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After interviewing many customers and employees of the resort, this author took it upon himself to talk to the band members. It was learned that they, too, had experienced strange things while inside this establishment.
Jerry Jones was born and raised in Harris County, Texas, where he grew up immersed in the rich musical traditions of the Lone Star State. He's a tall, lean man with weathered features that speak of a life spent under the Texas sun. Despite his rugged appearance, Jerry has a gentle demeanor, shaped by his devout Christian upbringing. He attended a local high school in the Houston area, where religion played a significant role in his education and personal beliefs. While he's found success playing music in honky-tonks and resorts, Jerry remains devout in his faith, often invoking religious themes in his songs. Although he rejects the notion of ghosts, his religious convictions lead him to believe firmly in the existence of demons, which he sees as malevolent entities seeking to inhabit earthly bodies.
Brian S. Eifler is a Texas sound engineer with a passion for music that runs deep in his veins. Born and raised in the heart of Dallas, he embodies the spirit of the Lone Star State with his easy smile and laid-back demeanor. With a shock of sandy blonde hair and piercing blue eyes that seem to twinkle with mischief, Brian cuts a charismatic figure wherever he goes. His personality is a blend of optimism and determination, fueled by his unwavering love for music and the art of sound engineering. Brian graduated from a renowned high school in Dallas, where he honed his skills and developed a keen ear for audio excellence. Married to his high school sweetheart, Brian shares his life with a supportive partner who understands his passion for music. He's the eldest of three siblings, each sharing his love for the arts in their unique way. Widely regarded as one of the best sound engineers in the business, Brian's talent and expertise have taken him from town to town, working with top artists and venues across Texas and beyond. Despite his success, Brian remains humble and grounded, living a modest life dedicated to his craft and the music he loves.
Johnny Manziel, standing at 6 feet tall with a sturdy build and tousled brown hair, is a Texas musician known for his electrifying performances and infectious charisma. Residing in the bustling suburb of Katy, just a stone's throw away from the honky-tonk resort, Johnny and his wife enjoy the comforts of suburban life while staying close to the vibrant music scene. Personally, Johnny is a jovial and outgoing individual, always ready with a smile and a joke to brighten the room. Highly respected by all his friends and acquaintances, he's known for his loyalty and genuine kindness, traits that have endeared him to fans and fellow musicians alike. Whether he's strumming his guitar on stage or sharing stories with friends over a cold beer, Johnny Manziel embodies the spirit of Texas music with his passion and authenticity.
Christian Wood, standing at 5 feet 10 inches tall with a lean build, sports sandy blonde hair and a clean-cut appearance. Living with his mother in the peaceful town of Cypress, Texas, a moderate distance from the honky-tonk resort, Christian finds solace in the quiet suburban life. As an only child, he shares a close bond with his mother, who instilled in him strong Christian values from a young age. Despite his devout religious upbringing, Christian has found himself drawn to the world of music, where he showcases his talent as a Texas musician. While some might see it as ironic that he performs in a country nightclub, Christian sees it as an opportunity to share his faith and connect with others through his music. He graduated from Cypress Ranch High School, where he took his religious studies seriously, intertwining his passion for music with his deep spiritual beliefs.
These are their stories.178Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡWkD1DQ0h7s
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Later that evening, around six, lead guitar player Jerry Jones slipped his key into the double doors of the ballroom and entered it. Buck had given Jerry an extra key to the ballroom as he used it to give lessons to a few selected students.
Jerry was good-looking, very loyal, and trustworthy. He was the kind of person that one would instantly take a liking to. He had a special gift when it came to singing and playing guitar. It only took time for him to hear a song, and he could play that tune without making any mistakes.
He liked country and rock and roll music, but he especially loved the blues. The guests at Buck Cassidy's, and everyone who had heard the man play the guitar, constantly told him he was the absolute best. Jerry, however, was the shy sort. He only considered himself good.
He left the doors unlocked so that his students could come inside. He walked into the main ballroom wearing a red sports shirt, designer jeans, and his $300, gray snakeskin boots.
He ambled past the bar and made his way to the stage where he picked up Buck's acoustic guitar from its stand. He walked over to a nearby table on the dance floor, sat down in one of the wooden chairs, and began tuning the Ovation guitar, getting ready for his first student to arrive.
As he twisted the keys on each string, a radio came on from behind the bar, blaring out some tune.
Carlos must've brought his clock radio down here, Jerry thought as he lay the guitar on the table. He stood and headed for the bar to turn the thing off, but just as he reached the bar the music suddenly stopped.
I better find that radio and unplug it anyway, he thought. He didn't want it coming back on while he was in the middle of giving a lesson. He was loyal to his students and wanted to give them every minute they had paid for. The lessons were only 30 minutes long and that didn't give him a whole lot of time to go through the sessions, making sure his students practiced what he had taught them the week before.
He searched the top of the bar, looking for the radio, but couldn't find it. He crawled over the counter at the end of the bar and looked everywhere for it, but there was no radio to be found.
"Hold yer horses now, partner!" he said aloud to the empty, stale air, "I ain't plumb loco. I heard a dadgum radio blarin' like there's no tomorrow!" Frustrated, he moved out from behind the bar just as his first student, Larry Bird, came walking through the double doors, carrying his black guitar case in his right hand.
Larry was wearing faded Wrangler jeans and a western-style blue long-sleeved shirt. he had a black Stetson cocked back on top of his short brown hair. He had deep brown eyes, weighed about one-hundred-fifty-five pounds, and stood five-foot seven-inches tall.
"Hey, Jerry!" Larry said with a big grin on his face. "I'm here."
"Who's ridin' shotgun with ya?" He remarked aloud, his thoughts escaping his lips. He quickly said a silent prayer as Larry gave him a puzzled look.
"Whaddya mean? I'm all by myself."
"Forget about it," Jerry patted the young cowboy on the left shoulder. "Let's hunker down and git to work on your lesson."
The men walked side-by-side back to the ballroom and sat at the table where Jerry had laid the guitar. Jerry picked up the instrument, breathed a deep sigh, scanned the ballroom with his eyes, and then began going over some guitar chords that he had taught Larry the week before.
Nothing else out of the ordinary occurred while Jerry gave the lessons, but still, deep down in his gut, the guitar teacher knew he had just had a run-in with some disembodied, demonic force. If that wasn't bad enough, he had to stay here tonight as the band members had all agreed to meet later that evening to practice some new country songs. The ballroom was closed on Thursday nights, and the men used this free time practicing and learning new tunes that were on the country charts.
The guys in the band began arriving around 9:00. Jerry was sure glad to see them. The men tuned their instruments and then knuckled down to some serious practice. After about an hour of hard work, they took a break and headed for the bar. Since all of the booze was kept under lock and key, they each grabbed a clean glass off the silver tray near the popcorn machine and headed for the soft drink dispenser. After they finished downing their drinks, the men walked over to the soundboard where Brian S. Eifler sat at the controls all alone. Since Al Scott had given up his job at the resort, Brian had agreed to help Buck out by manning the soundboard for two weeks until Buck could find a suitable replacement.
As the men sat around the soundboard laughing and telling jokes, Jerry Jones decided to find out if any of the other band members had ever experienced anything strange inside the resort.
He looked over at Johnny Manziel, the brown-haired bass guitar player.
"Hey Johnny, ya reckon ya believe in them there ghosts?" He simply blurted out the question, causing everyone to come to a dead silence.
Christian Wood, the fair-haired steel guitar player, broke out in a low snicker after the question sunk in.
"I ain't just joshin' ya," Jones insisted. "I swear on my guitar, y'all know I ain't one to spin yarns. When I was here all by my lonesome tonight, there was this radio kickin' up a fuss near the middle of the bar. Soon as I made for it, the tunes just cut out. Searched high and low, left and right, but there weren't no radio in sight."
"Maybe you oughta catch some more Z's, buddy," Wood laughed again as a grin passed over his face. "Especially if you're startin' to hear things that ain't even there."
"Nah, I ain't jokin' around," Jones pressed on. "I swear on my guitar, man, I'm tellin' it like it is."
Jones had directed the question to Christian Wood because of the man's stability, and besides, Wood had been here at the resort longer than anyone else in the band.
After Manziel finished laughing, Wood answered Jones's question with one of his own. "Do you reckon this joint's haunted? Carlos mentioned somethin' 'bout it a while back."
"I ain't sure," Jones shook his head, "but y'all know me, I ain't one to spin tall tales."
Brian S. Eifler sat at the soundboard staring at Jones for a couple of seconds and then gave a big grin. "I've experienced something strange," he said.
"Huh?" Jones asked with a fast breath. "What went down with you?"
Eifler looked at Jones then at Manziel and Wood.
"So, here's the scoop. I swung by earlier today to run some checks on the mic levels. But get this, while I'm doing my thing, I start hearing these eerie groans and moans coming through the monitors. I look around, thinking someone's messing with me, but nope, nobody's there. Then I catch these whispers coming through the mics, clear as day. Freaked me out, man. I was the only soul in here, except for Carlos, but his ride was gone. Buck handed me a spare key to test the gear, so it's not like I was crashing the joint. You might not know me that well yet, but trust me, something ain't right here."
Brian's statement sent a chill up Jones's spine, and it caused Manziel's grin to quickly disappear.
Manziel sat there staring at the other men with a serious look. After hearing Brian S. Eifler's story, and knowing Jones as he did, the blue-eyed Manziel figured there had to be something to all of this. He and Jones had become personal friends and spent a lot of time running around together.
"Hold up, hold up," Manziel fired the words at Jones. "Hey, you recall last Friday, right? When we took a breather and stepped off the stage? We all gathered 'round the soundboard back here. You catchin' my drift?"
"You betcha!" Jones grinned, nodding his head at the same time.
"What?" Wood asked with wide-eyed anticipation.
"We were all just chillin' back here when outta nowhere, we hear someone messin' with the guitar strings. We all looked up, but there ain't nobody on stage. Sounds like you had the same kinda thing goin' on, Brian."
"Pretty close," Eifler replied, "but I heard voices comin' through the monitor. Someone was whispering somethin' to me, then those moans and groans kicked in. Real freaky, man. That's the gist of it."
"Maybe this joint's haunted, you know?" Manziel replied as he gazed around the room. "Hey, what if we crash here for the night and try to lure out them ghosts? Who knows, maybe they'll decide to make an appearance for us."
"Not me, man!" Wood laughed. "I ain't buying into that ghost crap! But even if there's something funky going on here, I say we leave it be. I'm itching to spill the beans to Buck. He'll get a kick out of hearing you guys go on about ghosts!"
"If we're wrapping up, I'm fixin' to hit the road," Jones exclaimed. "I'm plum tuckered out, y'all. Time to call it a day."
"Works for me, man," Manziel replied.
The men strolled up to the stage and packed their guitars while Brian S. Eifler flipped off the switches on the soundboard.
Everyone left the building except Christian Wood. He decided to change the strings on his guitar before heading home. Just like Buck, he wasn't buying any ghost stories about the resort, but, being the kind of man that he was, he waited until everyone was gone before making fun of them.
"Ghosts? Pfft!" He laughed aloud as he sat on the edge of the stage and began taking off the top string of his instrument. "Boo!" He burst out in laughter, his mocking sounds echoing off the walls all around him. "Hey, Carlos! I don't know how you did it, but you spooked those guys!" Christian called out with merriment in his breath.
As his words trailed off, the P.A. system on the stage to his right started hissing and popping, filling the air with acrid smoke. Before he could even set down his guitar, the entire black cabinet erupted into smoke. Christian rushed over and yanked the plug from the P.A., but the damage was already done. The power supply had shorted out, causing wires and transistors to melt inside the unit. Instead of the usual hisses and pops, the P.A. emitted adolescent voices screaming obscenities and filthy innuendos.
"How in the hell did that even happen?" he wondered aloud to nobody in particular.
He shook his head, walked over to the edge of the stage, and picked up his guitar to complete his task, but when he did, he suddenly felt something icy cold blowing on the back of his neck.
"What the HELL!?" He shrieked as he quickly wheeled around, holding the guitar by the neck and raising it over his head as a weapon. He scanned the room only to find that he was the only living thing inside the huge chamber.
He was sure someone had just blown on the back of his neck, but who? The conversation that he had with Jerry Jones and Brian S. Eifler, about the ghosts being inside the resort, suddenly slithered its way back into his mind, and now he wondered if there might be something to Jones's story after all.
"I'm done with this mess," he grumbled to himself. "I'm outta here before I start seeing things that ain't there."178Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡqYmk4YYkIx
The man quickly placed his guitar in its tan case and then snapped the locks shut. He headed for the front door with the guitar in his left hand, his right fist hanging to his side clenched tightly just in case. After stepping outside the building, Christian locked the front door and headed across the parking lot to his car. He climbed inside, started the engine, and drove north on the 610 Loop. "No sweat," he told himself as he headed home. 178Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡwAwXLO89FZ
