To love history is to try and cross the veil that separates the dead from the living. It’s no wonder, then, that wherever remnants of the past are found, paranormal legends—and the people entranced by them—are seldom far behind. This is the world of dark tourism, luring visitors eager to engage with all things mystifying and macabre.

“Dark tourism is not a new concept,” says Karli Stansbury, museum educator for the Beaumont Heritage Society, “but it has only been studied academically since as recently as the 1990s. The category has just become more widespread in recent years, in part due to Gen Z and social media contributing to its popularity.” 

Today, the dark tourism category has grown into a booming industry that now generates $32 billion globally and roughly $575 million in Texas. While that figure may only amount to a fraction of the state’s robust economy, some of the money helps fund museums, historical buildings, and other sites in need of support. “When approached thoughtfully,” Stansbury says, “it helps cultural institutions spark meaningful conversations, broaden their audience, and foster deeper connections to the past.” 

In graveyards and old red-light districts, across cities scarred by assassinations and cryptid-packed landscapes, Texas has plenty of past to be haunted by. What’s the real story behind the lore? Oftentimes, the trip to discovery is even more rewarding than the truth. 

TROUBLED
WATERS

SET SAIL ON THE STATE’S MOST
TERRIFYING SHIP

After serving in the fires of the Pacific Theater of World War II, the USS Lexington found its final resting place in Corpus Christi. While it’s largely a floating history museum, this aircraft carrier doubles as a haunted house: A resident ghost, Charlie, is said to walk the narrow corridors. Reportedly killed in a Japanese attack in 1944, he’s a well-mannered apparition, dressed in an old-fashioned sailor’s uniform. And he’s not alone: Visitors and staff have both reported hearing the sounds of ghostly chains, experiencing elevators acting on their own, and glimpsing shadowy figures in the hangar bays. You can try your luck with a ghost tour ($50/person) or an overnight investigation ($75/person), which will give you after-hours access to the black, echoing interior of the ship. usslexington.com

Ghosts often appear as a result of a violent or uncomfortable past, digested by time, and, possibly, sensationalized by opportunistic entrepreneurs. Take Austin, for example. Between 1870 and 1913, Austin’s First Ward—10 square blocks of businesses in the modern downtown—served as the city’s unofficial red-light district. Sometimes referred to as Guy Town, these historical buildings once housed dens of gambling, drinking, dancing, and vice, says Jeanine Plumer, owner of Haunted Texas Corporation and author of Haunted Austin. Echoes of that seedy past can still be heard—sometimes literally—at certain  buildings surrounding the Capitol.  

DuMont’s Down Low
214 W. Fourth St., Suite B 

Today, it’s a low-key speakeasy in the modern Warehouse District. But in the late 1800s, brothel owner Blanche Dumont ran an establishment in the area before her young daughter died of typhus. Dumont followed in her wake not long after. Yet something of her establishment lingers. “[The owners] called us because they were having things happen,” Plumer says. “Glasses falling off shelves, lights that would turn off or on, voices. All of these disembodied sounds of humans who weren’t there.”

The Tavern 
922 W. 12th St.

A bustling sports bar since 1933, the Tavern also embraces an allegedly haunted history. Despite rumors that the building was an illicit bar and casino during Prohibition—and that it was the site of the grisly murder of a madame’s daughter, suggested by the discovery of a pair of shoes in a third-floor crawlspace—Plumer says that it was, in fact, a grocery store in an upscale early suburb. That doesn’t mean it isn’t haunted, though: When the building was vacant in the ’80s, Plumer collected an eyewitness account of a strange woman in the window. “The people who work there now report stuff all the time, like the  movement of objects and sounds that aren’t there,” she says. “It’s almost always when you’re closing up or opening—that’s when it’s magnified.” 

Bertram Building (Clay Pit) 
1601 Guadalupe St.

Another structure often associated with Guy Town, the Bertram Building was also a general grocer, serving the German American enclave in downtown Austin. While legends of a “scarlet lady” ghost have no historical basis, Plumer says the building was in an area marked by other tragedies: namely, a child who accidentally burned to death across the street. “It’s 100% extremely haunted,” Plumer says. During the 1991 renovation, the building’s owners invited her up to the second floor. “We collectively heard things falling and hitting the ground, and the sound of footsteps. And there was nothing there,” she says. 

OTHER HAUNTED
HANGOUTS

In 1902, Charlie and Dell Wunsche built a hotel and roadhouse, the Wunsche Bros. Cafe and Saloon in Spring, to cater to railroad workers. Their spirits are alleged to have stayed on to mind the property. Ghosts are also celebrated at La Carafe in Houston, a wine bar that originally opened as a bakery in 1860. This is the oldest commercial property in the city under continuous use—despite its late manager’s tendency to drop by for return visits. Meanwhile, Wimberley’s Devil’s Backbone Tavern is the epicenter of a whole region’s worth of spooky Hill Country stories, including the specters of a woman and child crying out for their missing husband and father.

From its rural backroads to urban alleys, Texas abounds with legends of strange beasts. These monsters—also known as cryptids, or animals unrecognized by formal zoology—are a fixture of Lone Star State folklore. “People think that every inch of Texas has been explored and cataloged, and it’s just not true,” says Michael Mayes, a Killeen-based cryptozoologist who has authored several books on the subject. The best cryptid hunters, he explains, report on what people see and keep an open mind while maintaining a degree of healthy skepticism. “I think it’s interesting to try and discern what, if any, small grain of truth might have sent things snowballing down the hill that morphed into a story.” Here are seven of the state’s most mysterious creatures spotted over the last several decades. 

 Physical description 

Big cat with black fur, yellow eyes, and a long tail  

 LOCATION 

Forested land east of Interstate 35 

*HISTORY*

It’s not uncommon to see a black cat wandering down a backroad. It’s very uncommon to see one the size of a jaguar, with an unusually long tail. But there have been hundreds of sightings of these mysterious big cats in Texas, usually east of I-35, in areas that receive regular rain and retain forest cover, like the Big Thicket. But what are they? Mountain lions do not have dark coats, and bobcats don’t have long tails. One possibility is the modern jaguar, a species that roamed East Texas as recently as the 1940s. Occasionally sporting dark coats, this ancient predator has recently been caught on trail cameras in Arizona and New Mexico. The Texas panther, meanwhile, sticks mostly to the shadows, however much we may hope it steps into the light. 

 Physical description 

Glowing humanoid figure with batlike wings folded against its back 

 LOCATION 

 Houston

*HISTORY*

In 1953, a trio of Houstonians sitting on their porch saw an enormous shadow leap into the top of a pecan tree. The Batman (no relation to Bruce Wayne) was visible for 30 seconds before it vanished. It next appeared in the ’90s, according to a report collected by cryptozoologist Ken Gerhard, when employees of the Bellaire Theater spotted a gigantic helmeted man crouching on a rooftop. This weird figure of the night remains a beloved urban legend from Space City, so keep an eye out between trips to NASA and the zoo—you never know what might be soaring above you on leather wings.   

 Physical description 

Large, goat-faced beast that runs on two legs 

 LOCATION 

 Fort Worth

*HISTORY*

Some monsters appear only for a season before vanishing without a trace. In July 1969, a 7-foot-tall goat man, covered in both fur and scales, jumped onto the hood of a car parked by the lake, terrifying its occupants. For the remainder of the summer, reports of the Lake Worth Monster ran rampant. Gawkers and monster hunters flocked to the lakeshore and reported hearing terrible screams and seeing blazing red eyes peering from the dark. With the start of the school year, the goat man disappeared for good. But it’s not forgotten: The Fort Worth Nature Center still hosts a biannual event in its honor. The next Lake Worth Monster Bash will take place in fall 2026.   

 Physical description 

Giant flying beast resembling an enormous bird or skin-winged pterosaurs

 LOCATION 

San Antonio and the Rio Grande Valley

*HISTORY*

Fossils of the extinct, Cessna-sized pterosaur Quetzalcoatlus were discovered in Big Bend in 1971. Five years later, a pair of San Antonio school teachers reported seeing enormous, pterosaur-like animals flapping over a desolate road. More witnesses disclosed similar sightings in Harlingen and the Rio Grande Valley. In the years since, there have been occasional reports of enormous flying animals, often referred to as “thunderbirds” after Lakota and Dakota folklore. Some have suggested the sightings are of an unknown species of large bird that nests somewhere remote, like the Mexican Sierra Madre, and occasionally blows into Texas airspace. Others have hinted that Quetzalcoatlus has returned to haunt this side of the border.   

 Physical description 

Skinny, hairless mammal with wrinkled skin and long fangs

 LOCATION 

Backroads around Cuero, San Antonio, and Amarillo

*HISTORY *

First reported in Puerto Rico in 1995, the chupacabra—or “goat-sucker”—is a vampiric critter that feasts on the bodily fluids of livestock. Originally considered to be a reptilian-looking alien, stories of the chupacabra eventually spread to Texas, where they took on a new shape: strange, hairless dogs with a hunger for cows and goats. A number of chupacabra bodies have popped up in Central Texas, most famously around Cuero in 2007. Each has turned out to be a coyote or racoon suffering from a vampiric infestation of their own: mites that cause their hair to fall out and may make the sick animals more prone to attack larger prey. Take heart, cryptid hunters: Where coyotes are common in Texas, chupacabras are never far behind.

 Physical description 

A 2-foot- to 7-foot-tall owl with a human face

 LOCATION 

South Texas, particularly around Corpus Christi

*HISTORY *

This shape-shifting bird woman is a fixture of northern Mexican and South Texan folklore. Legend tells of a woman falsely accused of witchcraft who returned as an owl after her execution to target misbehaving men. In 1975, a series of sightings of “El Pajaro Gigante,” an enormous owl with a human face, were reported around a small community outside Corpus Christi. The resulting flap became a cultural touchstone for local Chicano culture, with appearances in music, magazines, and comics. Sightings of La Lechuza have been scarce for decades, but the quickest way to attract its attention—and its ire—is to stay out too late and drunkenly stagger down the wrong backroad.  

 Physical description 

Shaggy ape-man with black or gray fur, reaching heights between 4 and 8 feet

 LOCATION 

Palmetto State Park in Gonzales

*HISTORY *

The Ottine Swamp is an anomaly in the southern Hill Country—a landscape of palmetto-choked swampland and Spanish moss above the muddy course of the San Marcos River. The jungle-like landscape comes complete with tales of Texas’ own homegrown Bigfoot. First reported in the 1970s, the swamp ape haunts the oaks and supposedly throws rocks and shakes car bumpers. The beast is particularly famous for its ability to quickly disappear and remain invisible even in short brush. But it doesn’t need to be seen to maintain a presence. The Swamp Thing has been a fixture of local lore for decades, to the point that Palmetto State Park’s gift shop makes a killing selling swamp monster T-shirts. 

A San Antonio hotel offers
room service with a spectral smile

By Rachel Monroe

Some people are unlucky in love; I consider myself unlucky in ghosts because I’ve never seen one. When campfire conversations turn to ghost stories, I have nothing to contribute. I spent months living in what was widely considered one of the most haunted houses in Marfa, where my roommates reported multiple uncanny encounters with spectral children. I saw nothing out of the ordinary.

At a certain point, being this unhaunted starts to feel like a personal failing. So, I have high hopes for my visit to San Antonio’s Emily Morgan Hotel, the third-most-haunted hotel in the world, according to USA Today. My pre-visit research revealed stories of souls trapped in the pool, and elevators with minds of their own. 

“You hear things and see things out of the corner of your eye. A few months ago, I was checking a room, and I thought a maintenance guy came in behind me. But no one was there,” the concierge checking me in at the front desk reports. “Oh, and another freaky thing—sometimes you’ll be walking down the hallways, and you’ll feel a spot that’s cold for no reason.”

The Grand Galvez in Galveston notes ghosts of children, a nun who died in the great hurricane of 1900, and the lovelorn suicidal bride of Room 501. If you’re brave enough, you can stay in her room overnight—though someone might snuggle up with you in bed. Rooms start at $220/night. grandgalvez
.com

The Menger Hotel in San Antonio is the place to go if you want to commune with the rough-and-tumble spirits of Teddy Roosevelt (who recruited for his Rough Riders there in 1898) and Richard King of the King Ranch, who is said to linger in Room 2052, his former suite. Rooms start at $219/night. mengerhotel.com

The Magnolia Hotel offers paying guests both a restored second-floor suite and free access to unrestored, historical parts of the Seguin hotel. Thirteen different ghosts have been reported on the premises—though the owners make no guarantees of meeting them. Rooms start at $249/night. hauntedmagnoliahotel.com

The Adolphus Hotel was once one of the tallest buildings in Dallas. Several accidental deaths allegedly occurred near the building’s elevator shaft, and ghosts are still said to cluster around the lift that claimed their lives, warning visitors to watch their step. Rooms start at $374/night. adolphus.com  

A cigar-shaped spacecraft careened out of the sky over Aurora on April 17, 1897, and obliterated a judge’s windmill. According to an account by local correspondent S.E. Haydon, published in the Dallas Morning News, the alien pilot did not survive the crash. “The pilot of the ship is supposed to have been the only one onboard, and while his remains are badly disfigured, enough of the original has been picked up to show he was not an inhabitant of this world,” he reported. Arriving 50 years before the more famous Roswell incident in New Mexico, the story still made quite the impression. While no government agents arrived to whisk away the body, it was rumored that the people of Aurora took charge of the situation themselves. The result: a town with an extraterrestrial buried in a cemetery—the only place in Texas that can make such a bold claim.   

It’s certainly a fun story. But is it true? In 1979, Time magazine interviewed Aurora resident Etta Pegues, who scoffed at the tale. According to the 86-year-old, it was a hoax perpetrated by Haydon to bring some interest to a dying town. When author and paranormal investigator Jerry Drake looked into the matter, he noted the locals likewise dismissed it as a joke. The alleged burial site is no longer marked with a headstone, and it’s not even clear whether there was ever any windmill for an alien spacecraft to strike. “Haydon got his wish,” Drake says. “The Martian has created interest in the town. It just took 130 years to do it.”

Why not simply dig up the alleged grave spot near an old, twisted tree and check? Texas law states you have to notify a next of kin before exhuming a body, leaving Aurora officials with an ironclad alibi. With no set headstone, any visitors hoping to commune with Haydon’s interred extraterrestrial will have to make do with a Texas Historical Commission marker commemorating the legend. 

Howard Hughes
Glenwood Cemetery, Houston

Founded in 1871, Glenwood Cemetery hosts some of Houston’s most illustrious dead within its lush 88 acres. Examples include Sarah Emma Edmundson, a woman who dressed as a man to serve in the Civil War; Houston Astros impresario Roy Hofheinz; and the famously wealthy and eccentric Howard Hughes. The Hollywood magnate-turned-recluse is buried in a monumental crypt, lending gravitas to the cemetery’s reputation as one of Texas’ most haunted spots.

Abraham Zapruder
Emanu-El Cemetery, Dallas

The second-oldest Jewish burial ground in Dallas, Emanu-El Cemetery, holds the remains of Abraham Zapruder, the Ukrainian American clothing manufacturer who sought to commemorate John F. Kennedy’s 1963 visit to Dallas—and instead captured 26 seconds of the most famous footage ever recorded.

Bonnie Elizabeth Parker
Crown Hill Memorial Park, Dallas

One half of the infamous lovebird criminals known as Bonnie and Clyde, Parker died in 1934 at the hands of the FBI in Louisiana after committing a string of murders and robberies. Her mortal remains ended up at the then-recently established Crown Hill. Her paramour, Clyde Barrow, rests 10 miles away at Western Heights Cemetery on Fort Worth Avenue.

Buddy Holly
City of Lubbock Cemetery

Established in the late 1800s, Lubbock’s cemetery is the third largest in Texas, with over 60,000 graves backing up to an old railway trestle dubbed “Hell’s Gate” by locals. Disembodied whispers, feelings of bleak unease, and faint guitar music are sometimes reported around the grave of iconic rock musician Buddy Holly, who died in an airplane crash in 1959.

Sam Houston
Oakwood Cemetery, Huntsville

After Sam Houston’s eventful life, the hero of the Texas Revolution went to rest in the shady green at Huntsville, established in 1846. The great general’s ghost is joined by a rather intimidating statue of Jesus, whose hands are reputed to flip positions at night and whose tarnished bronze surface has stubbornly resisted any efforts at cleaning.

Selena Quintanilla-Pérez
Seaside Memorial Park, Corpus Christi

Few ghost stories inhabit this cemetery, established in 1936. But it does hold a star: Selena Quintanilla-Pérez, the beloved singer who was struck down by the former manager of her boutique store chain. Her tomb is protected by a fence and haunted now only by those who come to pay their respects to the queen of Tejano music.