"I'm taking pictures."
"Of an empty building?"
"I got a feeling."
She chuckled as he put the camera away and reached for her hand. "See, this stuff is interesting," she teased, giving him her most devilish smile.
"I didn't say that."
Lynn thought the O.T. Bassett Tower was the most fascinating building on the tour. The art-deco style architecture on all four sides was quite rare for its time. Small terra-cotta plaques decorated the outside, along with blocks covered in swirls and flowers. The plaque above the front door resembled the builder Henry C. Trost himself. The dull reflection in the windows signified yet another vacant historic building.
Lynn turned to Lee. "It's so gorgeous! I would rent an apartment here in a heartbeat."
"Oh, no, we wouldn't." Lee said, squeezing her hand.
Hector overheard her and agreed, "We're trying to bring awareness to the downtown area through these tours and get people interested in preserving the rich history and, of course, hunt ghosts. We've tried to bring the ghost tour inside more buildings, but some of the owners want to charge us $5000 to go in." The group laughed in sympathy as he added, "Ghosts don't pay that well." He went on to talk about the gunfights, prostitutes, gamblers, and violence of Old El Paso, the original Sin City.
"Does it feel cold to you?" Lee asked.
"No. The wind isn't even that bad. You're not getting sick are you?" Lynn ran her hand up his back to the nape of his neck. "You don't feel warm."
"I'm fine. What's that saying? Someone must have just walked over my grave."
"Don't say things like that," Lynn said as he bent down to kiss her forehead.
"I'm just joking." They slowed to a stop in front of a plain white building.
"We end our tour at the Franciscan Hotel," Hector said. "One of the most haunted places downtown. Inside the basement we'll investigate an evil spirit or entity. I want to warn you now, it could get scary." He nodded at a husky fellow. "It's usually the big, tough-looking guys that get scared and need to be escorted out." Nervous laughter broke out among the group. "OK, let's head in."
1885
Alfred Crouse waited for the stirring of energy around him. Crouse had chosen to summon the ultimate demon, Choronzon, from the abyss. If he pulled this off, he would claim power over most of the unseen world. He lived in a city of vice for a price, the perfect place to draw up this malevolent power. El Paso, Texas was a sinner's paradise with more gamblers, whores, thieves, and outlaws than everyday citizens. A good run at the poker table would support a life devoted to the study of the dark arts.
A tiny swirl of energy appeared in the triangles, so subtle. Crouse continued with a second incantation, "...I conjure and constrain thee.... Manifest before this circle; fulfill my will in all things that may seem good to me. Should thou disobey and refuse to come before me, behold: I will curse and deceive thee of thy office, joy and station. I will bind thee in the depths of the bottomless pit...."
The energy whooshed up into a full-fledged dust devil that knocked Crouse off-balance for a split second. He failed to notice the nick in the outer circle caused by a kicked stray stone. A tiny offshoot of the swirling mass towering above him, found the opening, and shot out of the enclosure.
A full skeletal figure and horse materialized from the middle of the dust devil. Patches of skull gleamed through an iron helmet decorated with two large horns. A skin cape, horns sticking up at the shoulders and neck, billowed out then draped down to cover the horse and almost swept the ground.
"Choronzon," Crouse whispered.
Energy pressed against Crouse's head. Choronzon was speaking to him. The sounds were soft and comforting one moment, then a thunderous scream the next. Crouse swayed on his feet as he fought not to be sick. No discernible words issued from the lipless mouth. He decided to go on with the incantation: "Welcome, Choronzon. Welcome art thou unto me; I have called thee and thou hast obeyed. I bind thee to remain affably and visibly before this circle, within these triangles, so long as I need thee, to depart not without my license, till thou hast truly and faithfully fulfilled all that I shall require."
The soft whispering and shrill screams continued as Crouse detailed his plan to the demon. He took the change in energy and pressure in his head as confirmation of their pact. The ceremony was finished by closing the circle: "O Choronzon, because thou has diligently answered my demands, I do hereby license thee to depart. Depart, I say, and be thou willing and ready to come, whensoever duly exorcised by the sacred rites of magic." His ears popped and he staggered as the dust devil sucked back into itself. The basement returned to normal as he kicked at the dirt floor until all the drawings disappeared.
Crouse removed his robe and wrapped up the wand and knife before stowing it away in his satchel. When he exited the front doors of the Franciscan Hotel, he blended in with the crowd passing by. He never noticed the filmy, smoky air hovering in the corner of the basement.
Present
The interior of the Franciscan Hotel was dim and dark, but the white walls and dark blue star-shaped tiles on the floor hinted that the owner meant the hotel to look cheery and inviting. A thick layer of dust made the objects in the room appear fuzzy. The group shuffled down the hall, single-file, into a small room to the right. On the far right wall, a large trap door stood open. The first few steps of a wooden staircase could be seen going down into the basement.
"OK, people, watch your step. Please don't lean against the door. I've had it fall on me and it hurts--a lot," said Marcos.
Lee whispered, "You'd think they would make this a little safer."
"Must add to the experience," said Lynn. Lee's comforting presence followed close behind her. He'd always been overprotective, but ever since her neck surgery he'd gone out of his way to make sure she didn't trip or lose her balance.
In Missouri, where Lynn grew up, basements were cool damp places with stone walls. This basement had the same stone walls and even a concrete floor, but it was musty and humid. Lynn wrinkled her nose in disgust. Occasional flashes of light came from other people's devices - cameras, iPhones with the Ghost Radar App, and K2 Meters.
Lynn recognized Marcos's voice as he called on the ghost of a little girl believed to be trapped in the basement. The session dragged on with minimal blips on the K2 meter and members of the group turning toward perceived noises and shadows, including Lee. One corner received some particular attention after the K2 meter jumped into the red for a few moments.
"Is the ghost of the little girl here? We're not here to hurt you, sweetie. Is that other spirit here holding you back? Is he not letting you come out?" Marcos said.
By this time Lynn was standing behind Lee with her arms wrapped around his waist. She went on tiptoe and kissed the lobe of his ear. He answered by squeezing her forearms. The investigators had warned them that whispering would interfere with the EVP session.
"Hey, that other spirit who thinks he's such a bad ass, get out of here. We'll be dealing with you in the next room soon enough," said Marcos.
Lynn rested her forehead on Lee's back.
Nothing spooky here, she thought. Even though she enjoyed the history part of the tour, it was getting late and she was ready to go home. Lee's shirt felt damp on her forehead. She touched her cheek to his back to be sure. His stomach muscles tensed under her hands.
Just as she was about to whisper in his ear, a couple of people shuffled on the opposite side of the room. Hector's voice echoed in the small space. "These guys aren't feeling so good. I'm going to take them back upstairs." A sliver of light from a flashlight appeared and sure enough, a woman and the 'tough-looking' guy were headed upstairs. Faint footsteps echoed down the length of the hall overhead.
Marcos and another investigator continued for about five more minutes, but by this time, even the K2 meters stopped lighting up. "Folks, let's head to the other room where we encountered an evil spirit. I think he's interfering with the spirit of the little girl we've experie
nced in this room. In the other room, people have been scratched and others felt sick. I will be provoking this spirit. I'm not trying to offend anyone, but I'll be using some coarse language." Marcos led the group to the next room. "A lot of stuff is piled up in there, so please, watch your step."
Lee held her arm as they made their way through a room, and into yet another room.
At least it smells better, Lynn thought. A red EXIT sign glowed on the other side. Through the debris she glimpsed a set of stairs. "That way is completely blocked off," Marcos said as everyone settled into position.
"All right, you son-of-a-bitch. We're here and I think you're a coward. You can't do anything more than keep a little girl trapped in here. Scratch me, push me, scare me, if you can. Come on, I'm right here." No one so much as cleared their throat, waiting for a response. The K2 meters flickered. When footsteps creaked overhead, Marcos said, "Hector must be coming back."
Lynn frowned. The footsteps overhead were leading away from the trapdoor behind her and toward the blocked off EXIT in front of her.
That's odd, she thought. The footsteps stopped. She stared in the direction of the EXIT, expecting someone to come down the stairs. Her head snapped back over her shoulder when the footsteps began again from the trap door. This time in a jog across the floor and in the direction of the blocked off EXIT. "It can't be Hector. He never jogs," said Marcos. Nervous laughter broke the group's self-imposed silence.
Lynn asked, "Can you call him and see where he is?"
"Good idea." Marcos dug into his backpack for a walkie-talkie. "Hector, where are you?"
"Hey, Marcos. Everything OK?" Hector's voice crackled over the walkie-talkie.
"Yeah, are you in the building?"
"No, I'm sitting outside with the two who left the basement. Why? What's up?"
"Someone is walking down the hall headed out of the building. Oh, now they're jogging. I said it couldn't be you because you never jog, ever."
"No, man, it's not me. No one is in the building. I locked the door behind me." Dull, metallic rattling came over the walkie-talkie. "Yep, still locked."
"OK. Well, someone is only walking out of the building. We don't hear any footsteps coming into the building."
"You need me to come back in?"
"No. We're fine." Marcos's voice rang out again as he continued provoking the spirit. "Is that you walking above us? Come on, you can do better than that. You're supposed to be this big, bad, powerful spirit. Show us what you got."
Lee shifted and bumped into a stack of boards on the floor. "Sorry, that was me." To Lynn, he sounded nervous.
A flare of red caught Lynn's eye. The sharp odor of sulfur, as if a match had been struck right under her nose, made her flinch.
"Hey Marcos, the K2 meter went off," a man's voice said on her right.
The air thickened with the odor of sulfur. She turned to the dark shape on her right. "Do you smoke?"
"No, ma'am, I don't," he whispered back.
Lee drew her close. "You feel something?"
"No, but I smell something." She sniffed the air, and then gagged at the stench. The queasiness passed when she buried her nose in the nape of Lee's neck, breathing in his familiar scent. The air continued to wrap around her like a thick blanket.
She was about to 'cry Uncle' and ask Lee to take her upstairs when Marcos told the group, "All right guys and gals, let's head back up." The group turned and made their way down the short hallway to the steep stairs. Marcos was the last one to make his way up. Up ahead Hector had unlocked the door and was holding it open. As Marcos exited the room behind her, the trap door slammed shut. Lynn jumped and ran to catch up with Lee, who was already out the front door.
1885
Crouse slipped into the flow of pedestrians headed down Mills Avenue, and then stopped short.
I did it. I really did it. People flowed around him as if he were a rock in the middle of a stream until he moved out of the flow to lean against a building. I did it. Resolve filled his eyes. Time to test my new powers.
Before long, the new gambler had made the rounds at all the popular saloons, theaters, and brothels on Utah Street and become one of the top five Faro players in El Paso. Crouse no longer blended in with the crowd. A dandy now, he wore expensive, black suits with starched white shirts and brocade vests. Large, gold rings decorated his fingers and a jewel-encrusted stick pin adorned his jacket. Even his pocket watch was made of gold with a thick, heavy, gold chain that ran across his chest. Like any gambler worth his salt, he was an excellent shot with the pistols slung low on his hips.
Faro was a game of chance and tended to favor the player. Saloons made up for this by using crooked dealers, dealing boxes and cards. None of this fazed Crouse, who kept winning his way closer to the number one Faro gambler spot in El Paso.
Crouse rocked himself back onto two legs of his chair as he pondered the cards spread out between the dealer and himself. He'd alternately placed bets on his card being the winner, loser, odd, even, and any combination strung together in a 'square.' He loved this gambling game the most because of its fast pace, easy odds, and the ability to bet all his winnings on a single turn of a card.
His chair hit the floor with a thud as a petite, fiery, redhead plopped herself down in his lap. "Mary Ann." He gestured toward the table and said, "I'm working here."
"I know. I love a man who works at whiskey drinking, wagering, and whoring as hard as you do." Mary Ann grinned. He forgave her when she slid a shot glass full of whiskey into his hand and squirmed her bottom on his lap.
Crouse slid his hand up and down her side as he laid down his chip, betting everything on the last turn of the card. Choronzon's power had helped Crouse in every way imaginable - his winning streak at the gaming table, fine clothes, good food and Mary Ann, who owned one of the most luxurious brothels in town. She was ruthless and ruled her girls with an iron fist, making them virtual slaves by letting them run up charges for basic necessities and then deducting those charges, plus interest, from their wages. Choronzon had picked a perfect partner for him.
Mary Ann let out an excited yelp when he won, bringing his mind back to the Faro table. He downed the whiskey, dropped her off his lap and gathered up his winnings.
"So what put you in a fine mood today: my whiskey drinking, winning, or whoring?" he asked.
"You didn't. I did it all by myself!" she laughed. "I spread a rumor up and down Utah Street that Alice's whores are infected with something that'll make their peckers fall off." Crouse laughed. They made their way back to the whorehouse to wile away the rest of the afternoon in her bedroom.
They were awakened by a thunderous pounding on the door and a woman shouting. "Mary Ann! Open this door and face me, you bitch!"
Crouse propped himself up on the pillows to watch. Mary Ann threw on a nightgown, marched over to the door and flung it open.
"Take it back!" yelled a six-foot tall, blond haired, blue-eyed woman, her face purple with rage.
"Take what back, Alice?" asked Mary Ann, feigning innocence.
"Take back what you said about my girls!"
"But your whores are diseased. That's why I threw Lucy out."
"Lucy left because you were stealing her money like you do with all the girls here."
"Now look who's telling lies."
Alice reached back and cold-cocked Mary Ann in the face. Mary Ann crumpled backwards, and then leaped up screaming, "I will kill you, you fat, ugly whore!"
Alice grinned, turned on her heel and marched down the stairs and out of the brothel.
Too stunned to move, Crouse watched as Mary Ann scrambled to her feet, pulled a pistol from his holster and stormed out of the room. He scrambled outside in time to gawk with the rest of Utah Street at Mary Ann kicking Alice's front door. When Alice's tall frame filling the doorway, Mary Ann raised the pistol and fired.
***
At first, Crouse's weekly sojourns to the basement of the Franciscan Hotel to honor Choronzon were consistent.
Once the winnings poured in, he'd slacked off. The money bought comfortable living and complacency.
As Crouse made his way down the stairs, he realized how distracted he had become. Mary Ann's shooting of Alice was ruled as self-defense and miraculously, Alice survived. Mary Ann, on the other hand, became increasingly violent with her girls and customers until almost all were gone. She was depending more and more on Crouse's financial support.
Violence dogged Crouse. The last two weeks, gamblers challenged him at gunpoint. He narrowly avoided a shootout this afternoon with a wild, drunken gambler. The other night, a man charged him with a knife. The man's incoherent ranting had sent pinpricks rippling across his skin.
He cursed himself for being lax and not following through with his original plan - mastering the dark arts. With his cloak draped around him, he took out his ceremonial knife and wand and carved the familiar circles and triangles.
It's time to break the pact with Choronzon. Far away from Utah Street, in a house on Sunset Heights, he would resume his studies in comfort.
Crouse began the ceremony as usual. No actual words were spoken by the demon; instead a rush of power flowed through his body. He recited the Release of the Spirit: "O Choronzon, because thou hast diligently answered my demands, I do hereby license thee to depart...."
As he finished the verse, the air around him grew dense. Fingertips danced across his scalp. The figure of Choronzon on horseback towered over him. Then the skin cape of the demon billowed wide. For the first time Crouse took in the jaws filled with sharp teeth. His own rattled as a screech echoed and rolled through the basement.
A black mass formed, gained substance, and then rushed at him from the left, knocking the wind out of him. He scrambled to his feet and stared. There was a smear where he had disturbed the meticulously drawn circle. His eyes traveled upwards to witness the skeletal horse take a tentative step out of the middle of the intersecting triangles.
Playing with Fire (Anthology of Horror) Page 6