HOTEL GHOST
June 16th, 2011
We were set for a lazy day at Galveston beach. My husband and I plopped down on some lounge chairs under a huge umbrella and planted our bare feet in the sand. It wasn't long before a man came by to charge for the rental. He overheard us talking about the GHOST TOURS OF GALVESTON ISLAND.
"Did you go on the ghost tour? he asked. "I've never been. How was it?" We explained to him that we had gone on the tour the night before and had experienced some strange things. "I just hope my camera captured something," I said. I praised our tour guide "Grace" who was entertaining and took us to the sight of some real ghost stories. He was curious and I elaborated, "the tour starts at the Moody Railroad Station and includes various historic buildings on THE STRAND. The ghost tour culminates at the Tremont Hotel." The young man suddenly turned ashen.
"Did you say the Tremont hotel? I use to work there. We had a lot of paranormal activity at the hotel. I can tell you from personal experience, it's definitely haunted! In the lobby there are three pictures hanging on the wall. Everyday we had to straighten them. You would set them right side up, go about your business and in minutes they would go back to being tilted. I mean if it was one picture, you could logically dismiss it. But all three? Not a day would pass by that you wouldn't have to straighten them up and then they would go back to being tilted on their right side. It was creepy."
I tell you, it was as if a ghost was taunting us at the hotel!"
Then I relayed our experience the night of the ghost tour. Grace, our tour guide had just told a ghost tale about "the salesman" from the late 1800's who is said to haunt the Tremont as well as the building next door where he is believed to have been murdered. She explained that the elevator on the righthand side seemed to have a mind of its own. Many guests have reported ghostly activity. She did not press the elevator button but instead waited until it opened of its own accord. As soon as the elevator doors opened and remained opened for several seconds, everyone quickly started flashing their cameras in hopes of capturing something paranormal. I was at the back and just as I made my way toward the front, the elevator started to close.
"Oh no" I said aloud in disappointment. I knew I had gotten there too late to take a photograph. Just then, the elevator with its doors halfway closed, unexpectedly stopped and reopened.
No one had pressed the elevator button, at least no one we could see. Everyone at the tour gasped. I flashed my camera. I had one picture left. Later when I developed my film, to my surprise a strange tormented face appeared in the lower right hand corner of the elevator. This was not a reflection and the elevator was empty when I took the photograph!
For the first time in my life I was living by myself.
After my husband and I divorced, I was determined not
to move back home with my parents. Instead, I rented a
corner house off Greenville Avenue in Dallas determined
to make it on my own.
One night my friend Bruce came for a visit.
As I opened the front door, he entered laughing and in
mid-sentence suddenly stopped talking. His expression
changed and his mouth dropped. He stared passed the
interior beyond the Spanish arch that connected the living room and dining room.
"What's the matter?"I asked concerned. "I ah.... I just saw a man sitting in your dining room."
I turned around. There was nothing there. Bruce was visibly shaken. He stammered,"the man looked like he was reading something...like ....like a newspaper. Then he looked up...... He just stared at me!" Standing at the door somewhat affected, Bruce managed to compose himself and finally came in the room.He apologized. "I'm sorry I must be thinking about my grandfather. He just passed away a few days ago. "Bruce settled in my rocking chair. We talked about our high school days and reminisced. But I couldn't help notice he kept glancing over to the dining room. "Was it your grandfather that you saw when you came in?" I asked.
He was quiet for a moment. "No, it wasn't him. I've never seen that man before. You know your glass table over there? Well, the man was standing behind a wooden table with a cup of coffee sitting on it. ....it's as if your glass table wasn't there anymore."
I listened fascinated by his account and tried not to get frightened by what he had just told me. I could tell he was a little nervous. I changed the subject and we talked about other things. Bruce kept looking over towards the dining room. He seemed somewhat uncomfortable. Finally Bruce stood up and asked politely "I know this sounds strange, but would you mind if I take a look around?" I thought it was a little odd but I said "sure go ahead." I followed him as he walked through the Spanish arch that divided the living room from the dining area. He stood in the middle of the room for a moment. He didn't say a word. He approached the wall that separated the dining room from the kitchen. He knocked a few times on the wall. He then went to the kitchen and stopped in front of the back side wall that led to the back yard. He knocked on the wall. It sounded very hollow. "what's behind this wall?" he sounded alarmed.
"I don't know, I think it's a side entrance. There's a tenant who lives in the upstairs area. That's one of his outside entrances," I said. It was funny but thinking about it, I never actually saw my neighbor go up this way. Bruce insisted we open the door.
The staircase was narrow and the walls were cramped. The passageway led to the second floor. It looked like the door at the top of the stairs was sealed. The wooden staircase was old and decrepit and we could feel a certain heaviness hanging in the stale air. Bruce moved around the house like an investigator. I'm not sure what he was looking for but he was a man on a mission. It was strange and uncharacteristic of him. But I was entranced by his unusual behavior.
He walked back into the dining room and proceeded to walk toward the hallway. The dark blue painted walls looked almost pitch black. Why would anyone paint the hallway this color? I wondered. Bruce stood in the middle of the hallway for several seconds. "May I?" he motioned to my bedroom. He opened the closet door, stared inside for a few seconds then shut it and came out. He walked to my children's room. My kids were still visiting at their grandmother's for a few days. Bruce walked directly to the closet, opened it and stared inside for a long time. He looked disturbed. Then he slowly closed it. Bruce and I retreated back to the front room and he later went home.
I didn't think too much about this incident but about a month later, my actor friend Tony stopped by. He had just finished his theater performance and decided to stop by for a visit. He was animated in his usual dramatic flair and plopped on the rocking chair talking a hundred miles an hour. Throughout out conversation, I saw that he kept glancing toward the dining room. To my surprise, Tony got up and announced, "your house is weird!"
He then started walking in the same exact steps that Bruce had made almost a month before. Tony stormed into the kitchen and with the focus of an investigator, started to knock on the kitchen walls.
"What's behind this wall?" He glared at me. "It's hollow." I told him it was the side entrance to the upstairs boarder. He pushed open the back kitchen screen door and opened the outside entrance that led to the second floor. We both peered in the narrow, dark staircase that led to the upstairs apartment. Tony shivered keeping his gaze on the very top door. He shut the entrance door and returned to the kitchen and continued knocking on walls and went into the same rooms in the same order that Bruce had done. I started to get a creepy feeling. There was no way Tony could have recreated the same steps and asked the same questions as my friend Bruce. They didn't even know each other!
Tony stopped in front of each bedroom closet and simply stared inside. He stood motionless in the dark hallway painted bluish black. "Why would anyone color this hallway this color?" He said. I often wondered the same thing, but that's how it was when I moved in.
"It's creepy...something happened here." He was scaring me, but I tried not to let it affect me. I couldn't pretend anymore that everything was o.k. I finally had to admit it to myself. There was something going on in my house and I was going to find out!
Luz Saviñon school for boys was built in the early 1900s run by the Catholic order of Marist brothers. This impressive red brick building sat on two acres in the southern part of Mexico City. My great grandfather was a benefactor of this beautiful private school for boys in the 1950's. When he passed away, my grandfather continued his legacy as benefactor and many years later I attended the elementary school.
I was 10 years old when I first learned about the tunnel. My grandfather often picked me up from school in his car but many of my friends walked home. I remember one time, my grandfather had an afternoon meeting and would not be able to pick me up right away. I took advantage of the opportunity to ask my mother if I could wait at a friend's house. She knew my friend Roberto's family and said yes.
The tunnel was a shortcut, a means of cutting across the dangerous and busy Rufina street and railroad tracks above. My friends didn't want to walk beside the tracks because the long street didn't have a crossing for several blocks. You could sometimes hear the screeching wheels of the train and its whistle calling from above the tunnel. Many students chose to enter the dark dank tunnel underneath and make it across in minutes. I often thought they raced each other to see who would come out first on the other side. I learned that wasn't the case. After school, Roberto and I strolled as we argued about who was the best superhero in comic books. We traded marbles and bubble gum.
We were a few yards away from the tunnel when my friend paused and said, "once inside, walk as fast as you can."
"Why?" I asked. He took a deep breath.
"It's the devil's tunnel."
I chuckled and waited for him to give me the punchline to his joke. He remained somber. "Don't you know about the tunnel?" I stared at him and shook my head. He told me a story that happened a long time ago. It was about a boy who had walked alone and had disappeared in the tunnel.
"What do you mean he disappeared?" I asked alarmed.
People say he stayed late at school one day playing in the courtyard and when everyone was picked up he walked home. It was getting dark and he made his way alone. He entered the tunnel, but he never came out...the boy was never seen again. They say... the devil took him."
I didn't say anything not sure whether to believe Roberto's story. We were outside the entrance and then he proceeded to tell me that there were vagrants inside, but as long as I kept my eyes straight ahead, they wouldn't bother us.
"Don't stop to talk to them," he insisted. One of them could be the devil in disguise."
"Are you kidding?"
He didn't answer me, but the serious expression on his face was evident. I wasn't sure what he was talking about, but I walked faster as I made my way to the mouth of the tunnel. Our voices echoed inside and our footsteps sounded loud and hollow. At first we laughed at our random noises, amazed at the acoustics. I noticed Roberto's gait increased and I kept up with him. It was a long walk and other boys rushed passed us to the small hole of light at the end of the tunnel. Some of them raced and their foot stomping sounded like horses galloping.
Up ahead a few yards, an old man sat quietly on the ground. His head was buried in his folded arms as if taking a nap. He was crouched down with his back to the wall. He slowly extended his hand with his palm face up. He was a beggar and I wanted to stop, but Roberto tugged at my shirt and we quickly passed him.
By the time we had walked halfway, Roberto and I were the only ones left. The other boys had long scurried home. We were alone, but then I noticed an old lady sitting down with a black shawl on her head. She was a crumpled shadow sitting alone on the right side of the tunnel. Her head was bent over. She sat on her knees and appeared to be praying. I couldn't see her feet. The intricate lacy shawl covered her face and fell over her shoulders.
She had a medium size bag resting near her body. It must have had everything she owned. Just as I was about to cross her path, a coin fell from her hand and bounced and rolled toward me. The sound of the single coin made a loud jingle. It landed by my feet. I stopped to pick it up. Before Roberto could stop me, I walked toward her. I gently dropped the coin in her palm and she looked up. All I could make out were her teeth and a gutteral laugh. She had no face. Instead of eyes, there were two dark gaping holes; it was a skull. I gasped and before I could back away, she grabbed my hand tight with her bony fingers. I screamed and yanked my arm hard until I got loose from her grip. Roberto and I yelled for help, bumping into each other and almost falling over. My legs felt like rubber and somehow I mustered all the strength I could to run. When we finally made it out of the tunnel, my chest was heaving. My heart was beating so hard, I thought it would explode. There were tears running down my cheek. Roberto was crying too. We paused only for a moment to catch our breath with our hands on our knees. We ran the rest of the way until we reached Roberto's home.
The horrific image of the laughing skull is still ingrained in my mind. I try not to think of it. Was it Roberto's warning that fueled my imagination? No, because he saw her too. Was it a demon in disguise? I will never know, but I never walked through the tunnel again.
