Las Vegas Haunted Museum Novels & Stories

“I’ll go see Las Vegas’ first-in-command, Paul Mendoza himself, tomorrow.” … Twelve at midnight, inside Fortune Warehouse. This place had years worth of history, but it had already gone out of business dozens of years ago due to the location of its establishment. After Old Marshall, the one in charge of the warehouse passed away a few months ago, nobody stopped by. There were even rumors of the place being haunted. In the dead of night, a few vans with Las Vegas, Hong Kong, and Country H licenses parked in front of the warehouse. The doors of the vehicles opened.

He was breaking the law for her. And he didn’t care. Sofia I clutched my jacket around me as Theo led me down the dark back entrance of the Moonveil Museum. It was almost midnight. The museum loomed above us like a stone giant, old enough to have witnessed kingdoms rise and fall. “Are you sure this is safe?” I whispered. “No,” Theo replied bluntly. “But it’s necessary.” He swiped a card across a hidden panel. The metal door hissed open.

I said. “Do you really want it so bad?” Joshua asked. “What you are suggesting is extremely dangerous. Forest of Mirrors loves to lure people off the track that leads to the Banshee barrows, which are haunted by the bawling Banshees. Those Banshees get out of their barrows only during Halloween nights.”

“Guilty.” “Oh man, when I saw they were fixing up the place last year, I thought someone might have decided to turn it into a museum like the Juliette Gordon Low House, but you’re actually going to live there?” Brad laughed. “That’s the plan. Why?” “You know about the house’s reputation, right?” “You mean stories of spooks and ghoulies?” “Yeah, it’s one of the most haunted sites in all of Savannah and that’s a verified fact.” Brad’s tilted his head and looked skeptically at Bias. “You don’t really believe in that stuff, do you?”

I couldn't wait for all this to be over. The date had gone well. We had kissed and she made me promise to come see her again. Things were finally as they used to be. “We're here,” Barlas announced, his feet shuffling to a stop. I felt the chill run down my spine. The Valley of the Dead. What the hell were we doing here? From this sunken ground, one could see the pack house perched atop what looked like a huge cliff. No wolf dared come here. Ever. It reeked of death and held the record of the most deaths in one place in all of Lupestone.

x - x - x Roth was struggling to keep a smile plastered on his face as they trotted along the Neon Museum in Vegas, because it was Tristan’s turn to decide what they would do that day. All the old neon signs from the billboards that once illuminated the entrances of all the hotels, motels, and even laundromats were dazzling Roth’s eyes. The Neon Museum is a place down by Fremont Street, or Old Las Vegas, which is a graveyard for all the old neon signs - or, rather, a boneyard because all of the signs are above ground.

Ironically, it sprang from the one horror game everyone else avoided. … To master my craft and do my job well as the horror game's makeup artist, I spent the week studying and trying out different ghost-ready makeup looks. When the summoning device blinked to life a week later, I grabbed my makeup case and stepped into the instance. Before me stood a row of brides. Alongside the Slit-Mouthed Woman were wraiths, ghouls, and vampires.

To do this, they'd consulted a battered travel brochure lying around the apartment laundry room. Fortunately, Calix hadn't insisted on trying extreme sports like skydiving and ziplining, even though he was in charge of their tours. So far they'd seen the Viva Vision light show at Fremont Street, walked the Old Spanish Trail Park at Clark County, tasted craft beers at Banger Brewing, and played fancy in a yacht charter at The Westin Lake Resort. They'd also mistakenly joined a portrait painting session at MGM, which made Calix want to try out painting. The materials they'd hoarded were still at Unit 14, gathering dust.

I pull my shirt down and put Codi against my chest so I can burp her. “Are you familiar with a place called Houska castle?” She sits down and turns her laptop toward me. There is an image of an ancient castle on the edge of a mountain surrounded by a forest. “No?” I look at the photo. “It’s in the Liberec Region of the Czech Republic. Famously haunted and said to be built on top of the gates to Hell.” She clicks another tab on the screen to an image of a mausoleum. “How about Saint Louis Cemetery Number One? In New Orleans?”

Layla There isn’t much that can scare me. Maybe that’s why I became a nurse. Maybe that’s why I didn’t balk at the idea of spending a summer in an entirely creepy, and no doubt haunted, French Colonial style mansion smack dab in the center of a swamp, cypress lined property in Hahnville, Louisiana. I’ve seen scarier places. I’ve walked the haunted halls of hospitals all over the country during my four years of being a travel nurse. I’ve seen things in emergency rooms that would make someone’s nightmares look and sound like child's play.