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The months passed quietly and almost a year had passed without any demonic incident. Buck opened the resort for business and Carlos moved into the upstairs office after converting it into an efficiency apartment. Wilma even got over most of her fear of the place.
The final transformation of Lone Star High School into Lone Star Honky-Tonk was nothing short of spectacular. The building now gleamed with luxury from the outside, adorned with neon lights and flashy signage that announced its new identity in bold, colorful letters. A massive, extravagant sign hung proudly over the main entrance, boasting the venue's name in shimmering lights that could be seen from blocks away. Valet parking attendants bustled about, guiding sleek cars and motorcycles into designated spots with practiced efficiency. The main entrance had been jazzed up with sparkling glass doors and a grand marquee, inviting patrons to step into a world of luxury and entertainment. As guests crossed the threshold, they were greeted by a lavish interior, complete with plush velvet curtains, glittering chandeliers, and polished hardwood floors. It was a sight to behold, a testament to the transformation of the once-scary high school into a luxurious, upscale destination for music and nightlife.
(NOTE! Despite the glamorous facade of Lone Star Honky-Tonk, there remains a darker underbelly that lurks beneath the surface. The Pit, a notorious hotspot of illicit activity, still exists, shrouded in secrecy and guarded by a veil of silence. Buck, ever tight-lipped about the reasons behind its persistence, refuses to divulge any information, leaving its presence a haunting mystery that continues to unsettle those who dare to delve into its depths.
The tunnels, with their hidden entrances and shadowy corridors, remain a source of intrigue and fear among the staff. Many have reported strange sightings and unexplained phenomena, confiding in me about their experiences in hushed tones. Some claim to have glimpsed ghostly apparitions, while others speak of eerie whispers and chilling drafts that seem to emanate from the labyrinthine passages.
Even the Plastic Room, though ostensibly cleaned up, still exudes an unsettling aura that defies explanation. Despite efforts to sanitize its surroundings, employees have reported feeling a palpable sense of unease whenever they enter the room, as if unseen eyes were watching their every move. Some have even claimed to have witnessed inexplicable phenomena, such as objects moving on their own or strange noises echoing in the space, adding to the room's eerie reputation.
As I delved deeper into the history of Lone Star High School's closure, I stumbled upon a disturbing revelation: all documents, invoices, and memorandums related to the school's demise had been mysteriously destroyed by the Houston Independent School District (HISD) on August 15, 1987. This discovery only deepened the sense of intrigue surrounding the school's closure, raising questions about what secrets may have been concealed within those missing records.
Even more perplexing is the fate of the faculty and students, both past and present. Despite efforts to track them down, many cannot be reached, and no one in nearby Pepper, Texas, has ever seen or heard from them again. I find myself embroiled in a web of uncertainty and suspicion, wondering what dark forces may have been at play to erase the existence of an entire community from the collective memory of the world's 4th largest city. Yet, this unsettling mystery will only serve to drive me further down the rabbit hole, to uncover the truth behind Lone Star High School's enigmatic past.203Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ7cYXNhxnUH
I would also like to add that once the stories started making the rounds, they caught my attention. I decided to investigate the stories and started hanging around the resort. No one was anxious at first to talk about ghosts. When I first talked to these people, almost every one of them refused to be interviewed. After I talked to Wilma Cassidy, though, many other people came forward. Soon I had thirty sworn affidavits from people who experienced supernatural events at the resort.)
Although Carlos thought he had sealed the evil in the pit and put an end to the demonic activity inside the resort, he was soon to find out that it was far from being over. The following is how Carlos remembers the activity resuming:203Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ5VOHas0fVG
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It was 3:45 in the morning. Thunder boomed as lightning cracked the sky apart. Raindrops pelted the glass panes of the three square windows as Carlos Gutierrez tossed and turned under the tan comforter. He tried to ignore the raging storm, but the volley of thunder continued rocking the building. It was as if the structure was sitting directly in the middle of a war zone. Then he heard it: the scratching inside the walls, the loud banging of the downstairs doors, horrendous footsteps climbing the stairs, heading for his apartment. The door at the top of the landing began bending in and out, breathing on its own, as if it had come to life.
Carlos threw back the comforter and jumped to his feet just as the wooden door burst open. Some force wrapped its unseen arms around him, throwing him to the floor, face up. Fiendish laughter filled the confines of the room, followed by moans and groans that rose from the first floor. A single gunshot rang out from somewhere in the main ballroom and the jukebox came to life playing one of the Dolly Parton songs at slow speed.
Invisible fingers wrapped around his throat, choking him. Carlos couldn't move. It was getting hard to breathe. Just as everything started going black, a series of lightning bolts flashed across the sky, illuminating the inside of the apartment.
He saw it, now....It was the same demonic thing he had encountered months earlier. The fiery eyes blazed with hatred and its sulfurous breath was assaulting Carlos's nostrils.203Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡiaCpJd4rMP
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"Lord!" Carlos shrieked as he jerked upright in the bed and realized that he'd just had a horrible nightmare. The demon choking him, and the hideous laughter, was nothing but a bad dream, but it had seemed all too real!
Carlos slid his feet over the side of the bed and stared quietly out the window as the rain beat against the glass. He watched the lightning rip through the sky and listened to the thunder that had made his dream all the more terrifying.
The temptation to go into the tunnels and check the sealed pit gnawed at his heart. He tried to convince himself that everything was okay. Sitting alone in the room, however, he couldn't help t thinking about what he and Wilma had endured only months ago. The terrifying memories came rushing back into his mind, and, no matter how hard he tried to dismiss the hellish nightmare that had seized him, the worse it got. One thought after the other whipped in and out of his mind so fast that he wanted to scream.
"To hell with it," he groaned with a rough, sleepy voice. He frowned, then stood up, rubbing his knuckles into his eyes. He made up his mind to go down into the tunnels and make sure the pit was still sealed up.
He flipped on the brass lamp that sat on the wooden nightstand, and then slowly surveyed the room. His bed sat against the west wall directly under a small window that looked out over the roof toward Buffalo Bayou. On the north wall, next to the closet door, sat a four-drawer oak chest where Carlos kept most of his clothes. On the south wall was an oak bar with two black stools in front of it. Behind the bar, fastened to the west wall was a stainless steel sink with two wood-grain cabinets over it. The east wall was bare, except for the three windows that looked down on the road. They were windows that had seen and reflected the secrets of this giant building.
Carlos crossed the room, wearing only a pair of white jockey shorts, and grabbed his faded jeans off the chest. He slipped into the pants, then opened the top drawer of the chest and pulled out a black T-shirt, putting it on as he moved to the doorway that led downstairs to the main office.
He twisted the brass knob and then stepped out onto the top landing where he stood motionless, staring down at the stairs. He sighed and tried to convince himself that it was just a bad dream.....nothing to worry about, but he still had to be sure.
Swallowing the growing fear of what he might encounter, he descended the stairway. He opened the wooden door to his right, stepping into the Arcade. There were now two green felt regulation pool tables in the twenty-by-fifteen-foot paneled room, and various video arcade games lined most of the walls.
The room was dark. All the lights throughout the first floor were turned off. Carlos squinted hard, trying to adjust his eyes to the pitch black of the building. He walked across the black tiled floor, stepping through one of the double archways that led into the main right, then walked into the main ballroom where he felt his way along the wall until he found the circuit breakers.
He methodically flipped on all the switches until every area on the first floor came to life, the bright lights illuminating the interior of the building. As the electricity surged through the wiring, like blood flowing from veins, the video arcade games in the Arcade began ringing and clamoring, the sounds of their carnival-like melodious tones echoing throughout the building.
Carlos shuddered at the thought of going down into those tunnels. His eyes prowled the huge, oak-paneled ballroom then stared past the table-filled chamber at the two archways that sat on either side of the stage. Once more, he gritted his teeth and tried to convince himself there was nothing to worry about.
The young man moved through the sea of tables and crossed the hardwood dance floor until he reached the stage. He jumped onto the fifty-five-food-wide wooden platform and then moved backstage through the arched doorway to his left. The backstage area was cluttered with drum cases, guitar cases, and other musical instruments. He walked open to the west wall and lifted up the hatch that led down to the tunnels. What a shame Buck had never thought about wiring those tunnels for electricity too!
"I oughta just go back to bed," Carlos grunted as he shook his head. He was disgusted with himself for wanting to check the pit. It was just a bad dream. It had to be!
He groaned slightly and then climbed down the rickety old ladder, the wooden steps moaning under his feet as if announcing his approach. At the bottom of the ladder, he turned right, making a mental note of the long steel beams that stretched up from the ground to the concrete slab upon which the school was constructed. As his gaze swept over the steel girders that crisscrossed the ceiling of the tunnels, a wave of curiosity washed over him. He was seeing them for the first time, despite countless journeys through these underground passages. The sight of the sturdy girders, supporting the weight of the building above, triggered a flurry of questions in his mind. Were the tunnels constructed long before the school's building was erected above ground? And if so, what purpose had they originally been intended to serve? Why had they not been filled in or sealed off when the school was originally constructed? Was it by design, perhaps intended for the students of this institution to stumble upon them? The thought gnawed at him, but he knew he might never uncover the truth behind their enigmatic presence. Resigning himself to this unsettling uncertainty, Carlos grappled with the realization that some mysteries may remain forever beyond his grasp.
With a click, Carlos switched on his flashlight, its beam cutting through the oppressive darkness of the eerie tunnel passage. As he proceeded, he absentmindedly whistled a country tune, a feeble attempt to ward off the creeping sense of unease that threatened to engulf him. His eyes scanned the passageway ahead, searching for any signs of change. The bizarre graffiti that adorned the walls still lingered, its cryptic messages taunting him from the shadows. Boxes lined the tunnel, their contents long forgotten and untouched, a silent testament to the illicit activities that once thrived within these subterranean depths. Despite the familiarity of his surroundings, his nerves remained on edge. All was quiet, too quiet, as he approached the tunnel passage where the notorious pit to Hell lay in wait. His heart skipped a beat upon catching sight of the fantastic limestone seal, still intact and unbroken. Relief flooded through him, washing away the tendrils of fear that had threatened to ensnare him.
Satisfied that it was all just a bad dream, Carlos turned to make his way back to the ladder and out of the tunnels. But just as he began to relax, his flashlight began to flicker erratically, casting dancing shadows on the walls. A chill ran down his spine as he realized that some unseen force was toying with him, shattering his fragile sense of security in this dark and foreboding place.
From out of nowhere, a twirling, bawling, freezing wind concealed under the floor near the pit. It shot up through the opening, piercing his body like icicles, then rocketed through the air and roared through the tunnel like a tornado, swirling up dust and debris from the floor as it went.
Carlos, now frozen in shock, felt the fear coming back as he quickly realized that the undeniable horror he had lived through before had returned. Outside, the thunder bellowed and groaned as if it were a symphony announcing the conductor's arrival and then his flashlight died.
Total darkness.....
"God, Noooooooo!!!!!" He shrieked as a giant ball of fire shot up from the floor, and he saw the creature standing inside the flames. It was the same monster he'd envisioned in his dream, the same malevolent bastard that he'd sealed inside of the pit only a few months ago. It was Satan himself standing there before him, grinning a heinous smirk.
"Noooooo!" he screamed frantically again. "I whooped your ass! I sealed you in Hell!"
The monstrosity raised its left arm and pointed an elongated finger at the horror-stricken man. "Begone from this place, thou foul presence, lest ye face the wrath of Hell!" the creature growled, its multi-toned voice dark and liquid. The tunnel vibrated as the creature spoke.
Carlos wanted to run, to get out of the tunnels and as far away from the resort as possible, but his feet wouldn't move. He was as stiff as stone, unable to budge an inch. He tried to force his eyes away from the beast, but they were locked inside their sockets, staring blindly at the dancing, roaring flames that surrounded the Prince of Darkness.
As he stood motionless an invisible force closed in all around him, and he felt sure that he was about to die. Unseen fingers wrapped around his throat and neck then jerked him up into the air, his feet dangling about four feet above the tunnel floor.
He began gagging, kicking his feet wildly. He flailed his arms, but could not break free of the unseen monster's grip. Then hundreds.....no....thousands of disembodied voices, some teens, some adults began chanting throughout the room. "Off with his head! Give him to Hell! Ice him! Take him out! Bump him off! Rub him out! Send him to Hell! Take him for a ride! Off the pig!" they called out in unison to the unholy creature inside of the flames.
For some unexplainable reason, the entity violently slung Carlos to the floor, his body smashing to the ground with a dull thud. The impact knocked the wind out of the petrified man. He found it almost impossible to move, but he was so filled with fear that he somehow struggled to his feet. His eyes shot to the ladder leading back up into the resort. There was nothing between him and the hatchway.
Gasping for air, Carlos bolted for the ladder, racing for his life. It had happened! Someone or something had unsealed the pit and released the evil force from its prison. But who, he asked himself.
That wasn't important right now. He had to escape this place before he was killed. He knew Satan would take revenge on him and he had to get out of here if he wanted to remain among the living.
He raced through the tunnel as the walls began cracking and tearing. The steel girders that supported the tunnel ceiling began swaying and a river of blood began pouring from the ceiling and flowing down the walls on all sides. The basement quickly filled with the sounds of hideous laughter.
Just as he was about to scale the ladder that would take him up to the backstage floor, he came to an abrupt halt and stood motionless once again. His eyes widened in alarm as he spotted a menacing silhouette emerging from the darkness ahead. It was a 1968 Corvette, its sleek lines and polished chrome gleaming malevolently in the light coming from the open hatchway. But what made it truly menacing was the eerie aura that surrounded it, as if it wasn't just a car, but a harbinger of doom. The engine roared to life with a guttural growl.
"Where in the world did that come from?" Carlos exclaimed, his voice tinged with disbelief and apprehension.
Carlos found it difficult to swallow, his throat constricting with unease as he tried to comprehend the impossible sight before him. It defied logic and reason. A car from the 1960s shouldn't have had that brand-new showroom shine after nearly twenty years, yet here it was, gleaming with an unsettling vibrancy. Its engine emitted an overly-tuned-up sound, unnaturally crisp and aggressive, adding to the sense of foreboding. But what was even more menacing was the absence of anyone behind the steering wheel. The empty driver's seat mocked him with its silent vacancy, leaving him paralyzed with fear at the realization that the car was not of this world.
He knew he had only one chance. He had to reach the ladder before the driverless Corvette ran him down. He sprang forward, racing for the doorway on his left as the auto lunged at him, the tires squealing and leaving a smoky trail in the tunnel's stale air.
As he raced up the ladder, he saw the wooden hatch slam shut. He reached the hatch and pushed against it with all his might, but it wouldn't budge. He cursed under his breath as he shoved his head into the wooden hatch, desperately trying to force it open.
Hellish laughter rose from the tunnel passageway and filled the tunnel. He tried to ignore it. He continued slamming his head against the hatch with all his might, when suddenly it flew upward, impacting against the backstage floor with a loud crash.
Carlos leaped out of the hatchway and stared intently into the darkness of the tunnel below, but all he saw was just that, darkness.
Satisfied that nothing was lurking backstage, he turned and raced out of the room, quickly sprinting for the front door. He was getting the hell out of the building before anything else happened. After racing through the main ballroom, he ran down the long mirrored hallway and was elated when he pushed through the glass doors and found himself standing outside of the building----ALIVE!
Without hesitation, he turned to his right and headed to the blue 1979 Cutlass that sat all alone in the parking lot. He bolted through the pouring rain and climbed into his car, shoving the key into the ignition, then pulled the gear lever into the drive position and sped out of the parking lot.
Carlos drove south on Route 59, heading for St. Joseph's Catholic Church. The relentless wind shrilled through the street and the raindrops streaked the car windows like tears while the windshield wipers raked across the glass in unison. Carlos turned the auto left on Half-Moon Road and sped up the highway, the headlights piercing the eerie darkness light a pair of flaming arrows racing for a hidden target cloaked by the rain.
"Goddamit! I passed the church." He groaned, realizing that his preoccupation with his narrow escape had caused his mind to go astray. He slammed on the brakes, locking all four wheels and causing them to screech. He looked up the road, and then in his rearview mirror to make sure no other cars were in his path. Seeing it was clear, he wheeled the car around and quickly drove back to the church where he brought the car to a fishtailing halt in front of the gray-stone building.
He looked around the foyer and fixed his eyes on the white porcelain stand in the corner. It contained what he was looking for. "I'll be a no-good mother....!" Carlos started and then remembered he was standing inside a house of God. "I forgot a bottle for the Holy Water."
He quickly looked around the foyer, staring at the white walls and white tile floor, but he saw nothing that could hold the Holy Water.
Disgusted with himself, Calros moved back through the front door and bolted back to his car through the onslaught of rain. He pulled out his car keys and opened the trunk where he spied an empty 16-ounce Coke bottle that still had the lid screwed on it.
"I'm saved!" he said with a smile as he grabbed the bottle and slammed the trunk. He turned and ran back into the church, heading for the container of Holy Water, and in a matter of seconds, the bottle was filled. "Time to go!" Carlos whispered as he walked out of the church and climbed back into his car. He was ready to return to the resort and exorcise the demons back to Hell. It'd worked before....and he prayed it'd work again.
Halfway back to the resort, he felt the car trying to veer off to the right of the road as if something had taken control of it. he gripped the steering wheel with both hands and kept the Oldsmobile in its lane of traffic, squinting his eyes hard through the fog and rain staring at the yellow line that divided the highway.
Carlos tried to relax and swallow the fear that was rising in his throat. He wanted to turn the car around and drive as far as possible from the resort, but he was not going to be run off by some demon from Hell. He began feeling cold, but he told himself it was because he was wet. A sick, nauseating feeling kept growing inside him as he drew closer to the resort, but he still stayed on course. He wasn't going to give up.
Staring into the night, at the blacktop pavement, he thought of the horror that might be awaiting his arrival when suddenly he saw something inside the beam of light piercing the fog. The sight was horrifying. He jammed his right foot on the brake pedal, but the car accelerated. Just as the auto was about to slam into the beast he'd seen in the tunnel earlier that night, the headlights went out and now there was only blackness.
He slammed the brakes with both feet, over and over, but the car continued picking up speed. He looked down at the dash lights to check the speedometer, but they too were out!
The rain worsened, rat-a-tatting on the roof of the car like a thousand tiny snare drums, when suddenly, all of the car's lights sprang back to life and the Oldsmobile began slowing just as the headlights shone on the front entrance of the resort.
Carlos pressed on the brakes again and this time they worked! He wheeled the faded blue car into the parking lot, turned off the ignition, and sat motionless staring at the building without making a sound. He was exhausted, but he knew he had to go into the basement and exorcise the Devil and his army of demons back to Hell just like he'd done months earlier!
"Oh, my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended thee," Carlos whispered, saying the Catholic's Act of Contrition as he made ready to enter the building. "And I detest all of my sins because of thy just punishments. But most of all, because they offend thee my Lord, who art good and deserving of all my love. I firmly resolve with the help of thy grace to sin no more and to avoid the near occasion of sin....AMEN!"
As the words faded away into oblivion, the dense fog and rain drifted away from the resort as if God told it to do so. Everything outside went still and calm, but that was outside. Carlos knew that something inside of the building was breathing, growling, chanting magical spells, and waiting for the very moment that he stepped back into the resort!
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