Preface: About the Island

Texas has its own haunted capital on the Gulf Coast. Galveston… which is one of the most interesting cities in the U.S. Woven into its coastal charm are countless ghost stories. One of which you will be hearing for the first time. I know this because it is a personal experience that I have yet to share.

Galveston may not get the same press as Salem or New Orleans, but it’s paranormal activity and spiritual legacy are just as potent — a place where history refuses to rest and the veil between worlds feels just a little thinner.

Wanna get away?

Halloween in Galveston was supposed to be a break. A rare escape for my best friend Stormy, A psychic medium who had two sons, both of which were born on Halloween two years apart. This time, it was her turn to finally play on Halloween.. We packed up, booked a haunted hotel, and hit the road with costumes, curiosity, and a thirst for something different.

Two big mirrors and a lifetime ban

We started the day at the Bishop’s Palace. A towering Victorian mansion with stained glass windows and a reputation for ghosts. The entryway was flanked by two massive mirrors, twenty feet tall, facing each other and creating an endless corridor of reflections. Most people avoided walking between them. They whispered about portals, about energy. I walked through. Fifteen reflections deep, something caught my eye. A man in a dark robe stood to the right. In the mirror but not part of the reflections, There amidst the infinite images, there was only one of him. Just him. Watching. When our eyes met, my blood turned to ice. I turned to Stormy. “Do you see that guy?” She nodded slowly. “He’s not from here.”

Later, on the third floor, I noticed a small staircase blocked by a chain. Someone unhooked it and gone up. Curious, I followed. It was just a storage area, but the air was freezing and my heart pounded. I turned back. When I told Stormy, she went up without hesitation. Thirty seconds later, a girl from the staff came running up the stairs, yelling at her. Stormy was kicked out of the tour. Banned for life. “They’re all up there,” she told me calmly. “The spirits. Hiding from the crowd. And the Bishop? He wasn’t a kind man.”

Heeeeeeere’s Buster

We returned to the Tremont House to get dressed for the night. That’s when Buster met us out front. Tall, thin, and pale, dressed as a gothic vampire with a custom top hat he’d made himself. Buster owns a fashion house that creates off-the-grid clothing for Goth Hollywood types and rock stars who want to look like they crawled out of a haunted opera.

Stormy grinned when she saw him. “You look like you just stepped out of a cursed castle.”

Buster bowed dramatically. “Only the finest for the fourth floor.”

We laughed, unaware of how true that would become.

Only the beginning

We went barhopping with Buster, laughed, drank, and tried to shake the day’s strange energy. The rooftop breeze cooled our skin, the drinks warmed our blood, and for a few hours, the world felt normal.

When we returned, I asked the front desk clerk which part of the hotel had the most activity.

She didn’t hesitate. “Fourth floor. East end. Near the rooftop bar.”

Our room? Second from the bar. Yikes…

The wacked out witches

The three of us made our way upstairs and down the hallway toward Room 402 — Stormy, Buster, and me… still buzzing from bar hopping and the strange energy that clung to the island on Halloween. Just three doors down from our room, another door burst open.

Two young women came running out, talking fast and loud, clearly disturbed. They had introduced themselves earlier as witches… playful, maybe serious, but now they looked terrified and out of sorts. Their voices were sharp, their energy frantic, like they’d seen something they couldn’t explain.

It scared the heck out of me.

Stormy watched them disappear down the corridor, her expression unreadable. “Something’s moving,” she said.

And I felt it too.

Buster’s Exit

Back in Room 402, Buster joined us for a few drinks. We sat around talking, the three of us tucked into the dim glow of the old hotel room. He sipped his drink, legs stretched out, telling us about Karen and how things had unraveled, how he was thinking about going back to Detroit. There was a weight in his voice, but also a strange peace, like he’d already made the decision.

Stormy started nodding off in the other bed, her bunny mask now a crumpled memory on the nightstand.

Buster stood, stretched, and gave me a tired smile. “I’m gonna walk home,” he said. “It’s only a few blocks.”

I walked him to the door. The hallway was quiet, the kind of quiet that feels like it’s listening. He didn’t seem to notice. Just gave a nod and disappeared into the shadows.

I closed the door behind him.

And that’s when the scratching started.

Smells like a wet dog

Stormy fell asleep instantly. I lay awake, listening. That’s when I heard it. A small animal scurrying across the hardwood floor near the door. Maybe a mouse. I put a pillow over my head and tried to sleep.

But the sound came back. Louder. Heavier. Claws on wood. Not a mouse. Something bigger. An opossum? A raccoon?

Then came the growl.

Low. Wet. Close.

I dreamed of a large dog chasing me. It pushed into the room, padded toward my bed, and stopped at eye level. Just as it reached me, inches from my face… I woke up.

The smell of wet dog and foul breath hit me like a wave.

Thick. Pungent. Like something had been sleeping beside me, breathing heavy and close. The air was dense, humid with something unnatural.

Something big was growling.

The sounds and smells were still there.

I just couldn’t see it.

I lay there, frozen, clutching the bat I’d carried with my costume, heart pounding like a drum in my ears.

Sleep didn’t come again.

Just one bite?

I heard voices outside, so I leapt from the bed and ran for the door. I must’ve looked insane. Clown makeup, bat in hand, flinging the door open like a madman.

Two young women in the room next door looked startled. “Did you hear that?” I asked.

They nodded. “We heard the dog. Growling.”

I hesitated. “Did you smell it?”

They blinked. “Smell what?”

“Wet dog. Foul breath. It was right next to me.”

Their faces changed. One of them stepped back, suddenly pale. “No,” she said. “We didn’t smell anything.”

Then the man from the room on the other side stepped out. He looked pale. Shaken. “Something bit me,” he said, lifting his pant leg.

A chunk was missing from his calf.

And I’m doing this for free?

Downstairs, he wrapped his leg in bandages while I tried to make sense of it all. “They can’t touch you in bed,” he said.

“How do you know that?” I asked.

He looked at me, dead serious. “I did research before I came. I’m supposed to get five grand if I make it until morning.”

I didn’t ask who was paying him. I didn’t want to know.

Wide awake

Back in the room, Stormy stirred a few times during the night, but every time she opened her eyes, the presence receded. She never saw it. Never smelled it. Just heard the scratching on the floor and walls earlier that night.

Me? I lay awake, heart pounding, the bat beside me, the scent of wet dog thick in the air.

I didn’t sleep again.

But I made it to morning.

Epilogue: First Light

The tension in Room 402 was thick enough to cut with a knife. Every creak, every breath, every shadow felt like a threat, and that darn dog would not stop growling. Then all of the sudden… the sun rose. A sliver of light crept through the window, and with it, the heaviness vanished. Just like that. As if the night had never happened.

Stormy sat up, blinking at the light. “They’re gone,” she said.

And they were.

But the memory wasn’t.

Because everybody wants to see a ghost… until they do.

I’ll never stay there again.