything's been quiet tonight," he replied, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "What did you see?"
Atkins's eyes scanned the area as he recounted what he had seen along Lone Star Grove. "I was driving by, you see, and I swear I saw this figure, like a girl, out past curfew. Thought it might be some kid trying to pull a prank or something," he explained, his tone firm but tinged with uncertainty.
The concierge, a middle-aged man with a look of bewilderment, shook his head. "I'm sorry, Officer, I didn't see anything like that. We have strict curfew rules here, and guests are well aware of them," he replied, his voice earnest.
However, a nearby guest piped up, catching Atkins's attention: "Yeah, I saw her too, Officer. She was like something out of a time warp, all groovy threads and whatnot. Kept lurking around like she was up to something," the guest recalled, nodding emphatically. Another guest, a woman sitting nearby, added her observation: "I smelled it too, Officer. That girl reeked of pot! Probably looking for some cash to fund her habit. Can't trust anyone these days," she chimed in, her voice tinged with concern.
Atkins turned to the woman who mentioned the girl's presence in the resort. "Did you see where she went?" he inquired, his tone urgent as he leaned in slightly.
The woman nodded, her expression thoughtful. "Yeah, she went into the ballroom, but that place is closed up tight for the night. I don't see how she could have gotten in there," she replied, her voice tinged with uncertainty as she glanced around nervously.
Atkins straightened the black gun on his belt with a practiced hand, his expression firm as he addressed the gathered guests. "Listen up, folks. I need everyone to steer clear of the ballroom for now, even when it's open. It might not be safe in there," he announced, his voice authoritative yet tinged with concern.
With a swift motion, he reached for his walkie-talkie, feeling the weight of responsibility settle heavily on his shoulders. "Dispatch, this is Atkins. I'm at the Lone Star Honky-Tonk. I need backup immediately. There's a potential security breach in the ballroom. Over," he spoke into the device, his tone urgent as he awaited a response.
Dispatch swiftly responded to Atkins' request, acknowledging the urgency of the situation. Within minutes, another officer arrived in front of the resort, his headlights dimmed to avoid drawing unnecessary attention. The blond-haired, blue-eyed man stepped into the lobby, where he met Atkins to discuss the potential break-in. He wasted no time briefing his fellow officer on the situation. "Be careful in there, partner," he cautioned, his tone serious as he relayed the details. "We're dealing with a young girl, dressed like she just stepped out of a '60s magazine, and she smells like pot. She might be high on something, so watch yourself. She could be dangerous."
"Officers, a man is living in an apartment upstairs on the 3rd floor," the concierge began, his voice tense with concern. "His name's Carlos Gutierrez, one of our hired helpers around here. If he shows up, I urge you not to fire your weapons. Here's a current photograph for recognition purposes." As he spoke, the concierge handed Atkins the keys to the ballroom, his hand trembling slightly with apprehension. He hoped the officers could resolve the situation without resorting to violence.
Entering the dimly lit ballroom through the swinging doors, careful not to make any noise, the men headed toward the old kitchen. Meanwhile, the other officer made his way to the Arcade. Just as Atkins reached the kitchen door, he heard two voices—a boy and a girl, teenagers, evidently—arguing. Motioning to the other cop, who was coming around the end of the bar toward him, Atkins prepared to intervene.
"What do you think?" Atkins asked the other cop, his voice low and cautious as they approached the kitchen door.
"You did the right thing calling for backup," the other cop remarked to Atkins, his tone serious as they stood by the kitchen door. "Looks like she's not working alone. They might be after the sound engineering equipment and musical instruments; those things fetch big bucks on the black market."
"It's high time the long arm of the law reached out and made those two regret crossing our path," Atkins declared, his voice brimming with determination as he exchanged a steely-eyed glance with the other cop by his side.
The voices were coming from behind the stage and music began playing from the same area. The men looked at each other with a puzzled look and then continued on until they reached the stage. Officer Atkins drew his .357 Magnum out of his holster and pointed it at the arched doorway on the right of the stage. The other policeman covered the left doorway.
"Who's there?" Atkins demanded, his voice echoing through the suddenly silent ballroom. The music abruptly ceased, and the boy and girl stopped their argument in an instant. The only sound that filled the air was a heart-wrenching, deafening silence, leaving Atkins with a sense of foreboding in the pit of his stomach.
"I'm Officer Atkins, Houston Police Department!" he declared firmly, his voice cutting through the eerie silence. "Come out with your hands on top of your heads, and don't give me any trouble!"
No response.
The officers waited for several long seconds, but nobody showed up.
"Come on," Atkins said to the other cop.
The two men climbed up onto the stage and directed their flashlights through both of the arched doorways. With their guns pointed in front of them, the officers stepped through opposite portals, moving backstage. It didn't take long for the men to meet in the middle of the room. They were unable to find anyone in the area. They looked up at the trap door leading to the attic. It was padlocked.
"Nobody went up there," Atkins whispered with a puzzled look.
"Hey, Karl, take a look at this," the other officer called out, directing Atkins's attention to what appeared to be some kind of hatchway inconspicuously placed among the unused musical instruments. They exchanged puzzled glances, wondering what could be hidden beneath it.
"Yeah, I've heard about the tunnels that supposedly run beneath this place," Atkins remarked, "but there's no evidence anyone tried to lift this hatch." He pointed to the heavy hardwood it was made of, indicating that it would require some serious effort to move.
The men looked at each other as if they had both lost their minds.
"You did hear the voices and music, didn't you?" Atkins had to ask.
"Yup. But nobody's here!"
Nothing like this had ever happened to either of them before. They had indeed heard the voices and the music, but it became apparent that it was not from some living human being.
The other officer leaned in, his curiosity piqued. "You from around these parts, Karl? Pepper, I mean?"
Atkins nodded grimly. "Yeah, I'm from Pepper. Heard all the stories, all the legends. Never thought much of them till now." He glanced around the dimly lit ballroom, a sense of unease settling over him. "Let's finish sweeping the place and get out of here."
They walked out onto the stage and methodically checked each room for an intruder. They made their way upstairs and checked Carlos's apartment, but he wasn't there.
Atkins shook his head in disbelief as both men walked back downstairs making their way, once more, into the ballroom.
As they reached the middle of the bar, the swinging doors they had entered through earlier slammed shut by themselves with a loud bang.
"Son of a bitch!" Atkins shrieked. "Come on!"
Both men scurried across the room and, in mere seconds, pushed open the doors. They figured they would see a burglar, two burglars, maybe, racing across the lobby, trying to escape before they found them, but to both men's surprise, there was no one there but the concierge.
The concierge observed the tension etched on both officers' faces, their guns at the ready. "Whoa there, gentlemen," he interjected calmly, raising his hands in a placating gesture. "No need for firearms in the lobby. It's just you two and me here right now."
The other officer's frustration was palpable. "That can't be right," he retorted sharply. "We both heard two people in there, a boy and a girl. There's no way they could vanish into thin air like that."
The concierge's admission came hesitantly, tinged with a hint of fear. "I... I don't know what to say," he confessed. "I've been seeing strange things myself. The ballroom doors... they've been opening and closing on their own, but there's been nobody there."
Atkins sighed heavily, defeated. "We're not going to find anything," he muttered, resignation evident in his voice. "And even if we did, who'd believe us? They'd think we're crazy." With a solemn nod, he turned to the other officer. "We keep this to ourselves," he stated firmly. "No one needs to know what happened here tonight. Agreed?"
Atkins's partner nodded in solemn agreement. "You got it, Karl," he replied, his voice low and serious. "Our badges are on the line here. I won't breathe a word of this to anyone."
Atkins leaned in closer to his partner, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm not saying this is gospel, but I think we just had ourselves a run-in with a ghost," he muttered, his tone tinged with disbelief. "We better call the owners and have them come down here for a little chat. They need to know what's going on in their place."
"Sounds good to me," the cop almost laughed.
They asked the concierge for a telephone. He gave them one and Atkins looked at the emergency night phone number that was listed on its side and quickly dialed Buck Cassidy's house.
Wilma, still half asleep, answered the phone on the fifth ring. "Hello?"
"Hi, ma'am. This is Officer Atkins from the Houston Police Department," he began, his tone professional. "I'm calling to inform you that there seems to have been an attempted burglary at your resort. My partner and I conducted a thorough search of the ballroom, but we couldn't find anyone. It looks like nothing was taken, so everything seems to be okay."
Wilma let out a relieved sigh. "Thank you for letting us know, Officer Atkins. I appreciate your quick response."
Atkins hesitated for a moment before responding, a knot forming in his stomach. "Of course, ma'am. Just doing my job." He paused, steeling himself against the urge to mention what he had just experienced. "I'll leave it to you to inform Mr. Cassidy. If he wants us to come by again later to double-check, we'll be available."
"Understood. I'll bring it to my husband's attention, and he'll handle it from there," Wilma replied. "Thank you again for your assistance, Officer Atkins."
With a final farewell, Atkins hung up the phone, the weight of his silence heavy on his mind. He couldn't bring himself to admit what he had just encountered, not even to himself. As he tucked the gun back into its holster, he couldn't shake the feeling that something unsettling lingered beneath the surface of Lone Star Honky-Tonk.
He had no way of knowing that Wilma was lying. She was not about to tell Buck about it, no way in hell! As far as she was concerned it was one of the demons trying to lure her, or Buck, back there. She didn't care if some thief carried everything out of the ballroom. She hoped they would. It would have tickled her pink to see Buck have to shut down the business. She didn't care if she ever saw that place again.
Atkins hung up the phone and told the other cop what Wilma had said. They walked back to take a look at the ballroom doors to check them for any sign of damage. And that's when they noticed the thick, dark mold oozing over the doorknobs and encrusting the glass windows. The mold had an obscene appearance, its tendrils writhing like grotesque fingers, reaching out as if to grasp anything that dared touch it.
Atkins, his voice laced with urgency and suspicion, called the concierge over, demanding an immediate explanation for the grotesque fungus that had overtaken the doorknobs. "What in the hell is this stuff?" he demanded, his tone betraying a mixture of disbelief and concern. "I need to know what we're dealing with here."
The concierge approached, casting a wary glance at the strange substance before addressing the officers. "Ah, yes," he began with a knowing nod, "we've encountered this peculiar nuisance before. Back before Mr. Cassidy's renovations, it was quite a headache." He waved a dismissive hand at the goo as if it were an old acquaintance best left undisturbed. "Believe me, gentlemen, we've tried everything. The Health Department, CDC—you name it. No luck identifying it." He offered a reassuring smile. "Best to just let our staff handle it. It'll be taken care of in due time."
Disgruntled and defeated, Atkins and his partner exchanged frustrated glances before wordlessly turning on their heels. With heavy steps, they made their way across the dimly lit parking lot, the faint glow of street lamps casting long shadows behind them. Silently, they climbed into their respective squad cars, the engine roars breaking the stillness of the night as they pulled away, leaving the eerie scene of Lone Star Grove behind them.
"I know I just had a run-in with the supernatural!" Atkins grumbled as he drove south on the 610 Loop.
Completing his tour of duty on the night shift, Officer Atkins sat at the desk inside the 27th Precinct waiting for Officer Jermaine Macron to relieve him.
The African-American, brown-eyed Macron pushed through the office door at 6:50 that morning.
"'Bout time you got here!" Atkins said jokingly as the five-foot-nine Macron walked over to the desk, yawning robustly. The 24-year-old Officer Macron was a stocky man. He was married with four children and lived in a one-story white clapboard house directly in front of the white wood frame police station.
"You're lucky I came in at all," Macron grinned. "I didn't get much sleep last night."
"I need to talk to you about something," Atkins stated as Macron sat down in a metal chair near the desk.
"What?"
"Ghosts."
"What in the world would make you want to know about that?" Macron responded.
Atkins sighed and then began telling Officer Macron of his experiences inside Buck Cassidy's resort. Once Atkins had completed his story, Macron shook his head and grinned sheepishly. Besides going through the Police Academy and a homicide training school, Officer Macron had just recently completed in-service training on satanic worship. He was taught what to look for and how to deal with such matters. Macron had been raised a Catholic but had converted to Baptist.
"I'm not surprised at all that something happened to you in that place. Don't worry, nobody'll throw you off the force for admitting it. HPD has a history of weird encounters there, going back to when the high school finally closed in '78. Several police chiefs have refused to step inside the building, never really explaining why."
"Now you've got me hooked. Tell me more. Does it have anything to do with why the school district closed Lone Star High School?"
Macron sighed deeply, feeling dejected by the memories that Atkins's question stirred up. "HISD was as mysterious and vague as ever about it," he began. "But let me tell you, that place was a hellhole: murder, drugs, you name it. There were even rumors of a counterfeiting operation operating out of the high school. Secret Service told us to let them handle it, but if there were any arrests made, I'm not aware of them."
As Atkins delved deeper into the mysteries surrounding Lone Star High School, a troubling realization dawned upon him. "It's strange," he mused, "I've never met anyone from the alumni, former teachers, or even locals who remember anything about that place." Despite his efforts, there seemed to be a collective amnesia surrounding the school. It was as if it had been erased from Pepper's memory altogether. This absence left Atkins wondering why HPD hadn't contacted these individuals for assistance in unraveling the peculiar occurrences at the site. "Their insights might be crucial," he thought, "to understanding the enigmatic history of the abandoned school."
Macron's voice took on a somber tone as he delved into the unsettling truths surrounding Lone Star High School. "The truth is, Karl," he began, his words carrying a weight of eerie finality, "it's not just Pepper that's forgotten about those students. It's as if the entire city of Houston has amnesia when it comes to them." His explanation was shrouded in a veil of chilling uncertainty as he detailed the myriad reasons why reaching out to former students or teachers was a futile endeavor. "Some folks swear they never existed," he continued, his voice laced with a hint of fear, "and those birth records? They've vanished into thin air as if they were never there to begin with." Macron's revelations sent a shiver down Atkins' spine as he grappled with the implications of such pervasive and inexplicable forgetfulness.
Atkins, his curiosity piqued by the unsettling discussion, shifted gears and inquired about the most bizarre encounter ever reported by HPD officers at the Lone Star Lane site. "Alright, Jermaine," he began, his tone laced with a mix of intrigue and apprehension, "what's the weirdest thing you've ever seen or heard of happening out there?" His question hung in the air, punctuated by a palpable sense of anticipation as he awaited Macron's response.
"Let me tell you about this one time," Jermaine began, leaning forward as if to impart a long-kept secret. "It was way back in '79, a couple of years after Lone Star High School shut down. Wilson and Johnson were on patrol that night, responding to a call about some strange creature sighted near the abandoned building. They were armed, of course, but nothing could prepare them for what they found inside. The textbooks were open like the students had just left, uneaten lunches sat in the cafeteria as if waiting for their owners to return, and the chalkboards still bore the marks of the last lessons taught. But the strangest part? The swimming pool. It was filled with toys, all kinds of them, like some eerie playground in the dark.
"As Wilson and Johnson ventured further into the building," Jermaine continued, his voice dropping to a whisper, "they heard strange noises, like whispers in the dark, echoing off the walls. But the real terror came when they reached The Pit. Even now, just thinking about it gives me chills. It's like something out of a horror movie, you know? And then there were those sightings, blurry figures darting around, and the sensation of hands touching them, even though there was nobody there. It's enough to make you question everything you thought you knew about the world."
"This is too strange for me," Atkins shook his head in wonder and almost wished he hadn't asked Macron about the resort. "Did they ever find anything?"
"Yeah, man, it was wild," Jermaine recounted, shaking his head in disbelief. "Wilson and Johnson didn't stick around long enough to find anything. Toilets were flushing by themselves, basketballs bouncing, and this eerie, lunatic laughter echoing through the halls. But the craziest part? When they entered the woodshop classroom, all the saws were running on their own, cutting wood like there was someone there guiding them. It freaked them out so bad they bolted. And then there was that wind, like an arctic blast, drove them straight to the ER for frostbite treatment."
"Lord!"
"Man, you haven't heard anything yet until you've heard about an incident I was involved in," Jermaine said to Atkins, his eyes wide with anticipation.
"You?!"
"Well, there was this serious traffic accident right outside the Lone Star Honky Tonk, just one night after the official opening," Jermaine began, his tone serious. "Two cars involved, one was a Ford Mustang, the other a Chevy Camaro. The victims... well, let's just say it wasn't pretty. We had a couple of ambulances and fire trucks on the scene, trying to get folks out. One lady was trapped, pinned under the steering wheel of the Mustang. It was a mess, man."
"I'll bet," Atkins commented.
"Now, here's where it gets real strange," Jermaine continued, his voice tinged with incredulity. "This Rod Serling-type guy strolls up like he's just out for an evening walk, you know? But he's got this... this thing with him. At first, I thought it was a dog, but when it got closer, man, I couldn't believe my eyes. It looked like some kind of four-legged human! And get this, it goes right up to the Mustang, uses its mouth to free the lady trapped inside, and then gives her a ride on its back to the paramedics. I kid you not, Karl. After I finished up with the report and the paramedics took off, I went back inside to find the guy and his... pet, but they were nowhere to be seen. So, I figured I'd give Buck a call, and see if he knows anything about this guy and his amazing creature."
"Yeah?"
"And you know what Buck said?" Jermaine continued, shaking his head. "He accused me of hitting the bottle on duty! Swore up and down nobody like that ever worked for him or stayed as a guest. Then he went on about his pet policy, no dogs or cats allowed. But I'm telling you, Karl, what I saw out there, it was like something straight out of the Brothers Grimm. Who says fairy tales can't come true?"
"Okay, let's just stop right here," Atkins said, shaking his head. "I'm going home."
Atkins walked out from behind his desk and left the building as Macron stood there watching him leave. Both of the officers knew that Buck Cassidy's resort was a supernatural pesthole, but they weren't going to say anything to the other cops. They would wait until the next police officer came forward telling him of their experiences, and then, and only then, would Atkins and Macron share their bizarre stories.
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