Del Rio, Texas: A Sleep-Deprived Ghost Hunter's Descent into Numeric Madness

okay, so i just got back from del rio, texas, and my brain is still buzzing with static and maybe some leftover ectoplasm. i'm a ghost hunter-or at least i pretend to be when i'm not falling asleep at my desk-and i went down there because i heard whispers about a place where the veil between worlds is thinner than the cheap motel curtains at the royal palms. the weirdest part? my EMF recorder kept picking up these repeating pulses: 4013728 and 1484828397. no idea what that means. maybe it's a code, maybe it's just a ghost with a weird sense of humor. i'm still trying to decode it. i even tried calling the number back-148‑482‑8397-just to see if a voice would answer on the other side. no luck. just static. spooky, right?

here's the spot i'm talking about:

i checked the weather before i left: it's sitting at a crisp 17.46°c right now, feels like 15.65, humidity at a desert‑dry 15%-hope that's your jam, because it's perfect for tramping around dusty cemeteries without melting. pressure's 1035 hpa, whatever that means for ghost activity; supposedly high pressure keeps spirits... contained? or maybe it just makes my joints creak. anyways, the low humidity meant the air was clear, stars were insane, and my thermal camera worked like a charm.

and if the ghosts decide to take a night off, there's plenty to see within a short drive. san antonio's about two hours north if you need big‑city vibes, and laredo's an hour south for more border culture. even the ghost town of tertlingua (yeah, that's a real place, not a typo) is a three‑hour jaunt west. just don't go looking for ghosts there after dark-trust me.

speaking of locals, i spent an evening at the dusty bar called the 'rio grande saloon' (or something) sipping cheap beer and listening to the regulars spin yarns.

"you ever been to the old train depot after midnight? they say the phantom conductor still checks tickets, but he never collects fares-just stares right through you." - a grizzled regular who claimed he'd seen it three times.

i checked out the depot the next night. it's a crumbling brick building with a sagging roof, and the wind whistles through broken windows like a dying animal. i set up my recorder and waited. around 2 am, i caught a whisper: "ticket... please?" and then a cold spot that made my hair stand up. classic.

someone told me that the taco stand on main has the best carnicas in the state, but also that the owner once performed an exorcism on a possessed blender. i didn't try the smoothies. instead i grabbed a burrito and ate it in my car while watching the depot from across the street. the guy at the stand, bernardo, swears the ghost of a railroad worker comes by every night to eat leftover chips. i believe him.

if you're looking for legit haunted spots, i found a ghost tour on tripadvisor that looked legit: Del Rio Ghost Tour. but be careful reading yelp-some of the one‑star reviews are probably from ghosts annoyed at being disturbed. actually, here's a direct link to Taco Bernardo's because you need fuel. the local forum (delrioforums.com) has a thread titled 'hauntings that aren't just tumbleweeds' that gave me the creeps. i also read an old article in the Del Rio News-Herald about the courthouse ghost. yeah, the courthouse is apparently haunted too; i didn't even get to that.

anyhow, after the depot i drove out to lake amistad at dawn. the lake is massive, straddling the border, and the sunrise over the water is something else. but it's also where a local legend says a young woman drowned in the 1920s after a lover's quarrel.

"the lady who drowned in lake amistad? she still walks the shoreline at dawn, dripping wet and humming a lullaby. if you hear humming, run. or join in, i don't judge." - a waitress at a diner who looked like she'd seen too many sunrises on that lake.

i arrived at the shoreline around 5:30 am, fog rolling off the water. my thermal cam picked up a cold spot moving along the shore. then i heard it-a faint humming, like a child's song. i noped out of there before i could see anything else. maybe next time.

the landscape around del rio is stark, beautiful, and full of hidden energy. the desert just outside town feels alive with hidden eyes.

i also heard from a local historian that the area used to be a campsite for the black seminole scouts, and some say their spirits still patrol the hills. that's another layer.

"those scouts? they're still around. i've seen them on misty mornings, riding horses that don't leave hoofprints." - an old guy at the gas station who sold me a jerky stick.

i wish i'd had more time. del rio is one of those places that doesn't show up on many travel lists, but it's got character. the people are tough, the stories are wild, and the air? it's dry as a bone, but i swear i felt a few cold spots that had nothing to do with the temperature. i'll be back, maybe with more equipment, maybe with more courage. until then, i'm trying to figure out what 4013728 and 1484828397 actually mean. any ideas? hit me up on twitter @sleepyghosthunter.

thanks for reading. if you go, bring water, a flashlight, and a healthy skepticism. or don't. maybe the ghosts prefer believers.