public

Heavily Investigated

Something about the Alamo does not let go. People have said it for nearly two centuries — the screams that drift through the chapel after closing, the footsteps crossing the corridor outside where the jail cells once were, the disembodied gunfire heard in the dead of night. Guards once refused night shifts here; prisoners complained of moaning that had no source. Tourists speak of cold spots and the feeling of being watched by something that has not decided to leave. Stand long enough inside those limestone walls and you may understand why: they hold 1836 like a wound.

Founded in 1718 as Mission San Antonio de Valero by Franciscan father Antonio de San Buenaventura y Olivares, the site reached its current location after a hurricane in 1724 and was secularized by 1793. Then came March 6, 1836 — fewer than 200 Texian defenders against thousands under General Santa Anna, a thirteen-day siege, and a battle over in less than two hours. The dead were burned or thrown in the river. Later it became, cheerfully enough, a police station and jail — until even the guards refused to stay past dark.