Part 1: Devil of a Ghost Tour
1885
His black robe billowed out around him, exposing the red satin
lining. In one hand he held a hazel wood wand, polished and
consecrated in blood; in the other hand was a ceremonial knife
with a black hilt. Both were engraved with the symbols of his
faith.
Shoulders relaxed, feet slightly apart, drawing air in
through his nose and releasing it with a soft whistle, he spoke:
“O Sadai, most holy and most powerful, vouchsafe to conse-
crate and bless this circle to contain the demon I am about to
invoke. O most holy Sadai, to whom be honor and glory forev-
er and ever. Amen.” He drew a circle with his knife on the dirt
floor, still speaking: “I invoke and conjure Thee....” The point
scratched through the fine sand and rocks as he carved a large
outer circle and then an inner circle, filling the space between
the two with ceremonial writing. “Choronzon, appear forth-
with. Show thyself to me....” He drew three obtuse triangles and
continued the writing at the corners and insides of the trian-
gles. “Choronzon, come and do not tarry; Choronzon come,
fulfill my desires; persist unto the end, according to mine in-
tentions.”
He stood in the center and waited.
Present
Lynn and Lee Hoyt parked their car as the sun shot its last
fading rays across Cleveland Square in front of the El Paso
Downtown Library. Lynn pulled Lee along at a brisk pace, even
though she was the one who almost always made them late.
Two men, dressed in black, approached them as they drew
near and introduced themselves as the tour guides, Hector and
Marcos. Both wore t-shirts with the El Paso Ghost Tours logo.
Hector motioned for them to join the other couples of various
ages and persuasions standing around a park bench.
“Tell me again why we’re here?” Lee asked.
“I went on one of these ghost tours in Charleston. They
tell you the history of the city and point out the famous build-
ings, plus elaborate on any local, popular ghost stories,” Lynn
answered.
“Great. You, me and a history lesson. You know how much
I hate this stuff. Wait, when were you in Charleston?”
“Believe it or not, I did a lot of things before we were mar-
ried.”
“That’s not my fault.”
Lynn playfully slapped his arm. “It was a lot of fun and we
can always start season four of Pawn Stars tomorrow night.”
“So, that means there are no real ghosts on this tour? What
a rip-off.”
Lynn nudged him with her elbow as they approached their
first stop – the library itself. She listened as Hector told numer-
ous ghost stories about the library, which opened in 1904 and
was built on top of an old military cemetery. Hector and his
investigators even experienced a book falling off a shelf for no
apparent reason while trying to do an EVP session.
“For those of you that don’t know,” Hector informed the
tour group, “EVP stands for Electronic Voice Phenomena. Ba-
sically, you catch something on this digital recorder.” He held
up a thin electrical device. “You may not hear anything during
the investigation, but when you go back and review the record-
ing, you might hear voices or unexplained sounds.” Lynn
caught Lee’s skeptical glance as she wrapped her arm around his
waist.
Hector continued, holding up a gray device with a rainbow
of colors at the top. “Another device we use is called a K2 Me-
ter. We’ve passed a couple out to the group. Ghost hunters be-
lieve these devices can measure the magnetic field given off by
ghosts. Sometimes you can use the lights to ask ‘yes’ or ‘no’
questions.”
Lee’s warm breath close to her ear tickled as he whispered,
“You so owe me for this.” She snuggled into his side as he
wrapped his arm around her shoulder and kissed the top of her
head.
She smiled and whispered back, “I know, I know.”
They passed by the Plaza Hotel, which towered over down-
town El Paso like a dark, silent sentinel. Lynn and Lee learned
the new owner had intended to restore the building, but was
currently behind bars for tax evasion. The restored Plaza The-
ater, a bright spot downtown, hosted the world’s largest Classic
Film Festival and also claimed long-since deceased patrons still
wandered the aisles.
As they approached the seven-story Caples Building where
Pancho Villa plotted against the U.S., Lynn imagined, in the
prevailing darkness, that the building had been drawn from
negative space. She turned to Lee. Her jaw dropped in disbelief.
He was snapping pictures. “Honey, what are you doing?”
“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 fas-
cinating 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 base-
ment 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 usu-
ally 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, Choron-
zon, 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 no-
tice 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 mid-
dle 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 mo-
ment, 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 incan-
tation: “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 cer-
emony was finished by closing the circle: “O Choronzon, be-
cause 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 hover-
ing 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 overpro-
tective, 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 hu-
mid. 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, in-
cluding Lee. One corner received some particular attention af-
ter 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 in-
vestigators 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 peo-
ple 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 en-
countered an evil spirit. I think he’s interfering with the spirit
of the little girl we’ve experienced 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 EX-
IT 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 base-
ment. 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 be-
cause 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 con-
tinued 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 blan-
ket.
She was about to ‘cry Uncle’ and ask Lee to take her up-
stairs 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 build-
ing. 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-en-
crusted 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 box-
es 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 to-
ward the table and said, “I’m working here.”
“I know. I love a man who works at whiskey drinking, wa-
gering, 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 imagin-
able - 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 per-
fect 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 drink-
ing, 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 infect-
ed 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 inno-
cence.
“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 scream-
ing, “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 Fran-
ciscan Hotel to honor Choronzon were consistent. Once the
winnings poured in, he’d slacked off. The money bought com-
fortable 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 depend-
ing 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 de-
mon 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 scram-
bled to his feet and stared. There was a smear where he had
disturbed the meticulously drawn circle. His eyes traveled up-
wards to witness the skeletal horse take a tentative step out of
the middle of the intersecting triangles.
With a raw gasp of air, he gripped his knife and wand and
leaped as the horse set its haunches and sprang forward.
They met in mid-air with the horse and Choronzon ma-
terializing as they passed out of the edge of the circle. Crouse
clubbed the side of the horse’s head with his wand and swept
his knife up and into the chest of Choronzon. The whole ap-
parition vanished in a smoky cloud. Crouse plunged to the
floor.
Crouse pulled himself to his feet as the black mass attacked
and plowed through him again. He slashed with his knife.
Nothing phased this new entity. What is this? Crouse’s mind
raced as he turned on his heel and ran up the stairs. When he
flung himself through the front door, his ears popped so hard
he cried out. Sweat ran through his hair and dripped from his
face as he knelt, trying to breathe. People passing by gave him a
wide berth and some snickered.
Crouse recovered and headed in the direction of Mary
Ann’s whorehouse. He would collect his money and leave
tonight. A cold chill wormed its way deep under his skin. The
air turned to waves of clear, clean water in front of him. The
next words he understood perfectly, “Did you think it would
be that easy? Fool!”
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