I'd heard about the Face in the building. Everyone had. The Face was an important and long-time Galveston Island legend, proof that something does indeed exist beyond the tangential world of smell, see, hear, touch.

The details of the legend escape me now, but in my memory's sieve there are a few large chunks which recall an ordinary citizen who owned a piece of land along the beach. His family had lived on the land for generations, since long before there was even much city to speak of. As the city grew and prospered, his small acreage became completely surrounded by medical buildings and businesses. Thus, the old gentleman's land represented prime real estate for UTMB expansion. Now this is where my facts get fuzzy.

I don't remember if condemnation proceedings were instituted against the land before the owner died or if the court battle commenced after his death. In any event, the land was eventually condemned and a building erected there as part of the expanded UTMB complex.

To show his displeasure, the departed landowner decided to haunt the building. Every day the setting sun would reveal his face, plainly visible, in one of the large granite sections of the outer walls. His eyes followed your movements, it was said, and he appeared each dusk to hover there, ever-present, ever-watchful, until the sun rose once again over the horizon.

The Face made people extremely nervous. From mere twitterings of unrest in the beginning, loud clamorings evolved. Something had to be done about the Face. So they (yes, this is the infamous "they" you always hear about, since I don't know who was actually responsible) sandblasted the section of granite where the Face appeared every night.

He was way ahead of them. He simply moved to an adjoining section and took up residence as happily as ever. Again the sandblasters did their duty; again the Face moved. After a time the city/UTMB ("they") threw up their collective hands and conceded the skirmish.

Complicating the situation significantly there emerged a cult, if you will, of Face-worshippers. A certain contingent of the populace was fascinated by the Face and made regular pilgrimages to sojourn with him and marvel at his existence. People came from miles around to see the Face.

It was a favorite hangout of the teenyboppers. His premises provided the scene for many a hearty party and illegal substance. A steady stream of folks passed through every night, doing lord-only-knows-what - a disconcerting problem for the city and UTMB. The only solution, they surmised, was to fence the place and restrict access to the area.

Obstacles such as fences and guards have never deterred the faithful, however. There are always means by which one may defeat the obstacles, and those who have been successful pass this information along to those who want to follow in their august footsteps.

It was just such an offer from a long-time faithful pilgrim that prompted me to make my own appearance before the Face two years ago, a few days before Hallowe'en. We decided on a pre-Hallowe'en trip because security always tightens on the Hallowed Evening itself. More guards, more police patrols.

We met at a local sports bar just off the Strand on the night of 26 October. There were three of us: Amy, the Faithful, an Island resident and personal friend of the Face; Mahvy, a novice like myself; and me. After fortifying ourselves with shrimp po-boys and a few bottles of dark beer (an essential first step in the ritual, I am told), we piled into our respective rides and made a beeline for the beach.

There might be fences to scale, Amy warned, at least two of them, but we could get in unnoticed if we maintained stealth. Much to our surprise, though, our way was completely unimpeded. The first gate was standing wide open, as well as the second. Quietly, reverently, cautiously, we approached the building. Sure enough ... there he was! Just like I'd always heard!

He was real. Just as real as anyone else, only a lot larger. I was completely surprised. I've been burned by these things before, see. Somebody builds you up about some ghostly presence or strange phenomenon and it turns out to be totally bogus.

But not the Face. He was real, alright. He seemed to be smiling, and just like we'd heard, his eyes appeared to follow us wherever we went. Walking the length of the sidewalk in front of the building, from one end of his granite home to the other, his eyes never lost contact with ours.

It was easy to see which sections of the wall had been the Face's home. Amy pointed them out to us, tracing his path. First he had been in that section right over the door, she said, and that was the first one they sandblasted. Then he moved up one. Then over there. The Face nodded and smiled. He agreed with everything she said so you know she had her facts straight.

It was then that Mahvy began to fret and whine. He was spooked. The dark beer and the joint had kicked in by then and his normal paranoia was elevated to new heights. Amy laughed at him. I tried a few "Aw, come on nows" and pointed out the friendly nature of the Face, but Mahvy could not be cajoled.

I looked back one more time, wistfully, over my shoulder, before following the fleeing Mahvy back toward the cars. I felt peaceful and calm inside. Gazing into that shadowy countenance for the last time, I realized he was trying to tell me that it's a cool existence being the Face in the Building. That I should take that knowledge away with me. And that he hated to see us go.

Then his eyes locked into mine and he asked me to step a little closer. I did. As I leaned toward him he whispered,

"You know, I heard tell of you once, in a legend, and it sure is good to see for myself that you really exist."