Credwell Chronicles – Chapter 12: Cops and Cronies

June 22nd at 8:30 a.m. — Outside Neptune Casino
Within five minutes of the Casino catching fire, the Santa Cruz Fire Department was notified of the affair. Within ten minutes, a wheel hose had been hitched to the wagon outside the fire house. After twenty minutes, the fire crews had arrived outside the Casino and Plunge looking on in horror at the impossible task in front of them. At approximately thirty minutes after the blaze had flared up, two other fire crews from Capitola and Soquel had arrived.

Fred Swanton was waiting for them outside the Casino when the first crews arrived. Beside him, the shaky Plunge attendant Ben looked worried, repeatedly glancing back at the pool’s building. “Welcome to my new light show,” Swanton said with a sarcastic tone in his voice to the fire captain.

The captain gazed up at the towering inferno then back at Swanton. “How exactly did this happen?” he asked.

“I presume something went wrong with the electrical since the power went out immediately before the fire. My men had been working on wires in the kitchen last night. Perhaps they left something exposed. Fools!” Swanton turned to the attendant. “Ben, my boy, let’s go across the street and get ourselves a drink. I don’t think there’s much more we can do here.” The two of them crossed the street, leaving the fire captain and his crew confused. 

Setting his eyes on the two other fire crews, the captain looked back at the burning building, and then turned to follow Swanton across the street. The rest of his crew followed, as did the firefighters from Capitola and Soquel. All thirty-two men settled in on the patio of the Tent City Restaurant and ordered coffee as they watched the buildings burn to the ground.

Locals watching the fire from the safety of the nearby Sea Beach Hotel, June 22, 1906 *

It took flying embers igniting the roof of the restaurant to call the fire crews back to action. Another fifteen minutes had passed and much of the buildings were in ruins by now, the fire seeming to peter out east of the Casino. As they exited the feigned safety of the restaurant, the crews realized that many of the tents were burning around the restaurant. Fleeing back to the street, it was all they could do to avoid being caught in another fire that consumed the restaurant in a matter of minutes.

The two-story building had once served as the original Neptune Bath House in the 1880s before being moved and converted to a restaurant. Now it was yet another inferno adding to the mayhem of the morning. With Swanton, Ben, and the fire crews, the displaced restaurant staff joined the motley assortment of confused individuals. Other people were coming out of their houses to watch, while those staying at the Sea Beach Hotel had front-row seats to the affair. The fire had become a spectacle that would not quickly be forgotten by the people of Santa Cruz.

Finding resolve, the chief of the Santa Cruz fire department ordered his men to split into two brigades. One he charged with protecting the remaining tents from further harm, while the other headed to the Plunge pump house where a small blaze was threatening to spread to the neighboring skating rink.

When the crews crossed the street, they realized that the pump house was already partially burning from the inside, though the outside, which was mostly cement, was largely unharmed. The fire was quickly suppressed and the flames emanating from the Plunge were subdued. The large building had collapsed a few minutes earlier while the fire crews looked on.

Two members of the crew were brave enough to move down the remains of the passageway between the buildings to the primary entrance door for the pump house. They cautiously entered, holding their axes close for comfort as much as for a purpose.  The floors inside were littered with bits of cast iron and water. All four boilers were torn to pieces, with the basins shredded at about mid-height and the top collapsed into the bottom. Cement floors and asbestos walls had protected the building from extensive damage despite the violence of the fire within the building.

As the men walked toward the opposite side of the room, one man’s boot found something that easily shattered. Looking down, the man discovered the blackened bone outline of a human youth. The two men looked at each other in horror, and ran back out from where they came from, shouting for their captain as soon as they emerged from the building.

– – – – –

Fred Swanton was waiting at the end of the passage when they came running out. The director-general was wearing a new light grey suit and he had a wry expression on his face. Behind him, the Santa Cruz city chief of police looked on menacingly while beside him The Santa Cruz Sentinel’s editor-in-chief looked sheepish.

“Gentlemen,” Swanton addressed the two fire fighters. “I must thank you for taking care of this problem so efficiently. A fully destroyed entertainment complex is so difficult to rebuild.” Swanton’s expression had turned to a slightly humored grin as he spoke. To the fire fighters, it was eerie considering Swanton had just lost two buildings valued in the millions of dollars. “I presume that you will find the buildings empty of any casualties as they were closed at the time when the fire started.”

“Actually, director-general, we have found evidence that...” the first crewman began to reply.

The smoldering wreckage of the Neptune Casino, June 22, 1906

Swanton quickly waved him off. “I believe you were going to inform me that the buildings are clear of any fatalities.” Swanton turned slightly to look on the other two buildings which were slowly being surveyed by fire crews. The large Casino had apparently finally collapsed and much of the fire extinguished itself at that point. The restaurant across the street was a pile of timbers, with little streams of smoke emanating from some surrounding tents. “You must understand gentlemen,” he continued, “that the future success of Santa Cruz as a tourist resort is linked to the understanding that there were no fatalities in this fire. Do you catch my meaning, sirs?” The smile on Swanton’s face disappeared suddenly.

The two crewmen looked at each other, then one spoke up. “We understand your meaning, director-general, but won’t the press...”

“The press will not be an issue, will it, Mr. Howard?” Swanton said as he turned to The Sentinel’s editor.

“Certainly not, sir. After everything your company has done for Santa Cruz, we do not want to jeopardize that relationship,” Howard sputtered reluctantly with a false sense of loyalty.

“So again, gentlemen,” Swanton resumed, “will there be any problem?”

“No, director-general. However, we do ask what will become of the...refuse?” the crewman said with a strong air of resentment.

“We will take any unusable materials and add them to the foundation of the new building I am planning to start construction on tomorrow,” Swanton replied matter-of-factly.

“So you mean to rebuild?” Howard jumped in excitedly, happy to have some subject to report on.

“Certainly!” Swanton returned with a broad smile. “There is always something doin’ in Santa Cruz, and I want that ‘doin’ to be here! The summer is upon us and we must build, build, build! Investors from San Francisco are already on their way. I called them first thing this morning to discuss the plans.”

“Very good, director-general!” Howard praised. “We are glad that this tragedy is already in the past. I’m sure something new and equally magical will rise out of the ashes of these buildings.”

“Indeed, Mr. Howard. There can never be a dull moment in Santa Cruz.” The three men turned and walked away, leaving the two crewmen alone, pondering a lifetime of shameful silence.


This story is a work of fiction. All reference to historical incidences and individuals is purely for plot purposes and may not represent true events or real-life personalities and attitudes. This story is designed for an adult audience with moments of violence, terror, and the painful deaths of minors and adults throughout. Please direct all comments to the section below. Thank you and enjoy!

* Descriptions of photographs with "*" are fictional and do not actually depict their description. Actual historical photographs and illustrations do not have an asterisk.

Credwell Chronicles – Chapter 11: Bolts and Boilers

June 22nd at 8:50 a.m. — The Neptune Plunge Pump House
Behind her, the Plunge collapsed, shaking the pump house violently as parts of the wall fell against the concrete side of the building. Mary breathed in heavily, nearly exhausted from smoke inhalation and sheer exertion. The boiler room that she ran into glowed ominously. Vents and grills revealed red hot embers simmering silently, heating heavy-duty boilers of water that stood twelve feet high above her. Thousands of gallons of water pumped through this building each day, heating the vast Plunge next door.

Mary groped along the wall, looking for a light switch, lamp, candle, anything better to illuminate her path. She found nothing. Dim incandescent lightbulbs hung overhead, but they did little to light her path. The smell of oil was strong in the air, probably used to augment the standard wood and charcoal that warmed the boilers. Swanton always did like to experiment with new technologies. Outside, she could still hear the continuous cracking of beams and rafters, steel stretching as it buckled superheated.

On the opposite side of the room, the thin outline of a door could just be made out. Two double rows of boilers flanked the path to the door. Behind her, more wood cracked and something thumped hard against the door she had just entered from. Fearing the worst, Mary cautiously began walking for the door across the room.

Neptune Plunge Pump House (left) and Harley Davidson's Skating Rink (right). Taken from the Electric Pier, c. 1907

The large boilers made a cacophony of noises as she passed by the first set. They seemed to be under increased pressure from blocked pipes in the Plunge. The boiler to her left creaked suspiciously, steaming water overflowing from the top and splattering Mary on her legs, burning through her tights. Without warning, a two-inch bolt shot out from the boiler. Superheated water spouting out from the hole and the the boiler suddenly sounded like a massive teapot ready to explode. The stream of water blocked her path, but with no other choice, Mary jumped over it anyway, scalding her right foot as she made the leap.

As soon as she landed, another bolt loosed from the boiler, striking her in her right leg. Mary stumbled to the ground in a heap. As she nursed her wound, the boilers around her began to chime louder. The two boilers ahead of her both made a loud cracking noise simultaneously and then went silent for a moment. The two boilers beside her continued to sing with their tea pot rhythm. Then, the silent boilers exploded in a flash of shrapnel and boiling water, sending two-inch bolts flying in all directions and knocking down large canisters of petroleum. Scalding hot water flooded the cement floor, mixing with the oil and burning charcoal.

A worker standing in a corner of the Neptune
Plunge pump house, c. 1905 *

Mary avoided the majority of the blast, though bits of metal grazed her across her body. But the flood tide of scalding water and oil were unavoidable. As the concoction hit her in a wave, Mary writhed on the ground, bodily control lost to the agony of her torment. Her right leg was utterly useless, bleeding from the gaping wound caused by the bolt. Any chance of saving the leg was hopeless with the water cauterizing it and oil infecting it. She screamed, but no one could hear her over the sound of escaping steam. The building smelled of sulfur and vented steam like a geyser. Inside, the air was thick with humid wet gases, the smell of acid water all around her.

Mary forced herself up, her skin burned to the bone in parts. She limped back toward the door through which she entered. Fumbling, she grasped for the small knob, yanking the door. It didn’t budge. In a panic, she frantically yanked harder, seeing the exit as her only means of escape. At last, the door opened with a blast of superheated air that took her breath away.

A fireball roared into the pump house, causing the remaining two boilers to erupt into balls of metal and steam. More scorching water rained down on Mary, who had by now collapsed into a ball just beside the unhinged door. She no longer noticed the pain, and the water did little to extinguish the fire that had caught hold of her flesh. The flames surrounded her, consumed her, even as it suffocated her. The air escaped the room from the pressure of the firestorm, leaving Mary unable to draw even a breath. She twitched for many long seconds before she went unconscious, her body a human candle burning her to nothingness.

– – – – –

Outside, billows of black smoke rose high into the air before raining across the city of Santa Cruz. The Plunge was no more, a basin of water without a ceiling, little more than a pile of rubble. The small pump house simmered, no longer burning, beside it, the bones of a twelve-year-old girl mixed with shards of cast iron and burning charcoal. On the other side, Neptune Casino blazed like the Lighthouse of Alexandria, a monument to Fred Swanton’s fame and glory.

This story is a work of fiction. All reference to historical incidences and individuals is purely for plot purposes and may not represent true events or real-life personalities and attitudes. This story is designed for an adult audience with moments of violence, terror, and the painful deaths of minors and adults throughout. Please direct all comments to the section below. Thank you and enjoy!

* Descriptions of photographs with "*" are fictional and do not actually depict their description. Actual historical photographs and illustrations do not have an asterisk.

Credwell Chronicles – Chapter 10: Stairways and Sink Basins

June 22nd, 1906, at 8:45 a.m. — The Boardwalk Outside the Neptune Plunge
Mary came to a sudden halt as she reached the boardwalk on the beach side of the building. Expecting sand and fresh air, she was horrified to see that the fire still surrounded her. A firestorm had erupted on the boardwalk, consuming the Casino, the band pavilion, and the boardwalk itself. She pressed herself against the wooden exterior of the Plunge. The beach was on fire. Without any further hesitation, she ran for the relative freedom that was the east.

Neptune Casino late in the course of the fire, June 22nd, 1906.

The passage between the Plunge and the pumphouse was still free of debris when she reached the intersection. Sounds echoed from inside, audible through the thin walls. Crashes and beams were falling. Mary didn’t have much time. She began sprinting down the 100 foot walkway, hoping to reach the end before tragedy struck. But fate was catching up with her. A wrenching sound reverberated across the wooden planks, and the entire wall to her left began to lean dramatically toward her. Mary was still only halfway down the passage as the Plunge began to collapse around her, sending burning embers and shards of glass everywhere.

The walkway in front of her was evaporating into charred timber as an unexpected roof over the passage leaned heavily on the side of the pumphouse. Gigantic fragments of burning wood crumbled into the walkway. Mary found herself up against a wall again, and feeling around, she discovered a door’s handle to her right. She turned it, and it opened easily. Gambling on hope, she darted into the blackness, closing the lid of her coffin behind her.

– – – – –

James had just barely opened the door to the kitchen access stairs when he regretted the decision entirely. A burst of fire rocked out the door and into the arcade. James was only protected because the door swung toward him, though it smashed him against the wall all the same. Now, the door lay in a heap on the ground, as fire engulfed the small trinket shop located across from it. 

Cautiously, he glanced up the stairwell to confirm his suspicions. As he expected, the remains of the stairs were smoldering with large glowing holes pock-marking the entire length. It would be a suicide run to try and climb those. And then what, James thought to himself. Turning to the door beside the stairs, he tried the handle but it wouldn’t budge. The door let out into a small access corridor toward the pool, but it felt like there was wreckage on the other side, and the knob was quite warm. 

Reassessing his situation, James did a quick circle to determine where he should attempt next. He couldn’t even see the grand staircase anymore—most of the ceiling around that area had collapsed. Drops of liquid fire rained across the arcade and gaping holes were spreading from upstairs. It was a wonder that the entire building had not collapsed yet. Black smoke billowed out of every fissure and the temperature of the room was stifling, but James found new resolve and sought out a path.

Elizabeth Credwell outside the beach bandstand, c. 1905. *

With few other options available, James dashed toward the beach doors, hoping to find a way out of the building. But again he was blocked, this time by an inferno that had blazed up on the overly painted boardwalk. Large chunks of wood had collapsed in front of the doors, anyway, making progress difficult. To his right, he could see the beach bandstand burning like a torch in a soft breeze. It was beautiful in a way, but terrible to behold. James shook his head and ran behind the remains of grand staircase, looping back around toward Fred Swanton’s office, where his nightmare had begun.

The building shook violently and numerous pieces of ceiling caved in around the arcade, but nothing major fell and the building remained standing. James continued to assess his situation and saw the other dining room access stairwell. He was disappointed to find these stairs equally destroyed. The door was burning nearby the billiards room entrance, but the stairs were completely gone, settled in a heap at ground level and slowly burning through the wood foundations.

Another shutter shook the building and James could feel the floor shifting. The middle of the room, which had stood so long throughout this ordeal, buckled and the ceiling fell in. James frantically looked for another escape venue and his eyes settled on the relatively untouched men’s restroom. More cracking and James knew the ballroom ceiling was caving in on itself. He darted into the restroom.

Inside, the southern wall was burning with a pale orange glow but no worse. Outside, James could hear the crashes and crackling of the fire and ruin in the Casino. James settled himself under the sink furthest from the burning wall, and prepared for a long wait.

More sounds outside echoed into his small prison. The ceiling above began to creak ominously. Bits of golden paint from the gilded wallpaper sprinkled down on the floor beside him, twinkling with an eerie bronze sheen. Crown molded tin turned dark and drooped along the corners of the ceiling, dripping molten metal on the tile floor. The heat under the sink increased by the second until James was sweating all the alcohol he had consumed the previous night.

Unexpectedly, the sounds outside grew quiet—a last ray of sunshine before the storm. Then, the entire building shifted on its foundation, the primary support beams overwhelmed or consumed. As the far wall began its inevitable descent that would end in his death, James tried to ignore it. He thought about better times with his family. He remembered that he hadn’t written Maggie, his eldest daughter, lately, and he wondered how she was doing at her school in Vermont. He thought of his other children—Patty, Mary, and Jimmy—and how he would never see any of them grow up.

The wall continued its collapse in slow motion. Parts of the hardwood dance floor fell through the ceiling, sprinkling molten tin, shards of gold-flecked wood, and fragments of porcelain sink-ware across the floor. Pieces fell on James, too, crushing his arm, pinning him beneath the sink unable to move.

As the rubble of Neptune’s Casino crushed his motionless body to nothingness, James remembered that the fuse box for the Casino wasn’t outside; it was beside the main entrance next to Swanton’s office. This crushing realization explained what Swanton meant when he said he planned to remodel the Casino. Now, James only wished Swanton were around to discuss the details. Of course, Swanton already knew the details, and James was just a loose thread needing to be tied off.

This story is a work of fiction. All reference to historical incidences and individuals is purely for plot purposes and may not represent true events or real-life personalities and attitudes. This story is designed for an adult audience with moments of violence, terror, and the painful deaths of minors and adults throughout. Please direct all comments to the section below. Thank you and enjoy!

* Descriptions of photographs with "*" are fictional and do not actually depict their description. Actual historical photographs and illustrations do not have an asterisk.

Credwell Chronicles – Chapter 9: Fire and Water

June 22nd at 8:45 a.m. — Miller-Leibrandt's Neptune Plunge
For the past forty-five minutes, Mary had been gazing longingly at the older boy who served as attendant. No one else had yet come in, possibly because the fog remained heavily attached to the beach outside. Ben occasionally would smile toward the girl, but for the most part he sat at his station and read from the newspaper. Patty continued to swim and dive in the pool, ignoring the feigned romance of her sister and the boy.

From outside the Neptune Plunge, Mary could hear somebody shouting loudly. Ben looked up from his newspaper and gazed out the large double-doors of the Plunge. He turned toward Mary, then shrugged and resumed reading. Again a voice shouted outside. Ben looked back out, and then stood up from his stool to get a better view. He leaned out the door and then turned back to Mary again. “Miss, I will be back in just a moment. Mr. Swanton is calling for me. Can you watch the booth while I’m away?”

Tourists on the Electric Pier with the Miller-Leibrandt Neptune Plunge in the background, c. 1904.

Mary blushed brightly, then gracefully stood up on the diving board and sauntered over to the booth. Ben had already left by the time she reached it. More sounds could be heard outside. Mary went to glance out the window when, without warning, a large flaming beam collapsed from the west wall of the plunge, missing the pool and falling on the side. Mary looked up toward the ceiling and saw fire spreading quickly everywhere.

“Patty!” she shouted without hesitating further. Her sister had just dove back into the water near where the beam had fallen, and would probably remain submerged for another minute or so. The fire along the beams continued to spread.

Mary ran to the edge of the pool nearest to her and dunked her head under, shouting to her sister again. Still, Patty did not emerge from the deep end. Another large beam fell, this time directly into the center of the large heated salt-water pool. Patty burst out of the water almost instantly, looking around frantically to reassess her situation. More pieces of the ceiling began falling around her but she couldn’t see clearly.

Salt stung Patty’s eyes as she finally focused on Mary near the opposite side of the pool. “What’s happening?” Patty asked, looking very confused.

Her sister was jumping up and down but Patty couldn’t hear anything except a low drone. She realized that her ears were plugged. Shaking her head from side-to-side as she paddled in place in the water, she finally could her her sister shouting “The ceiling! It’s on fire! Get out, Patty! Get out now!”

Patty looked up, startled to find the ceiling high above her burning bright with flames. Medium-sized pieces of burning beams were raining around her, with ash and sparks adding to the mess. Another large beam fell about five feet away, and Patty began paddling for the nearest side of the pool.

The fire had spread to the main entrance of the Plunge, and large chunks of ceiling rained down, piling up and blocking the double-doors. Mary had been forced along the east wall toward the beach-side entrance. “Meet me on the beach!” Mary shouted as she darted for the exit, finding it still free from fire. She glanced back at her sister one last time as Patty was nearing the edge, then she fled outside.

– – – – –

With the entrance blocked, Patty had no choice but to swim for the south side of the pool. All other corners were falling apart as pieces of ceiling and even wall fell in. The east side was still mostly clear, but a large smoldering beam sat in the water, blocking her path. The amount of soot and debris in the pool was incomprehensible to her. The air was thick with smoke and it was becoming hard to breathe. Her lungs burned as she attempted to swim to the south side. Suddenly, another burning beam fell, blocking her escape.

Swimmers inside Neptune Plunge, c. 1906. *

The space around her was shrinking as the roof turned bright red. The water’s temperature had been steadily increasing as more burning wood fell in around her. The pool was normally kept at a comfortable 84˚ F, but now it was well over 100˚. She was going to be cooked alive if she didn’t get out.

Patty dove under the water to see if there were any openings, but red hot beams glowed around her, forcing small bubbles of steam to rise to the surface. She emerged from the water disheartened. Above, the ceiling cracked ominously. The shutter shook the entire building to its foundations, and then the structure shifted eastward, toward the still un-enflamed wall. The nearby wall began to lean directly into her, and massive beams rained down overhead. Windows shattered, and the water’s temperature rose to a boil.

Patty dove back into the depths of the plunge, seeking the bottom of the deepest end in the hope that somehow she would emerge again. She turned her head toward the surface to find a glowing orange abyss above her, forcing her downward still. The water’s temperature was now so hot that it was scalding her flesh, blinding her, and making her writhe beneath its agonizing embrace. Her skin fell off in layers, leaving only bone. Her lungs emptied themselves of their own accord, filling with water and ash and blood. Patricia Credwell sank into the depths, crushed by the weight of the entire plunge  building as it settled atop her—lost forever among the ruins.

This story is a work of fiction. All reference to historical incidences and individuals is purely for plot purposes and may not represent true events or real-life personalities and attitudes. This story is designed for an adult audience with moments of violence, terror, and the painful deaths of minors and adults throughout. Please direct all comments to the section below. Thank you and enjoy!

* Descriptions of photographs with "*" are fictional and do not actually depict their description. Actual historical photographs and illustrations do not have an asterisk.

Credwell Chronicles – Chapter 8: Resolution and Sacrifice

June 22nd at 8:30 a.m. — Neptune Casino Grand Staircase
Beth was halfway up the grand staircase when Jimmy’s scream was suddenly cut off. She stopped and cried back to him but no answer returned except the sound of cracking timbers.

With renewed panic, she continued her ascent up the stairs when a loud boom shook the building and caused her to slip down three steps onto her rear. Harsh ripping noises echoed above the rising cacophony of sounds caused by the fire. Ahead up the stairs, she witnessed a massive copper object plunge downward, completely blocking her passage. It was severely tarnished and bright green in spots, though parts glowed with an eerie orange luminescence. 

She ran up to it to realize it was one of the large domes of the Casino, probably the largest center one fallen through burned-through ceiling beams. The metal was quite cold and covered with dew from the fog outside. Exasperated, she lightly knocked her head on the copper door jam, trying to think of some other way to get to her son. She quickly assessed her surroundings. The top of the balcony was just out of reach. The room above was burning quickly and black smoke was almost to her level.

Turning, she headed back down the stairs to search for her husband whom she had abandoned in Swanton’s office only minutes before.

– – – – 

My wife left me, James thought to himself as he stood in the smokey doorway of Swanton’s office. He had seen his wife run up the grand staircase, and heard the last muffled cries of his son. That was quickly followed by a loud crash that had shaken the entire building and collapsed burning timbers all over the Casino’s floor.

I will not let this tragedy destroy my family! James resolved. His girls were swimming in the pool next door. He would get them out of there before it was too late.

An access door on the opposite site of the Casino let out into a narrow corridor which, in turn, led to a little-used entrance to the pool. He could see the door across the room. Committed, he began to run across the littered arcade, dodging raining fountains of burning lacquer and piles of enflamed ceiling. He reached the opposite door just as his wife began shouting for him.

James turned back toward the grand staircase. Fire rained down across the Casino like confetti on the Fourth of July. Returning to his wife was no longer an option to him. Jimmy was probably already gone and his wife would have to fend for herself. The survival of his family was more important. With great reluctance but a firm resolve, James returned his attention to the doorway and walked through it, never to see his wife again.

Neptune Casino on fire on the morning of June 22nd, 1906

When Beth reached the bottom of the grand staircase, a very different site welcomed her than when she had first passed up those steps. The arcade was alight with firefalls dripping glowing lacquer and oil through gaps in the ceiling. Everything was burning. A cascade of smoke followed the roof and escaped to the second floor above her. She shouted again for her husband, but he did not respond. She could see Swanton’s office through the dense black smoke, but he was no longer there.

Running back up the staircase, Beth encountered the copper onion dome again. This time, she tried to push it, hoping that its hollow interior would produce a result. But it didn’t. The dome didn’t budge an inch and, in the intervening time, had become quite hot.

Little drops of red hot lacquer slipped under the dome and onto the stairs. A slow waterfall was building, and Beth pushed herself against the wall to avoid the droplets of fire. 

Running back to the foot of the stairwell, the air became unbreathable. Bits of fiery lacquer bit at her toes, causing her to shout out in agony. The stream of burning lacquer had become a constant cascade down the steps, pouring over the sides as the flow reached the railing. The stairs themselves began to evaporate under the heat and moisture. Charcoal boards cracked and splintered then enflamed. Beth became frantic, running up and down the flight of stairs in a deadly game of cat and mouse. The fire licked at her toes, took bites out of her flesh. Her floral dress was on fire and large pieces of cloth were falling off, but the clothes kept burning.

She pressed herself against the railing, unable to escape the fire surrounding her, raining down upon her and flowing under her. Gasps of pain became cries for help which deteriorated into gulps for air as the black tar air suffocated her. At last, she collapsed creating her own funerary pyre. Her body twitched as her lungs succumbed to asphyxiation. The fire continued to rain down, burning her clothes to ash, turning her skin to wax, and charring her bones to dust.

When the fire finally consumed the grand staircase, her remains fell into a superheated furnace of a closet beneath—lifeless, hopeless, dead to the world. The building was collapsing around her, but that was no longer Elizabeth Credwell’s problem.

This story is a work of fiction. All reference to historical incidences and individuals is purely for plot purposes and may not represent true events or real-life personalities and attitudes. This story is designed for an adult audience with moments of violence, terror, and the painful deaths of minors and adults throughout. Please direct all comments to the section below. Thank you and enjoy!

Credwell Chronicles – Chapter 7: Lacquered Floors and Onion Domes

June 22nd at 8:30 a.m. — Fred W. Swanton's Office in Neptune Casino
Beth was still sitting in Fred Swanton’s dark office when she heard the scream. Her head continued to pound from the night before and the sudden burst of noise echoing down the corridors did not help the matter. It was relentless.

“What is that noise?” she asked James. “It sounds like a dying cat!”

“I don’t quite...” James began to reply, but then looked around like he had suddenly woken up from a bad dream. “Do you smell smoke?”

“I had begun to smell something strange in the air when Fred left for the fusebox,” Beth replied, wracking her mind for something that did not appear to be there. That noise! she thought. It sounds so familiar.

The small office remained dark, but the smell of smoke now undeniably filtered in. James got up and began groping for a wall to help guide him back to the door. Their eyes had adjusted fairly well to the darkness and James could see the faint outline of the office entrance, silhouetted against the shadows. Beth remained in her seat behind him, looking in his direction. The screaming resumed with renewed desperation.

James cracked open the door and gazed out into the sprawling empty penny arcade. He could see most of the arcade from Swanton’s door. The nearest entrance was to his right, but the main doors were half-way down the arcade on the left, across from the grand staircase. The noise seemed to be coming from upstairs.

Santa Cruz firefighters posing for a photograph, c. 1895.

At the far side of the room, James distinctly saw something flicker with an eerie orange glow. It was on the ceiling, almost on the opposite wall, but it shown like a bright lantern against the otherwise dark roof. With the power off, none of the lamps produced their usual radiance and the entire building reminded him of an Egyptian tomb he had visited while in Egypt many years earlier. The smell of smoke was thick in the air and James could distinctly see some floating beneath the tin ceiling tiles.

“What do you see?” Beth inquired from behind her husband.

“I’m not sure. I think something is burning upstairs. There is a strange...” but before James could finish his thought, a large piece of the roof collapsed on the far side of the arcade, flattening a table for two. Sparks flew in all directions and oily flames dripped from the expanding hole. The fire began to spread across the overly-lacquered floor of the penny arcade, reaching tentacles in all directions. No fire suppression system kicked in, and as James looked up, he realized that there were no sprinklers to stop the expanding flames.

The primal screaming was still echoing down the staircase. With a sudden horror, Beth bolted to the doorway looking directly toward the source of the scream. She looked upon James with eyes alight with fear and anguish: “Jimmy! He didn’t come home last night!” Without another word, she dashed toward the grand staircase, leaving James to ponder his wife’s last words to him.

Upstairs, in the kitchen, the walls were closing in upon him. Literally. They were falling in large chunks, taking bits of the roof with it. Jimmy had finally stopped screaming, the smoke in the air burning his lungs with every breath he took.

Straight ahead, through a thin band of flame, Jimmy saw an opening to the ballroom beyond. He ran for it, using the last of his energy to leap through the fire into the clearing on the other side.

His clothes were enflamed as he hit the ground rolling. His clothes extinguished themselves with the roll, but as Jimmy attempted to right himself, he realized a new problem. As he lay there, he felt his left arm to find it bleeding heavily with his bone nearly breaking through his skin. Under him was a table, still dirty from the night before. Broken glass was all around him.

Colorized photograph of Neptune Casino showcasing
its many onion domes, June 1905.

Nearby, the wall dividing the kitchen from the dining area crumbled, showering the lacquered floor with sparks and burning cinders. It began to burn with a soft intensity, conquering the floor in shoots and reaches. The curtains along the balcony burst into flames as a leg of the assault flanked them.

Jimmy watched in horror as his beloved Casino burned all around him. A pain jolted the boy out of his terror, forcing his attention to shift to his leg. His pants were on fire. Rolling back and forth to put it out, Jimmy forgot about the glass that pocked the floor like land mines. Shards impaled him across his body, forcing a second, more primal scream from his lungs. The scream seemed to last indefinitely.

At last out of breath, Jimmy dropped his head back onto the ground, cracking an empty champagne glass as he did so. His eyes widened then went hollow, staring into the abyss. A dark stream of blood pooled around his head, making a path toward the nearby grand staircase.

Overhead, a loud shutter shook the entire building. Fire racing along the ceiling scattered like angels departing for the heavens, leaving room for the giant copper central onion dome of Neptune Casino to collapse into the grand ballroom, entombing Jimmy’s body within it.


This story is a work of fiction. All reference to historical incidences and individuals is purely for plot purposes and may not represent true events or real-life personalities and attitudes. This story is designed for an adult audience with moments of violence, terror, and the painful deaths of minors and adults throughout. Please direct all comments to the section below. Thank you and enjoy!

Credwell Chronicles – Chapter 6: Boiling Tea and Cooking Oil

June 22nd at 8:15 a.m. — Fred W. Swanton's Office in Neptune Casino
“Welcome to my humble office, Elizabeth, James,” Swanton said and smiled jovially as he stood up to attend to the couple as they entered the small room. A large mahogany desk sat in the center with stacks of papers piled around a writing surface. A lamp with a green glass shade sat in the left corner. Behind the desk, a large leather chair was pushed back behind the grey-suited Swanton. “I know it is early but I like to get things started first thing each morning. Regarding my plans for the Santa Cruz Beach Company, I think you will be happily surprised with the direction I’d like to take this company. Would either of you like tea? I always drink a cup every morning.”

W.H. Weeks in Fred Swanton's Office, May 1906 *

“That would be most kind,” Beth replied, seating herself on a simpler wood and leather seat beside her husband. Swanton smiled and walked over to a desk where an ornate water-warming device was quietly steaming. He poured two glasses of boiling hot water and dropped tea bags in teach, handing them to his guests as he took his seat.

“Now James, last night I was rather hard on you and I want you to know I harbor no ill-feelings,” Swanton began. “We were a bit drunk and...well, one thing leads to another. I apologize.”

“Fred,” James began to reply. “I have known you for many years...”

“Yes, yes. Let’s end with these formalities and get on to business,” Swanton interrupted. James fell back into his chair, a bit disturbed at how eagerly Swanton wished to discuss this new proposal. “Yesterday, I began the complete rewiring of the Casino.”

James began to stand up again, his eyes going wide. “You did this without...”

“Without the board’s approval? Yes,” Swanton answered frankly. “It is a necessary change if my company is going to power this building. Edison was a fool for promoting direct current and I want this entire facility converted to alternating current as soon as possible. I already have funds to build a new power plant on the west side of town.”

James looked at Beth and received a quick nod of approval from her. “Well, despite my reservations, Fred, this idea seems good. I will support it so long as you do not return to your proposal of last night.”

Checking his watch, Swanton smiled to himself briefly, as if remembering a past joke. “Well, I will not return to that idea at this time, but I do wish our company had a hotel to rival the Sea Beach. It makes a fortune off of our hard work every summer, and we have nothing to compete with it except tents and cottages. A rather poor trade-off, if I do say so myself.” Suddenly, all the lights in the building went off and the office was plunged into darkness.

“And that,” Fred added, “is why we need to upgrade our electrics! Now excuse me for a moment as I go and find a fuse box.” Swanton pushed the chair back and exited his small office, heading toward the outside doors and leaving the Credwells in the dark.

Dizzy but conscious, Jimmy pushed himself up to his knees. His entire face was covered with a dark, pasty grime that could only be solidified lard. Attempting to stand again, he grabbed the nearby counter and lifted himself by the knees very slowly until he was all the way up. Shadows crawled across the floor from shifting fog banks. The room was dark, with only a little light coming from outside. Dim ceiling lights flickered.

James Credwell, Jr., Aged 12, 1905 *

The boy went to the sink to wash his face, sniffing the air as he did so. He realized that the entire room reeked of fumes—cooking oil, lard, kerosene. He tossed a handful of water into his face and his eyes burned with the sudden rush of oil and water. He continued rinsing until he could see clearly again. Grabbing a nearby bar towel, Jimmy  wiped his face off, smearing a new layer of oil on it that was caked onto the towel. He decided to ignore the sensation and threw the towel on the ground into a pile of dark liquid.

Searching around for a light switch to brighten the place up, Jimmy found one near the door from the kitchen annex. He flicked it with his finger and a loud bang popped behind him. All the lights went out.

“What on earth...” Jimmy said to himself, looking into the darkness for the source of the noise. On the ground near the sink, he found his kitchen towel burning softly beside a cut electrical wire sitting in a pile of cooking oil. Jimmy sighed and found a bucket nearby. He filled the bucket with water from the sink and tossed it at the burning rag, splashing oil and lard in all directions. The faint flame of the rag ignited with the now-airborne oils, spreading fire across the kitchen.

Jimmy frantically circled. The cooking oil! It's everywhere. The bucket last night! The thirteen-year-old boy’s mind couldn’t keep up with his sudden sense of dread. Flames were rising up everywhere, grabbing on to anything flammable in sight. Panicking, Jimmy ran to the nearest door, but the fire was already there. Searching for another exit, Jimmy realized that all the doors had been blocked too. Most were closed and those that were open were inflamed. Smoke was rising up to the ceiling and the floor near the oil was now burning. Parts of the floor were already starting to turn to charcoal, burning rags, wood, finish, and timber like paper. He was trapped.

Surrounded by a wall of flame, Jimmy did the only thing he hadn’t yet tried. He screamed...


This story is a work of fiction. All reference to historical incidences and individuals is purely for plot purposes and may not represent true events or real-life personalities and attitudes. This story is designed for an adult audience with moments of violence, terror, and the painful deaths of minors and adults throughout. Please direct all comments to the section below. Thank you and enjoy!

* Descriptions of photographs with "*" are fictional and do not actually depict their description. Actual historical photographs and illustrations do not have an asterisk.

Credwell Chronicles – Chapter 5: Salty Air and Bitter Coffee

June 22nd at 7:15 a.m. — Credwell House on Cliff Street
Morning came too soon for Beth, but not soon enough for the girls. Patty and Mary awoke at the same time, bolting out of bed and down the stairs still in their nightgowns. It was hardly seven fifteen. Waiting in the kitchen was Beth, also in her nightgown, whose head was pounding from the night before. She had drunk too much and returned home much later than her usual hour. Now, she had to return to the Casino to meet with Fred Swanton. She swooned in place, almost falling over, as her daughters ran down to the dinner table.

“Mother, do you have breakfast prepared?” Patty asked in rushed words.

“Why is it that I am always expected to have your breakfasts prepared?” Beth retorted.

“Mother?” Mary asked with a curious expression on her face. “Are you alright? You seem flushed. Do you need to lie down?”

“No, dear. I am fine. Just a bit tired from last night is all.”

Mary Credwell, May 1906 *

The girls sat at the table and Beth delivered two them two bowls of oats in yogurt. She took a seat at the opposite end  and the three ladies ate in silence. None of them turned their heads when James walked into the room, already dressed in his business formals. He milled around the pantry for a minute, and then returned empty-handed.

“James, would you like a bowl of yogurt?” Beth finally asked, not expecting James to eat with them.

“What was that?” James replied, looking at the dinner table as if he hadn’t seen it when he walked in. “Oh, no. I will eat something later. I’m sure Fred will have some snacks in his office, as well.” Ignoring his excuses, Beth poured a cup of coffee for James. He took it anyway.

“You’re going to see Mr. Swanton?” Mary questioned excitedly.

“I am, my little angel,” James answered, sipping his drink. “He invited your mother and me to breakfast this morning at eight.” Turning to Beth, he added, “Which reminds me, dear. Shouldn’t we be going? Herbert always takes longer to prepare the carriage in the morning, anyway.”

“I suppose so,” Beth muttered. She smiled to the girls and took their dishes, then she disappeared upstairs to get dressed.

“What is the plan for you two today?” James asked as he took a seat beside Patty.

“Just planning to swim at the Plunge, father,” Patty replied simply. “Speaking of which,” she said as her gaze drifted to Mary. “We should probably be leaving now. The pool opens in twenty minutes and it takes almost that much time just to get up there.” Without another word, the girls ran upstairs, leaving James all alone with his coffee at the dinner table.

The crisp air of the Santa Cruz morning bit at Patty’s face as she descended the stairs onto Cliff Street. The imposing Moorish Casino building darted in and out of a fog bank at the bottom of the hill. Behind her, Mary shivered along, trying to keep up. Both girls were now in calf-length dresses and overcoats. Knowing that they’d be in swimming suits in a matter of minutes, neither had bothered to dress especially nice. Mary, though, had brightened her cheeks up with some powdered make-up in anticipation of Ben, the usual Saturday-morning attendant at the pool.

Glamour shot of Patricia Credwell in
swimwear, taken May 28th, 1906 *

The two arrived at the pool’s large doors just as they were being opened. Benjamin Cauper, the attendant, was there as Mary had wished. He was seventeen and relatively handsome for his age, with a crew cut and a smart but simple dress coat. He looked to be more of a museum curator than a pool attendant, but Mary didn’t mind. She blushed brightly as Patty handed Ben the requisite ten cents for entry. Ben smiled back at Mary and handed each girl their usual swimming suits. The style of swimwear at that time were suggestive of naval uniforms for women. Even the rentals were white with navy blue trim, and a knee-length skirt—trendy for the period. Since the summer was just starting, the rental suits were not yet heavily worn. Although the girls had been swimming here for years, neither had purchased their own suit since Swanton allowed the families of his financiers to rent suits for free.

The changing rooms were located downstairs toward the beach, and both girls hustled down the half-flight to their usual booths. Patty was especially interested in trying some new strokes she had read about in an advertisement in The Santa Cruz Sentinel newspaper. She suspected Mary would take longer to get ready since her sister always brushed her hair and made certain that her swimsuit fit properly to impress Ben. The fact that Mary was not yet even thirteen meant nothing to the young girl.

As soon as Patty was done changing, she ran back out and dove into the pool. The heavy canvas often made if difficult to swim, but years of training had strengthened Patty's legs. Fashions had changed quite drastically over the past three years and she was happy that she didn’t have to wear a heavy wool dress when swimming that her mother still preferred. Mary appeared shyly from the changing room and tip-toed over to the diving board, where she settled in on the end without diving, pooling her skirt around her. Sitting there, she dipped her feet into the 84˚ water, looking longingly at Ben who was standing at his booth near the front door, doodling on a piece of paper.

A family posing on the beach outside the Miller-Leibbrandt Plunge, Summer 1905

A few scattered rays of sunlight broke through the fog and reflected off the kitchen’s glass, waking Jimmy from his groggy slumber. Gazing around in a daze, the twelve-year old boy tried to remember his surrounding and why he smelled like cooking oil.

“The party!” he shouted suddenly to no one in particular. Now muttering, he added, “I must have hit my head or something last night. Or maybe...” He began to look around and found the empty bottle of brandy sitting in a pool of brown slime.

Attempting to reorient himself, he grasped failingly for something to right himself. As he rose, his head swirled and Jimmy collapsed back on the ground. The room darkened suddenly, the fog returning to obscure the sun. Jimmy lost consciousness again, landing hard with a splat in a congealing pool of pig fat and lard. Nearby, an electrical cable sparked restlessly.


This story is a work of fiction. All reference to historical incidences and individuals is purely for plot purposes and may not represent true events or real-life personalities and attitudes. This story is designed for an adult audience with moments of violence, terror, and the painful deaths of minors and adults throughout. Please direct all comments to the section below. Thank you and enjoy!

* Descriptions of photographs with "*" are fictional and do not actually depict their description. Actual historical photographs and illustrations do not have an asterisk.

Credwell Chronicles – Chapter 4: Gin & Tonic

June 21st, 1906 at 11:15 p.m. — Neptune Casino Grand Ballroom

The kitchen had grown dark in the hours since dinner had been served. While most of his coworkers had left for home some time earlier, Jimmy was forced to stay and bus tables until all were cleaned. But with so many guests still drinking their beverages and snacking from platters at the back of the ballroom, Jimmy was hard-pressed to end his shift and go home.

North-east corner of Casino kitchen annex, August 1904 *

Each time Jimmy returned dishes to the sink, he rewarded himself with a sip from the bottle of brandy the chef kept hidden in a cabinet. Jimmy had found it the previous week when he was setting up tables for a wedding, stowed behind a wall of tea cups on a high shelf. As soon as the head chef had gone home, Jimmy had crawled on top of the prep area and pulled down the bottle.

Now, tired and alone, he took a swill from the smooth ale. It was dark and it bit as the back of his throat as he swallowed, but it was the only thing keeping him going. By eleven o’clock, though, it was starting to effect his motor skills. Stumbling out into the dining area every few minutes, Jimmy had reduced the amount of dishes collected each trip to avoid accidents. Yet accidents still came. A little after ten, he had tripped and dropped two porcelain plates on the ground, shattering one completely. Twenty minutes later, he had dropped a tray of tea cups hard into the sink, breaking many. By eleven, he no longer cared and sat in the corner, gazing out a window overlooking the street.

The lights outside were bright, running along the bottom rim of the Casino just outside. He could see and hear people milling around outside, and Jimmy was beginning to wish for his bed. The noise in the dining area and ballroom had dimmed considerably since the party first started four hours earlier. The loud dance music had faded into a lulling conversation tune. Without realizing it, Jimmy fell peacefully asleep on the floor of the kitchen, dreaming of the surf, sandy beaches, and horse-drawn streetcars. Around him, cooking oil pooled.

Beth had lost track of time as the night wore on. The four ladies at her table were all local shopkeepers, though she could not remember which stores they kept. Four gin and tonics and two classes of Scotch had dulled her brain thoroughly, and the night had begun to blur together in one long cascade of lights and laughter.

Elizabeth Gertrude Credwell, April 1906 *

At the table on the other side of the room, James sat in a smokey morass, trying to negotiate which of his cards to discard in order to draw others. Beth hated when he played poker, but a night like tonight was an exception even to her. Plus, he was playing against Swanton himself...and winning! Little else mattered.

After hours of gambling and unimportant discussions, Swanton stood up before his posse of local financiers. “Fine, boys, fine! I can see you will all need convincing separately regarding my plans. Allowing you all to conspire against me like this is just unfair to me. James, why don’t you and your wife join me first thing in the morning in my office downstairs.”

James seemed uncomfortable. “You know my feelings about meeting here, Fred. With William and all...”

“Nonsense,” Swanton interrupted. “I respect your son’s memory but he is a ghost of the past. We need to focus now on the future. We’ll discuss this issue further then. I guarantee you it will be a momentous breakfast for us all.”

“Very well. Eight o’clock sharp in your office,” James agreed.

At eleven thirty, the band finally gave up and went for their gear. Swanton returned to the stage to address the crowd of locals one last time.

“My wonderful guests!” Swanton bellowed in a voice suggesting he had had quite a bit more to drink than was recommended. “This night has been a treat for us all. For me, at least, you can thank any lack of progress this summer to Mr. Credwell who has soundly defeated me all night in poker. That is what I get for gambling with bankers. My pocketbook feels lighter than it has in years. I wish this fair company adieu and good night!” With that, Swanton exited the stage and left through a back door, grasping the door frame strongly as he rounded the corner. The crowd began to disperse toward the grand staircase.

Beth found her husband precisely where she’d left him, though with considerably more funds sitting in front of him. She smiled softly, “Are you ready to go home, dear?”

Certainly!” he replied with an extra joviality to his voice. “Mr. Swanton has asked us to join him first thing in the morning to discuss the coming summer season. He wants this season to start with a bang, though I doubt he can afford it now.” He smiled down at his stacks of bills and coins.

“How exciting!” Beth answered, though her voice implied no excitement whatsoever. “But let us get some sleep first. The Casino isn’t going anywhere anytime soon.”

“Indeed, my love, indeed.”

The couple had descended the stairs and exited the Casino through its main entrance on Beach Street. The air was nearly frigid now since it was a quarter until midnight. Fog hung heavily on the street and around the buildings. Other people milled around, waiting for their carriages and cars. A few were walking back down the boardwalk toward the houses on Main Street. Looking around, James found his porter, Herbert, leaning against the wall of the Casino.

The Credwells on their carriage, early 1906, in front of local barber shop *

“Herbert, our carriage!” James shouted to him.

“As you wish, sir!” Herbert shouted back. He jogged across the street in his dark brown riding frock and returned in three minutes with the carriage, horse chomping at its bit to return to its stable. Herbert jumped down and helped the two Credwells up into their carriage.

“Thank you, Herbert. You are quick as a hare tonight,” Beth complimented.

“Just cold, ma’am,” he replied between chattering teeth. “This night has an air to it and I’d rather it be done.”

“Very good, Herbert. To the house, if you will,” James cut in.

As the carriage began moving up Cliff Street, James turned to his wife. “Dear, I think tomorrow will begin a new and wondrous chapter in our lives. It just feels like something big is going to happen. I truly cannot wait.”

“Honey, I think tomorrow will be one long headache,” she replied, smiling back with memories of gin and tonic rushing through her nerves.

This story is a work of fiction. All reference to historical incidences and individuals is purely for plot purposes and may not represent true events or real-life personalities and attitudes. This story is designed for an adult audience with moments of violence, terror, and the painful deaths of minors and adults throughout. Please direct all comments to the section below. Thank you and enjoy!

* Descriptions of photographs with "*" are fictional and do not actually depict their description. Actual historical photographs and illustrations do not have an asterisk.