Devil of a Ghost Tour 5

1885

Crouse slipped into the flow of pedestrians headed down Mills Avenue, 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 brocaded 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.

Crouse rocked himself back onto two legs of his chair as he pondered over 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 stringed 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.

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.

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. “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 in his lap.

Crouse fingered 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. He was winning at the gaming table, enjoying 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 said.

“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. Unless customers want to suffer through their dicks swelling up and falling off, they’d better stay away.” Crouse laughed as 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 as Mary Ann threw on a nightgown, marched over to the door and flung it open.

“Take it back!” yelled a six-foot tall, blond, 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, then sat 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 sat, 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 her kicking Alice’s front door. When Alice appeared, her tall frame filling the doorway, Mary Ann raised the pistol and fired.

***

At first, his 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. Lately, gamblers challenged him at gunpoint. He narrowly avoided a shoot out 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, 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.

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 materializing 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 apparition 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!”