While I generally don’t write ghost stories through the year, I do jot down ideas whenever and wherever they strike. Case in point, I have a note with the above picture from November 25th of last year when Akilah and I were driving back from Thanksgiving in Anacortes, Washington. I was trying to get my steps in wandering the Baldock Rest Area outside of Portland when I felt a chill that had nothing to do with the season. I snapped the above picture and titled the note with what is now the first sentence of this story.
Forget cemeteries, highway rest stops are the most haunted places.
Let me set the scene: it’s three am (you know, the Witching Hour), in the middle of Nowhere, Oregon just off of I5. I noticed the rest stop we pulled into had an interesting collection of trees that was at least noticeable in the dark. (I’m a bit of a tree nerd after all). At that moment there were still a few folks coming and going, so it didn’t feel like I was, you know, going off into the darkness (I was going off into the darkness)…
And my ride left me.
After reading the plaque about the “Grove of the States” (“a tree representing each state in the USA and the District of Columbia. […] conceived by the Oregon Attorney General, Robert Y. Thornton to honor the passage of Lady Bird Johnson’s 1965 Highway Beautification Act” in case you were wondering…), I wandered back to where Dave had parked the Subaru Crosstrek. Gone.
There’s a second set of bathrooms farther down – maybe I got turned around while I was taking issue with the selection of the bougie Giant Sequoia for the California tree instead of the much more appropriate Coast Redwood.
No Crosstrek.
Okay, that’s a lie – I think there’s probably always at least one Subaru Crosstrek in a rest stop at any given time. But no Dave’s sunshine orange 2019 Subaru Crosstrek. In a panic, I sprinted the length of the sidewalk until the road lengthens into an onramp for southbound I5. No Dave. I was alone. And the last streetlight in the rest stop chose that moment to wink off, the tall Douglas firs swallowing the light from other lights, leaving me in darkness. I felt an unnatural chill run down my spine as I slowly turned towards the tall evergreens.
I swear I saw a shadow move from dark trunk to dark trunk. I spun to face a whisper that seemingly came from behind me. A gray orb streaked past in my peripheral vision and I turned to face that, my heart beating faster with the realization that I wasn’t alone, that this copse of trees was teeming with spirits and they were all coming to me.
“Wait a minute,” I said out loud. “I’m a ghost. Why am I scared?”
“You’re scared?” a woman’s voice came from behind me. I spun to see a young woman with her blonde hair in dreadlocks that fell over her threadbare flannel shirt.
“I.. uh… was that my out loud voice?”
“Yeah,” she laughed, “It was. Are you new here?”
I looked around and saw figures emerging from the trees – men, woman, some dark shadows. “Uh… yeah. I think I am.”
She laughed again. “Think you are? What happened? Too busy looking at the trees to notice your Living driving off?”
My eyes widened. “Yes, exactly that! I mean, the Grove of the States is a nice idea and all, but I have some legitimate concerns about some of the tree choices…”
“Whoa, tree guy…” She laughed as she put up her hands defensively. “Do you think you are going to stick around a while…?”
I raised an eyebrow, “I… I hadn’t thought about that. I mean, I didn’t know I could be apart from my… what did you call him? My ‘Living’?”
She shrugged. “That’s just what we call the people we attach to. I mean, generally, yeah, you need to be attached to a living entity – kind of tethers you. Otherwise you can kind of fade away. Isn’t that right, Jason?” She motioned to one of the dark shadows approaching.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” said the shadow, the voice sounding hollow and muffled, like it was coming from deep inside a well.
“Give Jason a break,” a tall, well-built man with a neatly-trimmed goatee and shaved head. “I’m Alex,” he reached out a big paw of a hand and I shook it. “This is Autum,” he gestured to the dreadlocked girl. “You didn’t know you could change Livings? How did you attach to your Living that just drove off?”
“He… uh, he was at the coffee shop where I… I died. He performed CPR, even tagged along with the paramedics to the hospital. Seemed genuinely moved when I never came back…” I thought back to the day I died.
Alex nodded. “You didn’t have any family?”
I shook my head. “No. Only child. My parents died years ago.”
Autum shrugged. “I guess it makes sense you stuck with that Living.”
“Dave. His name was Dave Allen.”
Alex put his hand on my shoulder, “Dave Allen is probably halfway to Salem by now.”
I sighed heavily. “So… how does this place exist? Didn’t you say we have to stick with a Living?”
“That’s technically true, yeah,” Autum said. “Case in point, our cautionary tale, Jason, who thought he could just walk along the highway.”
“It seemed like a good idea at the time…” Jason’s far-off voice came from the shadow.
“I know, buddy,” Alex said. “We don’t know why rest stops allow ghosts to gather without Livings – and it’s not just this rest stop. It’s like they’re such transient places that they have their own energy vortex.”
“And you give me shit for being all woo-woo,” Autum laughed.
Alex smiled and rolled his eyes. “Just a theory…”
“Whatever it is, here we are,” Autum raised her arms over her head.
“So, we’re stuck here?”
“Nah,” Autum said, doing a little spin. “You can latch on to any of the Livings that pass through here…”
“Life-Latching, we call it,” Alex interjected.
“Alex calls it that,” Autum rolled her eyes now.
He shrugged sheepishly. “I’m still workshopping the term – do you prefer ‘Catching a life draft?’”
Autum laughed hard, “Oh my god, that’s terrible!”
“Yeah,” I nodded, “Maybe drop that one.”
“Anyway,” Autum gathered herself, “Anytime you want to head out you can. Or,” she added with a smile, “You can hang out with us.”
“Did I hear you talking about the Grove of States?” Alex asked.
“I did, yeah. I mean, what’s with that spindly ponderosa pine for Arizona?”
“It should have been the Palo Verde, the actual state tree,” a voice came from behind me.
I turned to see a short black man in a genuine tweed jacket. “Parkinsonia florida, exactly,” I said excitedly.
He sighed. “That would make sense. Alas, Parkinsonia florida wouldn’t survive in this andisol soil.” He chuckled, “It much prefers the dry, sandy washes to Oregon’s rainy climate.”
I nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah… good point…” I offered my hand. “I’m Peter.”
“Oh, sorry,” he said shaking my head. “Dr. Lindon Hargrove. Pleased to meet you, Peter.”
“Doctor?” I asked.
“My PhD is in dendrology, the study of…”
“…The study of trees,” I finished, a smile creasing my face.
Lindon smiled back, surprised. “Yes… no one knows that.”
“I’m a bit of a tree nerd,” I said.
“Ah, of course.”
“So, why did they go with the pretentious Sequoia for California instead of the more egalitarian Coast Redwood?”
As Dr. Lindon Hargrove started explaining, “Well, don’t forget, technically both Sequoiadendron giganteum and Sequoia sempervirens share the California state tree designation…” I heard Alex say to Autum, “I think he’s going to stay awhile,” and Autum’s lilting laughter in reply.
