Car Rides to Creepy Places

I taught the Butcher to drive.  It seemed necessary after going through the process myself of learning to drive from my dad.  For those of you tough guys who think that learning anything from my dad must be a walk in the park, I suggest you borrow a crazed pit bull who is determined to get in the driver’s seat while someone is yelling, “Turn right.  Turn left.  Watch out for that car!  Break!  Break!  Oh my god, you idiot, are you trying to kill us?  We wear seatbelts in this family!” while your mom sits in the back saying, “Now, now, let’s just go ahead and start the car.  It will be better once the car is started.” and see how you fare.

No, if the Butcher was going to learn to be a good driver, he had to learn from anyone other than my dad.  And so, on Sundays, I would come home from work, climb into the passenger’s seat, and off we would go, just driving to be doing something.

I think my biggest disappointment driving around is that it always seems to me, at some point, like some new paradigm is just over the next hill, just around the next corner, and if only you could squint hard enough or look at the right moment, you might see something that would change your whole world.

I just want to go someplace creepy.  I’d rather be spending my afternoon doing that.  Sometimes, I can talk folks into getting in the car with me and going creepy places.  It’s been a long time, though.

Let’s reminisce about spooky stories. Here’s my favorite spooky thing that’s happened to me.

Ha, it’s Day of Disjointedness, I think.  Maybe I need more sleep.

9 thoughts on “Car Rides to Creepy Places

  1. If we were even remotely in the same place, the moment you said drive somewhere creepy I would have been running down to the car yelling, “Let’s go! Let’s go!”

    We’re two for three on interesting things on our trips to creepy places…

    Now you’re breaking my heart with the missed opportunity for a spookedy road trip.

  2. I read this and had to laugh. I guess dads are the same no matter where you come from. My dad taught three daughters to drive. In cars with manual transmission….(he also has no hair on his head. I’m not saying the two things are related. They’re just true). With each progressive daughter, the hysteria got more pronounced. He began with jumping like he’d been bee stung every time the gears ground against each other, when my elder sister attempted to shift between them without engaging the clutch. By the time he got to the youngest, he was yelling at the top of his voice if she so much as touched the gear shift. Its hilarious how the kid spent three years driving the car around, but never thinking of moving into fourth gear.
    Thanks for reminding me of something that had slipped into the rear abysses of my brain.

  3. I’m always up for a roadtrip to somewhere creepy, if you wouldn’t mind making a little detour to pick up me and the SuperGenius…

  4. Juan and I will take the midwest. Aunt B, you and anyone you find worthy can take the south.

    Why does this sound like a plan to TP somebody’s house?

  5. Wanna go with me to the Antioch Wal-Mart?

    Hell, honey, going to the SMYRNA Wal-Mart will scare you back to church.

    It might also scare you into being sterilizd. And carrying antibacterial wipes everywhere you go. FROM NOW ON.

    If y’all go up to Adams, watch out for that turnaround in the Bell cemetery. Your headlights hitting that big monument will make you all poop all over the car.

    It’s good weather for the Chapel Hill light, though.

    I also could recommend that place in the county north of Nashville that I swore I’d never mention because something tried to follow us home from it and talked about us on a tape and I had to burn the negatives for the photos I took and back out of a freelance assignment involving it, it scared me so badly. But I won’t.

    [wink]

  6. Where I used to spend every summer as a kid and teenager was haunted as hell, and believed to be several different entities. I have oodles of stories about it, and others’ stories about it, but there were two occasions that really stood out.

    About a dozen witnesses holed up in my room one night watching the doorknob on the door turn, then the door open, then close AND LATCH, then repeat, over and over again. At some point, we freaked – I think the door had opened more than usual, and very very slowly – and ran across the hall to another girl’s room.

    And then THAT door started doing the same thing.

    Many years later while in college, I was working down there one summer as a counselor. After many years of spending summers down there (about a dozen) I was prepared for it, and in fact spent a couple of weekends down there completely by myself or almost and figured it’d be wild, but nothing happened.

    What finally did happen was one night when the property was full of people, but mostly all asleep. Except me, because I had to drive home for a friend’s wedding and needed to leave in the wee hours of the morning while it was still dark. Like a dumbass, I’d stayed up all night hanging out and goofing off (and I remember correctly, having a bit to drink but that was long before I had to leave and had been sober for hours by then).

    As I was putting my stuff in the car and getting ready to leave – well, let’s just say I saw something high up in a window where no one was residing that summer and where no one should have been and I’m 99% sure no one was. And whatever it was, I had the impression of worry, or concern.

    I was really bugged by it and thought about it all the way home. At least when I was not about to fall asleep at the wheel, which is the only time in my life that’s almost happened. I stopped at my apt. in Murfreesboro to get something, and thinking if I was still that exhausted I’d lay down for an hour or two. Of course, I was just fine when I got there, so I left and headed on towards home.

    By Franklin, I was getting sleepy again and fought for another hour or so to stay awake, still thinking about the creepy thing I’d seen back there just before dawn. Got to the next town over from my hometown and that’s where I just about lost it and, for a second anyway, think I fell asleep.

    Suddenly there was this horribly loud noise and I freaked, of course, and pulled over, thinking I’d blown a tire. Got out the car, walked around it, everything was just fine. Got back in and drove to my parents’ house with no further problems.

    Sure, it could have been anything, but I just couldn’t help feeling that was connected to what I’d seen earlier. And I knew that property inside and out since I’d been up there every summer from age 7 to 21 – yes, there was a possibility that someone living and human was up in that window, but there was no reason anyone should have been up there, and given the place’s history and past events anyway – well… (shrug)

  7. Am I going to be that type of parent? We shall see. I take the NosePicker after school today to get his permit. He wants to drive home. (He will not.)

    Now, in the big-city ‘burbs of Chicagoland, we paid gym teachers and wrestling coaches extra money to teach our kids to drive. Here in the small town, THE PARENTS are expected to do it. Can you imagine? FIFTY HOURS worth of behind the wheel. Fortunately, there are lots of long country roads with no traffic, and lots of old cemetaries tucked back along those roads, so that might be fun. The non-fun part will be NOT having that extra brake on the passenger side.

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