Showing posts with label halloween. Show all posts
Showing posts with label halloween. Show all posts

Tuesday, October 8, 2013

Ghost at The Spaghetti Warehouse in Houston, TX

Ghost at The Spaghetti Warehouse in Houston, TX


Halloween is approaching so it's only right that there be something in Subversify to celebrate the event. I prefer true stories, though.


I've had a few interactions with the paranormal in my lifetime, but none more intriguing to me than my experience at The Spaghetti Warehouse. I'll give you a background of my other paranormal experiences which I believe may have been real first, though.


I lived in a haunted house from the time I was 14 until I graduated high school. That ghost was friendly. It was supposedly and ex-CIA agent who died in the house. He mostly liked to slam the door between the dining room and the kitchen if it was left open, but he would play with me sometimes. I would place objects on the table in a certain order and he would rearrange them. My grandparents, my uncle, my mother, and my sisters all witnessed the events multiple times. He also seemed to love Quentin's Theme. I had a bat kite hanging from a string that never usually moved, but when I put on that record, it would turn back and forth as if someone were dancing with it. When I told my grandmother about it she said that Quentin's Theme used to have another name. I can't recall the name she told me but it was something similar to “Annie's Waltz.” I tried playing other music from classical to hard rock to see if the kite would move because of vibrations from the speakers, but it was to no avail. It only moved when I played Quentin's Theme.


I only visibly saw him once, though. My cousin thought it was me at first and I heard him say, “Calvin, do you want to come out and play?” It replied back in a mean, loud voice, “NO!” I yelled to my cousin that I was in the bathroom under the stairs, quickly zipped up my pants (thankfully nothing got caught in the zipper), and ran out. I saw something that looked a lot like me going up the stairs which disappeared halfway. I believe that was the last time any of us saw or heard from the ghost. I HAD been injected with radioactive dye for a kidney scan a week previously, though. Perhaps the radioactivity caused me to split into two beings in a manner similar to the occurrences in the early horror movies? OOOooooh!


The second occurrence, which I believe was real, was when someone called me to exorcise some demons out of their house. I had just left the ultra-right bible college in Florida that went so far as to send staff to spy on people who went on dates to be sure they didn't kiss or do anything not “Christian.” This was COLLEGE for goodness sake! I also objected to their teachings on the bible and Christ in general. When they brought a couple up on stage in front of the entire college to ridicule them for having half a beer when they ate pizza, I was out of there after advising the woman to seek legal counsel and sue their pants off... but I digress.


I was back in Houston feeling that I had done the right thing and helped expose a very non-Christian Christian college. I had taken up going to a Bible Church instead of a Church of Christ or Baptist Church, both of which I had been to prior to heading off to college. I had a good knowledge of the bible and had studied and pondered the more paranormal acts of Jesus such as healing the sick and casting out demons. My confidence was pretty high.


When I was called to cast out the demons at the person's house, I told them to call the preacher. When they called back and said that the preacher was afraid because a demon had attacked a man who cast out a demon in the name of Jesus and the name of Paul, I thought, “That's silly. He should know that it was because he added the name of Paul that the demon was able to attack him.” Still, I didn't want to do it because I had taken about two hits of a weak joint earlier in the day but I felt I had sinned and wasn't worthy. I told the person to call the elder. I got on my knees and prayed that God send someone else from the church because I didn't feel worthy. The person called back and the elder had turned them down and was afraid for the same reason. After praying for forgiveness for my horrible sin of taking a couple tokes off of a joint, I reluctantly agreed to go to cast out the demons. It was early in the evening when I arrived at the house. Before entering, I prayed for protection. I rang the doorbell and the woman answered the door. She was about 18 or 19 and had called her boyfriend to come over after I had arrived. While we were awaiting his arrival, I asked to see the area of the occurrences she had seen. She took me into her bedroom and I looked around.


Her dresser was cluttered with pictures, perfume, nail polish bottles, and lipstick cases. The closet door was open revealing a plaster skull that appeared to have had a black candle that had been burned enough to make it drip on the skull... I suppose in an attempt to make it look scary.


The woman stood by the closet as I entered the room. The skull appeared to move wherever she moved. I thought that might have been accomplished with fishing line or something and moved further into the room. Suddenly, the bottles on the dresser started flying at us. It was like something right out of the movie The Exorcist but this was before the movie was released. The bottles were hitting her but stopping about a foot away from me and dropping to the floor as if they had hit a wall. Perhaps I should have prayed for protection for the woman as well? Ah well. It was my first (and to this date) only exorcism. I examined the bottles and the dresser to be sure there were no strings or wires or devices that could hurl the bottles and decided that it wasn't phony. I immediately said, “Satan, I cast you out in the name of Jesus!” and all of the activity stopped.


About that time, her boyfriend arrived at the door. They came in and I asked them some questions about whether or not they had engaged in any Satan worship or summoning of spirits to which they answered, “No.” I was confused as to what caused the problem in the first place, so I asked about anything I could think about. I asked about Astrology books and they had a lot of them and handed them to me, but I didn't feel that would do it. I asked if they had any books on voodoo or anything else and they said, “No, but we have this.” They then pulled out a large Satanic Bible. I thought maybe that would do it. Just to be sure, we took all the books and the skull to the middle of the street in the barely developed neighborhood where I crashed the skull on the pavement and burned the books. Yes, I burned the books. Okay. So I was a book burner just that once. So sue me! I then turned to them and told them to get into a church that they could live with and stay in it. I didn't hear from them until ten years later when they called me to thank me. Somehow they found that I had moved to Texas City and gave me a call. Now it's time to get to the Spaghetti Warehouse in Houston.


My now late wife and I went to Houston to eat at the Spaghetti Warehouse because we loved Italian food. It may have been an anniversary or just a romantic date, I'm not sure since my memory fails me, but I was looking forward to a romantic dinner out then some lovemaking afterward. It was around 6pm when we arrived and the sky was clear and the sun was still shining. As I entered, I asked to sit upstairs so I could overlook the beautiful fixtures that had been installed in the place. I loved fixtures and articles from the past, partially from noticing the amazing handiwork that was put into my grandfather's house which was said to be haunted. I really don't know. I was always drawn to the beauty of the past and the majestic carvings on buildings from around the 1800s. Since it was after my back surgery, I was in a wheelchair so it was around 1990 when we went. At the time, I had no knowledge of anything other than some people saying the place was haunted. I didn't believe it. It's one of the several places in Houston said to be haunted. Here is a link to a page on CBS which lists several haunted places in Houston, TX. Since it's a major network news station, I expect it to be more reliable than some of the links I found when searching, though they may have added some mysticism to sell it as a Halloween news article.


http://houston.cbslocal.com/top-lists/houstons-most-haunted-places/


The only one I've been to is The Spaghetti Warehouse. I guess it's listed first for a reason? What was its history? I decided to look for an article tonight that had some history on why they believed the alleged occurrences at the Spaghetti Warehouse happened. I found this on Examiner.com.


“The ghost tales center on a young pharmacist who was dedicated to his job. He was busy with a pile of paper work with invoices overflowing upon his desk. Grabbing a stack of the files, he headed for the back elevator. Without looking, he stepped into the dark, open elevator shaft and fell several feet to his death. 
When the man didn’t return home in time for dinner that evening, his adoring wife began to worry. She hurried to the warehouse hoping to find her husband busy at work. Instead she found a found a group of people standing in and about the building talking about a tragedy that occurred there.  Inside the warehouse she found the remains of her beloved husband crumpled at the bottom of the elevator shaft. The distraught woman died at her home about a year later. Her family believes she died of a broken heart.”


http://www.examiner.com/article/arizona-ghost-hunter-travels-spirited-spaghetti-warehouse-houston-tx


They describe a man who fell down the elevator shaft, and his wife who died a year later of a broken heart, but what I saw was a young, beautiful woman, strangely dressed, who hit on me. I thought the woman had some nerve hitting on me in front of my wife but, due to her beauty, I found myself secretly longing that I was single. The woman first said, “You're a mighty good looking man. I replied, “You're not bad yourself. Meet my wife, Diane.” After meeting my wife, she said something along the lines of, “Would you like to go somewhere and make out?” I replied, “No. I'm married.” She then walked to the elevator when I turned down her advances, then disappeared... fading away rather than just vanishing. I could have taken her up on her offer, but then I would have been divorced and would have to have lived with a woman who only appeared when she wanted sex. Oh, that's the same as marriage, isn't it?


I thought maybe I was seeing things or that perhaps the waitress knew who the woman was. I thought she might have been a customer who had been seated around the corner where I couldn't see her. When I called the waitress over and asked if she had seen a woman that fit the description I gave her, her face turned white and she replied, “That's the ghost.” I thought the staff had probably been coached to say such things, but seeing the woman vanish in the elevator was very puzzling.


We had problems with our elevators at work at the refinery but ours were much newer than those old wrought iron gates they used to have. They had safety devices to stop the elevator if the door was open and had heavy steel doors which opened vertically. Sometimes the safety devices would fail and you could open a door and the elevator wouldn't be there. When I went to the Spaghetti Warehouse, they still had the old gate on the elevator. I can't recall if the wrought iron gate had any safety devices but I remember thinking it was rather ineffective for an elevator door. I came up in it because I was in a wheelchair at the time. Maybe that's what attracted the ghost?


I found a video on YouTube that describes the story of the legend of the haunting. I never viewed it until today, 10/07/2013.



http://youtu.be/6RNGFWVRHo0


Now, I don't believe in orbs. I think orbs are just lens defects or peculiarities of the particular camera being used. I think the discoloration on the picture is probably a result of aging and moisture. It's harder, though, to dismiss a lovely woman hitting on me in front of my wife, heading into the elevator when I rejected her advances, closing the door behind her, and disappearing without the elevator ever moving. Was any of this real? Who knows for sure?


Here is the link to the official The Spaghetti Warehouse in Houston and other states.


http://www.40meatballs.com/




Tuesday, March 2, 2010

The October Moon - Halloween Poem

The October Moon


october, moon

Daylight turns to darkness

The full moon rises slowly

A passionate golden orb

The sound of wolves howling

Permeates the air

Sounds of wings flapping

The young maiden shivers

In the night air

Chills run down her spine

Before her, materializing

A visitor in the night

Taking human form


vampire, halloween

"Look into my eyes,

You are getting sleepy,

Don't be afraid,

I only vant your blood."

Hypnotic trance takes over

Passion fills her veins

Heart pumping madly

Head tilts back slowly

Exposing her naked neck

He sinks in his fangs



Vampire Background Pictures, Images and Photos

Drinking needed life blood

Satisfies his hunger

His strength returning to him

He takes her in his arms

Lays her on the ground

She gives herself openly

He fills her with throbbing warmth

Passionate moans echo

All throughout the night

Lying on the grass

Loving arms embracing

Until the morning sun

Starts to break the night

He leaves her yearning

Completely exhausted

As he flies skyward



Vampire Pictures, Images and Photos




Back into his coffin

He spends another day

Until the moon rises

Again


Copyright © 2008 Cal Jennings





Sunday, October 11, 2009

My Family History - A Halloween Tale

My Family History - A Halloween Tale




Ahhhhhh. Welcome my pretties. You are the ones chosen to know the secret. The deep, dark secret of my family history.


As some of you who read my blog regularly know, my grandfather inherited a castle in England. He considered the offer, but eventually declined. Now you will know the REAson he declined.

The Edgar Allen Poe story of “The Pit and the Pendulum was based upon the tale of one of my ancestors in the 1860s. You know I never lie and that eventually I reveal everything. Well, this is no exception. The story, as outlandish as it seems, is much more gruesome than even Poe could have written. As a matter of fact, some of you have seen parts of the story already in one of my compositions when I was nearly driven mad by the escapades of my ex-fiancee'. Yes, there was a pit and there was a pendulum, but there was more. MUCH more.

You see, the tortures were multiple, long, and severe. Yes, there was a doctor involved, but the doctor was there to keep the victim alive through all the tortures. The doctor assisted because the man did not commit adultery with my ancestor's wife. Here is the story:

A foreigner who worked for the Levant Company who had befriended Alexander Wood, noticed her shining beautiful features and her grapefruit breasts. He noticed her dazzling intelligence that had so drawn my ancestor to her. He was jealous that my ancestor was much older than she, so he seduced her with promises of riches. He convinced her that he was old and weak and would soon be unable to please her or care for her and her children. He told lies to her about my ancestor, to make her fearful of him and paid others to tell her lies as well. When she finally agreed to meet the Levant employee, he drugged her, kidnapped her, and forced her to work in his very unusual Gentleman’s club where men paid high prices to mistreat the women he provided in any sadistic manner they desired. He wanted her as a sex slave and vowed to make her bend to his every will.

She was very strong willed, so he started by locking her in a closet for days without food or water, then beating her, then injecting her veins with just enough morphine to kill the pain. He then would rape her and fill her veins with more morphine… enough to give her a pleasurable rush. He would rape her again as she started passing out from the drug. He did this repeatedly over a period of time while my ancestor relentlessly searched for her. As she became more submissive, he brought her out of the closet and bound her. He would start using harsher and harsher sexual methods with her... beating her... thrashing her with a cat o' nine tales... suspending her and raping her... each time, rewarding her with morphine flowing through her veins until she was addicted to both the morphine and the pain. He then started bringing in other men to have their sadistic way with her. He then introduced her to being pleased by women. More and more. Each time he rewarded her with the pleasure of morphine. Each time equating the rush of the pain and fear with the rush of the morphine flowing through her veins. She had tried to escape once, but he forced her to believe that if she ever escaped again, her husband and her whole family would be killed. Finally, she was broken.

After a time, he started easing her off the morphine letting her feel more and more pain. Soon, the pain would feel like the morphine and the morphine was one less expense for him. Sometimes he would give her a choice between the morphine and the pain. When she started choosing pain, he no longer gave her the pleasing drug.


My ancestor sent out the detectives as he watched for her. By the time my ancestor found his wife and had uncovered what all the man had done to her, his wife was near death and her addictions severe. He finally re-captured her, but at her pleadings, he let the Levant company employee go. She thought she was in love with her captor and my ancestor knew it. He had a large enough task trying to get her back to somewhat normal and did not feel that destroying her captor was the best use of his time at the present.

It took my ancestor many years to get her back to some semblance of normal and free her of the horrible addictions that she suffered at the hands of her captor. She never was nor would she be the same woman she once was, but he loved her so deeply that he would not turn her away. To prevent her going mad, he allowed her captor to live because she felt that she had loved her captor. He knew that she was unstable after her harsh, abusive treatment. He had to give her what she needed when she needed it, which was pain. Cruel pain. Over a period of time, he was able to get her back to some semblance of normalcy. Each time he had to hurt her, it turned his stomach, but he continued until she was weaned of always having the need for intense pain for sexual pleasure. He stayed with her and cared for her until her death.

Filled with anger against his wife's captor, there was nothing to stop him for seeking vengeance against the man who had treated his wife so. He would find the man again. His wife would never tell him the man’s name, but did reveal that his name started with an R. Speaking it over with the doctor, they agreed to find the man and set upon him a tortures until he revealed and apologized for all he had done to her and to other women. Rather than going to the authorities and having him put on trial, my ancestor sent out detectives to discover the man's whereabouts.

They discovered one of the man’s handkerchiefs the man had left at scenes where he had abducted a woman. The initial was “R.” One of the detectives was so brilliant that he quickly found her captor by the type of cloth of which the handkerchief was made. It is said that tales of this detective reached Sir Arthur Conan Doyle who wrote about some of this detective‘s cases.

The detective discovered the man’s name and found the woman, but the woman made him promise never to tell my ancestor the name of her captive for fear of what might happen to her family. The detective reluctantly agreed, but told my ancestor that women taken captive in such a manner often think they are in love with their captor and that her mental condition was too unstable for her to see or hear of the man being harmed. This was torturous for my ancestor as he would have loved to wring her captor’s neck right there in front of her.

They tracked the Levant employee back to his lair and watched his movements for a year before they made their move. They wanted to be sure this man did not suspect that he was being watched. When they were sure of their plans, they sent a maiden to offer him a drink. The drink, of course, was laden with morphine... in a large enough quantity to induce sleep... the very drug he had used to addict my ancestor's wife. When the man awoke, he awoke in a very dark place filled with grotesque paintings derived from the tortures of the Spanish Inquisition. He found himself bound and chained, unable to move or to free himself. This picture will give you a little more insight into what it was like when the man awoke in my ancestor's dungeon:




My ancestor started by parading beautiful, naked women in front of him, each one teasing him, then touching him, then pleasing him just enough to make him want more.

"Enjoy this," my ancestor said. "I want you to remember this, the greatest pleasure you will ever know, for it will be your last."

He had the women please each other in front of him over and over until he was groaning for mercy. Then the women started fondling him and caressing him. Then, when he was so tired that he was shivering and shuddering, he had all the women do all they could to please him and send him into the highest state of orgasm he had ever achieved.

My ancestor then paid the women and sent them out of the room, telling them to never speak of the incident. He paid them well enough that they all vowed to keep quiet the rest of their lives. My ancestor then locked the door behind them to prevent anyone from entering or exiting.


"Now," said my ancestor, "remember. You are about to pay for everything you did to my wife and to every other woman you ever laid your scum-laden hands upon."


You can fathom some insight to the tortures that were unleashed upon the man who abused my ancestor's wife as written in my poem:


The Warning
by Cal Jennings


If you should cause one I love harm
You shall be blown like ant from arm
No place shall you be safe and free
Never look back, or you'll find me
No weapon will be strong enough
To protect you from a fate so rough
Nor through time can you escape
I'll be there, too, thou simple ape
No price too high or distance far
No iron gates, nor supercar
Shall let you escape fast enough
Punishment severe, unkind, rough
No cries to Kr'shna, nor Allah will save
Your punk posterior, I'll enslave
I'll torture your mind, body, and soul
No demon god will make you whole
Scorpion stings upon your flesh
Your heart will pump, your tongue will thresh
Then with pliers, your tongue pulled out,
Shall justice punish your evil clout
As you scream unearthly cries
Honey and ants go in your eyes
In your ears, your privates as well
Let you experience your own evil hell
That you have forced on one I love
This only a start from hand of my glove
Within the pit the pendulum swings
One notch closer, it clunks and sings
Its shiny razor in candlelight glitters
Closer and closer it swings and jitters
As river rats tear your ghastly skin
Some candiru to spine from within
Each lash you've given, each threat you spoke
Taken in account for your punishment, bloke
No voodoo spell nor evil eye
Shall protect you from justice's cry
More torture shall your soul endure
Than you thought possible from the pure
Your soul into a black hole cast
It's searing heat, your soul will lash
Existing for eternity
In a place it cannot flee
Many punishments I've left out
I'll let your mind wonder and doubt
But know that volumes do exist
For each lash given, not one shall be missed
Your flesh shall be ripped from your face
And each and every private place
These warnings, heed, I do implore
If you think Braveheart suffered, you're wrongly sore
A warning I give only once
Especially to abusive runts
If you think these words seem sad
Just don't anger me, I'm not even mad



My ancestor had studied ancient secrets and methods of torture from every country and had planned them out so that each torture built upon the next. Each time he felt that his wife's captor wasn't suffering enough from the torture compared to how he imagined his wife felt for the offense my ancestor was stating, he would stab the arm of the man on the table with an ice pick, something the doctor had suggested. This took careful supervision by the doctor to keep the man alive through all the tortures he was to receive.

Each torture was delivered slowly, painfully, methodically, agonizingly as my ancestor described each thing that his wife had told him that her captor had put her through. So tortured was my ancestor by his wife's agonizing tales, that he wanted to be sure that each part of this man's being suffered as much as my ancestor's heart suffered for his dear love. All the tortures in the poem and more, many too excruciatingly painful to describe here, for the sake of your sanity... if it's not already too late... but each of these tortures and more were dealt unto his wife's captor.

Since then, as a penance, it has been tradition for the male members of my family to seek out and help recover one sex slave in his lifetime. In seeking for her, they often helped many.

You see, I didn't make all these things up. These things came from part of the history of my ancestor's tale which was passed down through generations. I don't make threats. I make promises and not promises on which I cannot deliver.

The full story of the tortures has never been told after the tale was told to Edgar Allan Poe. The tale drove him mad. The chilling tale of the man's torture was so explicit and so vivid that it haunted Poe for the rest of his life.

Poe wrote to try to relieve his mind from the torture and nightmares the tale evoked. He wrote many tales based upon what my ancestor told him trying to relieve his troubled mind. It is said that Poe finally escaped the torture of his mind from the tale by writing “The Lighthouse,” his final attempt to free his mind. It was said that as a price for his mind's escape was the death that kept him from finishing the piece. Since then, the story has only been passed down in fragments and never told all at once to another human being, though it is suspected that a few of my ancestors bypassed that rule as evidenced by the onset of their insanity. Do you think I would bypass such a rule? It makes you wonder, doesn't it?

Pleasant dreams.
MuuuuUUUAHAHAHAHaaaaa!


Copyright © 2009 Cal Jennings