By Keely McCoy
Somewhere between jumping the fence of the abandoned ghost town and hearing an ear-splitting scream that we couldn’t pinpoint, I had the most terrifying experience of my life.
On the six-mile drive from Lefors to the once-thriving town of Bowers City, it was all excitement; it wasn’t until we passed where the pavement and streetlights ended that the reality and fright heightened.
Parking the car near the padlocked gate with the headlights facing into our current nightmare, we slowly climbed out of the car armed with flashlights and paintball guns. With careful footing, we found a strong piece of metal stable enough to hold our weight in the fence.
Once inside the ghost town, it felt like the anticipation of our venture might have been for nothing. The only buildings that remained were a small schoolhouse and a few single-room homes, all run down past the point of habitation.
We cautiously approached the school armed and ready for anyone or anything we would encounter, or so we thought. We explored the front room of the school, finding nothing but bats and spiders. With our courage building, we split up to look at the rest of the rooms.
After an uneventful search we left the room, noticing something we hadn’t on the way in: the words, “help me” painted in a red that was too red. We decided that the best souvenir was to each take a picture with the unnerving warning.
As the first girl approached the wall, she noticed that the paint still was dripping wet. She screamed and ran out of the building; we accused one of the boys of painting it.
After he swore on his mother’s life he hadn’t painted it and emptied his pockets and backpack, we searched the building for the paint and found no answer to how it had appeared.
In a panicked stage, we evacuated the building like it was on fire with a personal mission to consume each one of us. We ran like there was no tomorrow.
At a safer, 500-foot distance, we excitedly decided to continue exploring. The next building we ventured into was a home that looked to have been abandoned. It was still fully furnished, making it feel like trespassing to be there.
In the floorboards of the home, there was a small door leading into a basement. Being the adventure seekers we had become, we opened the door. The first noise we heard was the squeaky hinges, followed by a blood-curdling scream. As we peered into the basement, a second scream came that was even more threatening than the last, along with the bang of something behind us.
After that warning, we ran toward the car with the unnerving feeling that something was following us. As we jumped into the car, we could feel it being yanked by an incredible force. The car stalled and wouldn’t move; with one final prayer, the car lurched forward. We had narrowly escaped.