They say The Elms was always a little strange. In the quiet town of El Paso, Illinois, tucked just off Route 24, it was the kind of place with vinyl booths and a jukebox that hadn’t played anything since the 1980s. Locals loved it for its well-known buffet, coffee, and warm dinners. But on Halloween night, 2003, everything had changed.
They called him “The Route Ripper” back in Chicago. Real name Douglas Ross, he was known to target small diners and leave no trace of where he fled off to. He had a map, not of roads but of diners. Only quiet, rural diners. He’d circle them in red one by one.
The Elms was his final stop. That very Halloween night of 2003 was not one to forget. The staff had been busy hosting a Halloween party after closing hours. The guests had rented the place out for 18 people—fruit punch bowls, candy everywhere, and no person without a smile on their face.
No one knows how Douglas got in. Some people said the back door was unoccupied, others say he was there the whole time. At 10:42 PM, the lights were out, like no one had ever been there. The first 911 call was from a neighboring house. The resident swore he heard screaming. When the officers finally arrived, they found both the front and the back doors locked and boarded from the inside. They broke the front door down; it was silent. What the cops found that night still disturbs local cops to this day.
All 18 guests were found lying on the tables, garnished with fresh herbs, silverware laid nicely by their sides, and napkins like they were the main course. All 18 guests, either stabbed, choked, or shot, were pronounced dead on the scene. On the way out, they found a note taped to the door, “The final stop,” signed with his name. Douglas was never caught, never to be seen again. After that night, The Elms closed for good. All the windows and doors were boarded except the room on the top, with all-around windows.
To this day, locals report seeing a light flicker in that room around 10:42 PM every Halloween, as well as seeing multiple ghostly figures. Locals avoid it and don’t dare to even joke about it anymore. Because once in a while, usually close to Halloween, they smell a nice breakfast of eggs and sausage, or a nice dinner of chicken and mashed potatoes. A sound of laughter and muffled talking. Few have been inside since 2003. But, if you happen to walk past it on a cold Halloween night, you might catch a faint voice saying, “Food is hot. Are you staying just for a meal or a room for the night?”
