April Slaughter (10 page)

While we were waiting for our table, I noticed that the restaurant’s logo incorporated cartoon-like ghosts, and t-shirts were for sale at the register. On an entry table close by sat a large binder, nearly busting at the seams, with hundreds of personal ghost stories involving restaurant patrons. I took a quick glance through the stories, but did not yet study them because I wanted to investigate the building without knowing too much beforehand about what had happened there.

Allen and I were seated in one of the quaint dining rooms and presented with our menus. After placing our order, we both began pointing out the little intricacies around us as we waited for our meals to arrive. The walls of each dining room were colorfully adorned with different Victorian-style wallpapers, and beautiful pieces of stained glass delicately hung in all of the windows. It felt as if we were sitting in someone’s personal dining room rather than in a restaurant, which made us feel welcome and comfortable.

The Catfish Plantation has not always been a restaurant. As
might be guessed by its location, the 1895 Victorian was originally a personal residence. It was purchased in 1984 by Tom and Melissa Baker, who remodeled it into a restaurant. Before it was completed and opened to the public, Melissa had several experiences that led her to believe something paranormal may be happening at the Catfish Plantation. For example, a tea urn with cups stacked inside of it had been moved from its proper location on a shelf to the middle of the floor. No one else but Melissa had access to the building. The restaurant’s website also describes an instance where Melissa came in to find a freshly brewed pot of coffee waiting for her.

After business was up and running, even the employees began to suspect that someone unseen was vying for their attention as they worked. A fry basket was said to have inexplicably risen in the air and levitated in plain sight for several seconds before crashing to the floor. Food went missing, and various items would be found in locations that didn’t make sense. Even the silverware that had been carefully placed at each setting on the tables would be inexplicably crossed over one another or moved into different spots.

It would be a few weeks before my team and I could experience the ghosts of the Catfish Plantation, and it was difficult to remain patient. When the day of our investigation finally came, we met with Ryan and a few guests of his outside on the porch of the restaurant to discuss our plan of action.

After all of our baseline temperature and EMF readings were documented, we set up our video and audio recording equipment, split up into small groups, and began to work on attempting to capture EVP.

While in the kitchen area, Jerry and Allen both heard a female voice call out Allen’s name. Had anyone in the restaurant that evening called out to Allen, the rest of the team would have immediately heard it as well, but none of us did.

After about an hour, the entire team convened outside to discuss what to do next. There wasn’t a single person left inside, though we had left our video cameras and digital voice recorders on and in place inside the restaurant. After a few minutes, we heard what sounded like a young female voice.

“Hi,” she said. “Come in.”

Another few minutes passed, then another unidentified voice—this time male—spoke in a demanding tone.

“Look at me!” he said.

When we all re-entered the restaurant, we decided to conduct a short audio session with the Frank’s Box to see if anything interesting would come across. As we passed Allen’s video camera, he asked us to all watch out for the tripod so that no one would trip and fall should they snag it with their feet. Much to our surprise, when we watched the video, we heard a disembodied voice speak just before Allen warned us.

“Watch out,” was clearly whispered, and in very close proximity to the microphone on the camera. Had someone already known what Allen was going to say?

I honestly did not expect much to come of the Frank’s Box session we were about to conduct, but I was pleasantly surprised when it seemed as though someone was trying to communicate with the group.

“John Zaffis,” said a male voice, very clearly and with what seemed to be a foreign accent.

John Zaffis is a dear friend of mine who has been working in the paranormal field for over three decades. He is a world-renowned paranormal investigator from Connecticut who has assisted in hundreds of cases, including those involving demonic possession and exorcism. We’ve worked together on many occasions, and I consider him to be one of the leading experts in the paranormal field.

The Catfish Plantation certainly did not have demons, and
whoever was asking for John did so in a lighthearted manner. It was strange to us that we were in a location that John had never visited, yet someone there knew his name and apparently wanted to speak with him.

“Do you want me to talk to John about this place?” I asked.

“Message,” the box responded, and in the same voice that had spoken John’s name.

“What is the message?” I asked.

“Love me,” said the voice.

It was difficult to discern, but I thought the voice had also said something about John “knowing” something.

“What does he know?” was the next question I posed.

“He knows people,” was the response.

And just like that, this man stopped communicating—at least as far as any of us could tell. Short bits and pieces continued to transmit out of the box, but nothing as clear as what had just been spoken. We waited for quite some time before deciding to end the session.

Our group sat there in the dark of the dining room, quietly discussing the night’s events. For several minutes, nothing happened. Then something strange caught my attention. Just beyond a set of sliding doors that separate two of the dining rooms, I watched as a short, shadowy figure quickly floated through the adjacent room close to the floor. At first, I thought it might have been the result of a car driving by. I said nothing, and kept watching, aware of anything moving on the road outside. It was late and no cars were passing by. I saw the figure twice more within the next couple of minutes, moving along the same path and direction it had taken the first time.

By early morning, the team was exhausted and ready to pack it up and head home. All in all, our visit to the Catfish Plantation had been an interesting experience, and we agreed that possibly several different entities were commonly seen, felt, and heard
there.

We had not been the first paranormal team to conduct an investigation of the Catfish Plantation, and we would certainly not be the last. Not only was I able to interact with the ghosts of the restaurant, but I was able to enjoy the absolute best catfish meal I had ever eaten. So, whether you visit for a good meal or a good scare, the experiences you will discover at the Catfish Plantation are simply to die for.

WHEN I WAS IN junior high school, my mother took me to see a live production of “The Phantom of the Opera” at our local downtown theatre. It would be the first time I ever had the opportunity to visit such a place and to see such a grand performance. I sat in complete awe in my balcony seat and watched the amazing story unfold in front of me. I had never seen anything so wonderful in all of my life, and I not only fell in love with the story of the Phantom, but also with the theatre in which I had seen it.

When the performance ended and the patrons began shuffling out, I asked my mother if I could stay for just a bit longer to watch the theatre crew below work on breaking down the set on stage. They worked quickly, and soon everything was prepared to start the show all over again the next evening. Just as my mother and I were about to leave, I noticed a stagehand as he walked out onto the platform with what looked like a lamp
without a shade. He set it down in front of the large curtain and switched on the light. Almost every other light in the theatre immediately went dark.

I noticed an usher walking through the empty rows of seats, gathering up trash.

“Excuse me sir, why is that light put on the stage?” I asked.

“That’s the ghost light,” he said. “They put that up there every night before the theatre closes to keep the resident ghosts from messing with the sets.”

As I grew older, I noticed that almost every major theatre house I visited engaged in this same tradition. They all had various explanations for leaving on the ghost light, but the belief that they actually had ghosts in every one of the theatres was universal. Surely they couldn’t
all
be haunted, but I was intrigued by the idea nonetheless.

Over the past few years since I moved to Texas, I have researched my fair share of haunted locations in the state. I often think of the ghost light from all those years ago, and was curious as to whether or not Texas had any haunted theatres of its own.

My initial exposure to the Plaza Theatre had nothing to do with ghosts. Allen and I had been in El Paso for a quick visit with friends when we were invited to accompany them to a film festival being hosted at the Plaza.

Jokingly, the first question I presented to our friends was, “Is it haunted?”

Their response was that yes, the theatre had ghosts—many of them, in fact. I had been excited for the evening beforehand, but now I couldn’t wait to get there.

When the Plaza first opened its doors to the public on September 12, 1930, it was the largest theatre in the United States located between Dallas and Los Angeles. The façade resembled that of a Spanish Mission and the interior was highly elaborate.
While most other businesses were struggling with the onslaught of the Depression in the 1930s, the Plaza Theatre’s patronage flourished and continued to entertain the public until a steep decline in the 1950s. The arrival of drive-in movie theatres and television presented an economic challenge, and the Plaza was eventually sold in the early 1970s.

The Plaza’s demolition seemed imminent in 1986, until the surrounding El Paso community rallied to raise the $1 million dollars required to save it. Four short years later, the theatre was donated to the city, which has since poured a great amount of time and money into restoring the historic site.

When our small group arrived at the theatre, we took our seats in the performance hall, which is made to look like a Spanish hacienda, complete with windows, greenery, and a beautifully painted starry night sky. What a feast for the eyes! Even while watching the film we had come to the theatre to see, I often caught myself looking around at the lavishly detailed interior.

I silently wondered who, if anyone, was haunting the Plaza Theatre, and if I would be able to find any documentation to support the rumor. A few days later, after returning home from our road trip, Allen and I began doing a little research online and found that there were several different stories that had evolved over the years since the theatre first opened.

One of the most popular stories is that the ghost of a young bride refuses to leave the site, as the theatre now stands in the very spot where her home once stood and, unfortunately, where she lost her life. Her husband, a high-ranking Spanish official, was an extremely jealous man who kept his bride isolated for fear she would be unfaithful in the event that other prospective suitors came calling. His jealousy would ultimately consume him. He returned home to his bride one evening, angrily accusing the young woman of infidelity before strangling her to death. In an attempt to cover up the crime, he set the home
ablaze before riding off under the cover of night.

The apparition of a woman seen in the theatre is thought to be the ghost of this young woman. Despite having met such a grisly end, she seems content to water the plants in the theatre (although they aren’t real), as she might have watered flowers in her own garden during happier days. I wonder what became of her murderous husband.