I’m a self-proclaimed explorer. I love the rush of entering places people rarely go, seeing things people rarely see. Given that I live in a large city, most of what I do is urban exploration - which generally consists of breaking into abandoned buildings and snapping picture after picture. You’ve probably seen some of my material on r/abandonedporn or r/urbanexploration, but I’m not linking them. I’m using this throwaway account to tell my story, so no one I know can call me crazy.
For me, and I’m sure you guys can appreciate this sentiment, it’s always been “the creepier, the better.” Some of my favorite buildings to explore have been abandoned mental institutions or sanitariums, where the ghost stories write themselves. I’ve never seen a ghost, however. Before last week I didn’t believe in anything paranormal at all. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
The reason I’ve decided to break my silence after a year of lurking on this sub (I’m a big nosleeper), is because last week I decided to go on a road trip. I needed a breath of fresh air, a break from personal bullshit. So I decided to visit my best friend down in San Francisco for a change of scenery.
The drive from my coastal city (bet you can guess which one) takes 12 hours on the southbound freeway. But I adore driving, especially alone, so I planned to use mainly back roads - the scenic route, if you will, winding through small towns and wilderness. If I saw anything interesting, be it an old cabin in the woods or a charming small town diner, I’d stop and check it out. This extended my trip by a significant amount. I wound up driving six or seven hours that first day.
Near sunset I started looking for a motel, but all I saw were trees and empty road. I refused to check my phone for a place to stay, liking the spontaneity and false sense of 21st century danger. I was content in knowing I was going south and would reach civilization eventually.
The sun was disappearing behind the trees and a light rain began to fall, typical for this time of year. I took my eyes off the road for a second, fumbled with the cigarette lighter, and realized it was getting a little too dark to see. I flicked on the headlights, glanced out the windshield, and immediately slammed on the breaks.
My car skidded a few feet in the rain but luckily stopped before it hit the jersey barriers that had been set up across the road. They sprang up out of nowhere. No warning signs, no “Road Closed Ahead.” Just four low concrete walls all the way across the two lanes. They would have seriously fucked up my car if I hadn’t seen them in time. I’d been going 45. I caught my breath, wondering how many people had almost crashed as I did. Probably not many. I hadn’t seen a single other car for the past two hours.
A sad, dented detour sign pointed towards a road branching off to the right, through the trees, doubtlessly leading back towards the freeway. But my eyes were drawn to the road beyond the barriers. There was no sign of construction of any kind. The road was empty, and the pavement looked exactly as old as the one I’d just been traveling.
My decision was not a difficult one. Carefully, ignoring the detour, I maneuvered my car along the narrow strip of gravel to the right of the barriers and, quite easily, drove past them. I drove for about thirty minutes, with no sign of construction or life of any kind. It was growing steadily darker, and I was getting unsettled - but that only increased my curiosity. What was at the end of this closed road?
When I crested a hill, I was greeted with the sight of a few buildings and a large wooden sign.
“WELCOME TO ________” it said. I’m not omitting the name or doing anything cheeky. As to what the town’s called, I’m as curious as you are.
I couldn’t read the name, or any of the other words. Most of the sign from the center down was covered in what looked like splotchy black paint, or maybe some kind of plant life. It was difficult to tell in the falling darkness, but you could see that the boards at the bottom were chipped and scratched, like an animal had gotten to it. Not anything from a monster movie, just the common weathering of old wood left in the forest. But there were man-made scratches in it, too, gouged deeply into the wood over the black paint. I leaned out the window and pointed my flashlight at it.
“COME IN”
Weird. But I’ve seen much worse graffiti in ghost towns, which I assumed this was. That got my heart pumping with excitement.
I drove into town, past quite a few promising locations, all dark and empty. A police station, its windows shattered and subsequently boarded, the glass still glittering on the sidewalk. Houses with doors broken off the hinges and crooked shutters. A grocery store, where one street lamp still burned eerily green by the entrance. An apartment building, the glass of its double doors and all the windows apparently painted that with the same splotchy black as the town sign.
Though my fingers were twitching, I didn’t get out of the car. It was getting dark, and I was getting tired. I was alone and had no information on this ghost town. I wasn’t about to break into places if they were occupied, especially at night with nothing but a flashlight.
Because that’s the thing. The town didn’t have the air of fifty years of abandonment. Besides the boards across doors and windows and the lack of electric light, this place looked like it could have been inhabited yesterday. There was no building decomposition or crumbling masonry, at least from what I could see. No graffiti anywhere that would have marked the presence of other people, besides the black paint. The architecture was modern and generally holding up pretty well.
Was this really a ghost town? It must be. I didn’t see a single other person. All cars were parked and dusty, all businesses looked closed. This is probably my imagination, but from the moment I drove past the sign, I felt eyes on me from all directions. I didn’t feel welcome here, though I was sure there was no one to be bothered.
And then there was the smell. It was faint but ever present, floating on the wind as my car crept down Main Street - that stale, earthy scent of old basements and wet, dark places. Mold. The town smelled like mold.
I sped up, deciding to drive through the town and continue south. I’d find a place to stay nearby and return in the morning to do a bit of proper exploring. The apartment building and the police station were especially tempting. I’d never explored a police station before.
I was just about to cross the bridge that marked the south border of town, leaving the buildings behind and continuing into the woods, when I saw someone walking down near the creek. My heart nearly jumped out of my chest. I’d thought I was alone.
I stopped the car but didn’t get a very good look in the gathering twilight before she - if it was a she - disappeared under the bridge. She was very, very thin - starvation status, I’m sure of it - and walked with a pronounced limp. She had a pale head, mostly bald, but near the top of her scalp were growing a few scattered clumps of thin, wispy brown hair. It was really long - it went over her shoulders and down her back. A filthy dress hung off her frame.
I watched her for a moment with my mouth open, then sped across the bridge when she disappeared from sight. She hadn’t looked up at me, even though my headlights had been shining at her. Part of me thought I should see if I could help her, but most of me was screaming that that was a bad idea. I’m a lone, unarmed woman, and I didn’t know who or what was under that bridge. Trust your gut, they say.
I reached another set of barriers further down the road, with another detour sign leading oncoming traffic towards the freeway. It seemed these barriers had been set up specifically to cordon off the town. Why?
I found a motel near the freeway and a small gas station. I decided to stay the night and go back first thing tomorrow. I called my friend in San Francisco and excitedly explained my discovery and why I might be another day late. Now that I was out of the town, I brushed off the feeling of unease. It had been quiet and eerie, and that lady was creepy as hell, but with the freeway only ten miles away I figured a transient had wandered along. Maybe she was squatting in the town, but dealing with homeless people is part of the adventure.
So yes, I went back. There’s a lot more to this story, and soon you’ll understand why I’m posting this to r/nosleep as opposed to a different sub, but this is getting long. I think I’ll save the rest for next time. Sorry this wasn't too exciting.
I googled ghost towns in Oregon, but nothing fit the description. Does anyone who lives around there have any idea about the history of this place? Sorry I can’t give you a name. But maybe you’ve come across a creepy little village, too. One that seems abandoned and smells like mold.
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