The Great Lakes Plaza - Part One

by cardiodoug

The rig pulled into the Great Lakes Plaza entrance, following the signs for trucks only. It was a bit early for lunch, but Michael Walker was hungry.
Michael was an experienced trucker with more than
fifteen years on a Columbus-to-Chicago route. Driving truck was his life, and he loved it. The hours were long, but the pay was excellent, and his route was short enough to allow adequate time with his wife and kids at home in Columbus. Michael figured trucking was the salvation of his marriage. It kept Karen and him apart long enough to avoid arguments and conflict, provided plenty of honeymoon weekends, and fulfilled Michael’s wanderlust. They’d been married since high school, had three children, all boys, all doing well. Michael loved his family dearly, loved his job, and loved his life.
The company had recently transferred him to a new route, Cleveland to Chicago. Michael drove his car from Columbus to Cleveland, a two-hour trip, in early morning, five days a week. He’d load his truck in Cleveland and take off on the Ohio Turnpike, headed for Chicago, often staying overnight, sleeping in his cab, and returning home the following day.
This was his first visit to the Great Lakes Plaza, about sixty miles west of Cleveland. The turnpike plazas were nice, having been recently renovated and providing more than a few good choices for lunch.
Michael parked his truck and climbed out of its huge cab. He stood tall, just over six feet, with a handsome, rugged look. His denim jacket, jeans, Western boots, and hat gave him the look of a rodeo rider rather than a trucker.
Walking across the lot, he entered the plaza, finding a variety of restaurants: Starbucks, Panera, Sbarro, and Burger King. After buying a couple of slices of pepperoni pizza from Sbarro, he looked for a place to sit in the dining area, which was lined with long, Formica-topped tables. Smaller tables for four filled the center of the room. He took a seat.
Numerous travelers milled around. He spotted a few guys he pegged for drivers, no one familiar. His lunch was interrupted by some children making a disturbance a couple of tables over. They were loudly complaining to their mother, apparently unhappy with the food. Michael noticed they were eating Burger King. That’s unusual, he thought. Most kids love that BK junk. He finished his pizza and left for Chicago.
The Great Lakes Plaza was a good location for Michael to get an early lunch on his way to Chicago, along with an occasional dinner on the way home.
A day later, on his return east, he stopped at the same plaza. He called his wife, Karen, to tell her he was running late, asking her to not hold supper for him. He’d grab some food on the road. After pulling his rig off the turnpike’s eastbound lane, he slowly rolled to a stop in the truck lot, jumped out of his cab, and walked over an elevated causeway to the plaza on the opposite side of the expressway. Minutes later, he was carrying a sandwich, side of pasta, and a drink from Panera as he walked to his usual table in the dining area.
A commotion across the room caught his attention. A woman and her three children were having dinner. The mother was telling her kids, “Shut up and eat.” It was the same family, the same kids from the other day, with the same complaints about the food.
Michael finished dinner, threw away his trash, and crossed the room toward the family. They were eating food from Burger King, just as before. Poor kids, he thought. I bet she brings them here all the time, lunch and dinner, for the same lousy food—must not have enough sense to buy them something different. Panera would be better, but she

probably can’t afford it. By the looks of their clothes, they don’t seem too well off.
The woman was wearing a black T-shirt and tattered jeans. Her hair looked dirty. The children, two boys and a girl, looked disheveled and all of them, even the young girl, looked as though they could use a bath. Must be rough for those kids.
Michael left the plaza, climbed into his truck and took off for Cleveland, looking forward to seeing Karen and the boys that night.
The next morning, after an early start, he returned to the plaza for coffee and a snack from Starbucks. Intending to eat on the road, he walked toward the exit, passing the dining area on the way. He came to a halt, nearly spilling his coffee.
They were there again: same woman, same kids, same food, and same discontent. They’re even wearin’ the same clothes. I’m sure of it. They must eat here every day. This is crazy. Who pays to get on the turnpike to eat at Burger King? He took a seat at a nearby table to observe.
As always, the kids were loudly bellyaching about the food. The oldest, a boy of twelve or so, was bitching to his mom. “Mom, I’m sick of this food. Every day’s the same crap. You gotta get us outta here.”
The girl was whining, “I wanna go home, Mommy! We’ve been here too long.”
Michael’s curiosity was piqued. After finishing his pastry and drink, he walked to their table, having no idea what he was going to say, but determined to find out what was going on—why they were there every day. Cautiously approaching the mother, seated at the end of the table, he said, “Excuse me, ma’am.”
The woman shot around in her seat with a vicious glare and screamed, “Go away!”
Michael quickly stepped back, nearly falling over a chair. He forced a smile. “I’m sorry.”
“Leave us alone!” Spit flew from her mouth.
He moved back farther and left. What a bitch! he thought. Glancing around the room, he was surprised no one else seemed to have noticed her outburst.
As he was leaving, he saw an old, black man, a janitor, pushing a mop bucket down the hall. The man was short, about five foot six. He had salt-and-pepper hair, cropped close, and a hint of gray whisker on his chin.
Michael approached. “Excuse me.”
“Yes, sir. What you need?”
“Well, this is gonna sound like an odd question.”
“That’s okay. I get lotsa people askin’ me funny questions. Go ahead.”
“I’m curious about the family that’s here all the time. I’m sure you’ve seen them, a woman and three children?”
“Well, they’s lotsa folk come in here, some quite regular. What you wanna know ’bout ’em?”
“I’m not sure, I mean . . . I’m not sure what I wanna ask.”
“Mister, I think I know who you be talkin’ ’bout. How’s if you point ’em out to me?”
The men walked back to the dining area.
“That woman over there in the black T-shirt. The one with three kids. I see them here all the—”
“Oh, Lordy!” The janitor’s face broke into a big, toothy grin. “Just what I ’spected. Mister, you got the gift. Yes, sir, you got it. I’ll be doggone if you ain’t got the gift!”
“What gift? What are you talking about?”
“I’m talkin’ ’bout the gift. The gift a gettin’ to see them folk. It’s what they call the supernatural.”
“Supernatural? What’s so supernatural about seeing some people eating lunch?”
“I don’t see ’em.”
“What? I just showed them to you. They’re sitting right over there.” Michael pointed across the room.
“I believe you, mister. But most folk can’t see ’em. I bet you see a chubby woman, wearin’ some black shirt, and three children, two boys and a girl, right?”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
“And they all be eatin’ Burger King food, right?”
“Yes, that’s exactly right. So, you do see them.”
“No sir, I don’t. Not a lick. I just know what they look like from talkin’ to people with the gift—people like you.”
Michael was silent, pondering what to say. “This sounds . . . this sounds crazy.”
“Sure it do. You might think I’m crazy, too. But you the one all shook up ’bout it. You the one ’proached me with your silly question, right?”
“That’s right.”
“So who’s crazy? You go ask other folk in here ’bout that family.
Ask ’em if they see ’em sittin’ there.”
“I’d rather not.”
“Why? What’s the harm? Just go ask.”
“Okay, okay. I guess I can do that. Will you wait here?”
“Shore nuf, I’ll wait. I’m lookin’ forward to it.”
A minute later, Michael returned with a flushed, embarrassed look on his face. “All right, I believe you. I felt like a fool askin’ those people. No one knew what I was talking about.”
“Course they didn’t. But don’t you worry none ’bout that. People with the gift are special—you’re special. You got somethin’ they ain’t got. You should be proud.”
“How do you know about this?”
“I know ’cause I been workin’ here at this plaza for years. I’ve talked with people like you before, people with the gift.”
“Okay, so let’s say I’ve got this gift thing. What should I do now?”
“I don’t know what you should do. Way I see it, you ain’t gotta do nothin’. Just ’cept it, and go on livin’ your life.”
“But this is incredible. It’s an amazing thing. I’m having trouble believin’ it.”
“Course you is. All the people I meet with the gift is right shocked ’bout it.” He hesitated. “There is one thing, though. One thing I should tell you, Mr. . . .”
“Walker, Mike Walker. And what’s your name?”
“You can call me Louis—just like old Joe Louis, the Brown Bomber. Anyway, I was gonna say, Mr. Mike, you best stay away from that woman. From what I hear, she’s right nasty—mean ’n’ nasty.”
“Yeah, I know that already, Joe . . . I mean Louis. I tried talking to her, and she started screamin’ at me to get away.”
“You best leave them be. They ain’t right. I think there’s somethin’ evil goin’ on with that woman. So listen, Mr. Mike, I enjoyed talkin’ with ya, but I’m gonna catch hell if I don’t get back to work. I’m here every day, every weekday that is. If you stop back, we can talk some more.”
“Sure, Louis, thanks. Believe me, I’ll be back.” Michael left the plaza and took off for Cleveland, certain he’d return the next day.
The following morning, he awoke early, sped to Cleveland, hurriedly loaded his delivery, and took off on the turnpike, heading west, arriving at the plaza at nine twenty in the morning. He quickly parked his rig and ran across the lot, boot heels clicking on the pavement.
They were there: same table, same food, same complaints from the kids, same rude remarks from their mother. He left the dining room and found Louis down the hall, sweeping the floor.
“Hey, Mr. Mike. You here early today.”
“Louis, we have to talk. This whole thing is drivin’ me nuts. I told my wife about it last night. She thinks I’m off my rocker. You gotta help me.”
“I’ll do whatever I can, Mr. Mike, but I don’t think I can be a much help.”
“Please, Louis. Tell me anything else you can think of about this
gift.”
“Let’s see, well . . . I can tell you, like I did, you special and you not alone. Over the past few years, I met four or five people with the gift. So you not alone, Mr. Mike. Don’t you worry ’bout that.”
“Okay, so I’m not the only one. I guess that helps a little. Is there anything else?”
“Yeah, I can tell you two years ago, some fella with the gift made a big ruckus over it. He told some newspaper man ’bout it, and they
got a bunch a investigators out here to the plaza.”
“Investigators?”
“Yes, sir, what they call paranormal experts. Bunch a fools, if you ask me.”
“What did they find?”
“They didn’t find nothin’, Mr. Mike, not a blessed thing. They brought in all this equipment: cameras, lights, microphones, tape recorders, and stuff. You shoulda seen ’em, all ooh-in’ and aah-in’ ’bout some little sounds they heard, some little spots a light they seen and such. One said he saw some kinda fog in the room. Said it looked like ghosts. I got a good laugh outta the whole thing. Like I said, bunch a fools. They didn’t see nothin’ like you see, Mr. Mike. None a them had the gift—and if you ain’t got it, you ain’t got it, and you ain’t gonna see
’em. Simple as that.”
“What happened afterward?”
“Nothin’ happened. That was it. They left, and we ain’t heard from ’em since.”
“We? Who’s we?”
“I mean us, here at the plaza. Lotsa folk who work here met people with the gift. I ain’t the only one.”
“Is there anything else you can tell me? Do you know how I could get in touch with one of the other people, people with this gift?”
“No, Mr. Mike, sorry, I can’t help you with that. I never seen any of ’em again.” Louis paused. “But I guess I should tell ya somethin’ more, tell ya ’bou—“
“Tell me what?”
“I been hesitatin’ ’bout it, but you bein’ so persistent ’n’ all, I guess
I should explain.”
“Please, go on, Louis. What is it?”
“Mr. Mike, there is one important thing I’ve left out.”
“Please, what else?”
“Well, just about a month before those with the gift started seein’ that family, there was a bad automobile wreck, right outside the plaza. And from what I hear, I think it was the same family. A mother and three children was on they way to Cedar Point, and they stopped in here for lunch. I hear the children was all hollerin’ not to stop for lunch ’cause they was anxious to get to the park.”
“Yes . . . and?”
“Bit later, when their mama pulled outta here, she was fussin’ with them kids and not payin’ no attention to her drivin’. As she was gettin’ on the turnpike, she smacked right in the side a some big semi-trailer that was whizzin’ by. That car flipped upside down and flew over the guard railin’. They was all killed, instantly. It was a horrible thing.”
“Oh, God. That is horrible.”
“’Bout a month later, I met the first person with the gift, like you, Mr. Mike. He described that family to me, and I figured it’s them got killed. Figure they got stuck here somehow.”
Michael was skeptical. “That story’s a little hard to swallow,
Louis.”
“I know, I know, but it’s what I think.”
“Okay, Louis. I appreciate your talking with me. I gotta tell you, this whole thing’s spookin’ me. I don’t know what I’m gonna do.”
“Like I said, as I sees it, you ain’t got to do nothin’, ’cept maybe stay away from this place.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right, but I’ve got an urge to talk to that woman again.”
“Mr. Mike, I wouldn’t do it. All I know is she’s right mean. My feelin’ is she’s some kinda witch. I’d be stayin’ clear a her.”
“Thanks for the warning, Louis. I’m sure we’ll talk again.”
Michael turned and walked away, headed toward the exit. As soon as Louis was out of sight, he returned to the dining room. As he walked in, the woman looked at him with an inhuman glower. Peeling her lips back over jagged teeth, she stuck out a swollen, blackand-blue tongue. Michael decided not to push his luck. He left for Chicago.
It was a hot, sticky night, and the rest stop in Chicago was packed with semi-trucks, all lined up with their engines idling to keep the air conditioning running. Michael spent a fitful night in his cab, desperately trying to fall asleep, rolling around in a sweat-soaked bed. His thoughts were consumed with the family, the woman, and his gift. He didn’t want the gift.
It’s not a gift! It’s a curse, he thought. A curse that’s gonna destroy me. Karen thinks I’m out of my mind and wants me to see a doctor. I’m afraid to tell anyone else about it. They’ll all think I’m nuts—I’ve gotta let it ago.
As he lay on his cot, he convinced himself to never go to the plaza again—never. Having found some relief in his commitment, he fell asleep.
Michael’s cell phone woke him early in the morning. The company had an unscheduled load for him to pick up in Chicago before leaving for Cleveland. It would be a long day.
Hours later, after completing his delivery and loading another, he was on the road, headed for Ohio. He promised himself he wouldn’t stop. I’ll drive straight through to Cleveland without eating and hurry home to my family. There’s no way I’m goin’ in that plaza.
The sun was setting behind him as he crossed the Indiana line into Ohio. It was dark by the time he drove by the turnpike sign reading, “Great Lakes Plaza 2 miles.”
“Two miles!” His head was spinning. Fearing he would lose his resolve, Michael clenched the wheel and accelerated, speeding straight ahead, determined to race past the plaza. He began yelling out loud, “Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop!” Approaching the plaza entrance, consumed by an irresistible urge to turn, he did his utmost to stay on course, but the wheel started turning, as if controlled by an external power, a force Michael couldn’t defy. “Shit, I’ve gotta take one more look!”

End of Part One

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A truck driver experiences a taste of hell, purgatory, and heaven at a turnpike plaza in Ohio.

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Supernatural events at a turnpike plaza

The Great Lakes Plaza - Part One

by cardiodoug

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